Page 73 of Mirrors of the Past

‘Oh, my word!’ Tegan was mesmerised. ‘It’s — beautiful. Absolutely stunning. May I touch it?’

‘Yes, of course. If your hands are clean?’

Tegan nodded that they were and she touched the delicate fabric. She could see the original sheath dress from the sketch, pulled in under the bust with some sort of overskirt that stuck out into those frothy layers. There was a sash tied under the bust and the length was just above where she guessed the wearer’s ankles would be.

But there was just something . . . something that wasn’t quite right with it. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew that something needed to change.

‘Ryan . . .’ She didn’t need to say any more. He was as stunned by the dress as she was. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘The sash,’ he said, after a moment. ‘The sash should be red.’

* * *

Ryan didn’t know where that comment had come from. But he knew, even as he marvelled at the dress, that the sash should, indeed, be red.

That was the way he remembered it.

‘Am I right, Tegan?’ he asked quietly. ‘Is that the way you — interpreted it?’

‘I did.’ She nodded, looking just as confused as he knew he did.

‘Red?’ Ianthe stared at them. For one horrible moment, Ryan thought she was going to complain and shout at them, and refuse to release the frock . . . but, surprisingly, she nodded briskly. ‘That’s easily sorted. Give me a moment.’

She went over to a wall full of shelves containing all sorts of materials and fabrics. Ryan knew nothing about types of fabric — if it was shiny, it was likely satin. If it was fluffy, it was likely velvet. That was, basically, where his knowledge started and ended. But he could appreciate all the different colours laid out like a bag of tempting sweeties.

‘This one, I think.’ Ianthe pulled a ream off the shelf, cut a length off it and brought it back to the dummy. Expertly, she folded it into a long sash shape, removed the green one and tied the red one efficiently under the dummy’s bust. ‘There.’ She gave it a couple of tweaks and it hung down the gown as if it had always been there.

‘Perfect,’ said Tegan.

Ryan nodded. ‘Exactly right.’

‘Cool. I’ll hem it up and that’ll be in the package as well.’ Ianthe smiled. ‘All happy with it?’

‘It’s . . . wonderful,’ said Tegan. ‘Truly it is.’

‘Great. Can you hang around while I finish up the paperwork, invoices, all that boring stuff?’ asked Ianthe. ‘It’s mainly a Pencradoc thing — for Tegan, I suppose. Is that okay with you, Ryan? Are you happy to stay with us?’

Tegan looked at Ryan — they did have other things to do, but, really, it was no problem. He didn’t particularly want to do any of those other things on his own, either.

‘I’m in no real hurry,’ Ryan heard himself say. He gestured for the women to go ahead of him into Ianthe’s office. He realised shortly afterwards though, that what he really wanted to say, was, “Sybill, why on earth did you make us come here together?”

Because he had the feeling that that excuse for the viewing of the dress was simply a ruse. To get them to spend some time together before Elsie’s wedding.

No.

He corrected himself.

Before Elsie’s wedding exhibition.

To distract himself, he picked up his phone and checked his emails. There was one from the Glasgow gallery and his stomach somersaulted. He clicked into it and read it.

Good afternoon,it said. We are pleased to advise that you have been shortlisted for the role at the new gallery and we will be arranging an interview with you in the near future . . .