Belle - Lesley Pearse [164]
The woman half smiled back, which was an improvement on the night before. ‘Gabrielle Herrison,’ she said.
‘I’m Belle Cooper,’ Belle said. ‘Later, could you tell me where to buy some second-hand clothes?’
Gabrielle’s face softened marginally. ‘I find you leetle map,’ she said. ‘Good shop near.’
Belle was apprehensive as she entered Madame Chantal’s little shop. Madame Herrison didn’t look the kind of woman who knew anything about clothes, so she expected the shop she’d recommended to be like the second-hand clothes shops back in Seven Dials. They reeked of mildew, stale sweat and worse, and the clothes, all jumbled up together, were usually so shabby that only someone really desperate would buy them. But to Belle’s surprise, in this shop the clothes were hung neatly on rails, and she could smell nothing other than freshly made coffee.
A small woman with greying hair, wearing a black dress with a mink collar and cuffs, came towards her, greeting her in French. Belle thought she was probably asking what she was looking for. She asked if the woman spoke English, but the answer was a shake of the head. So Belle took off her coat to show the lace evening dress and mimed someone running off with her suitcase. Surprisingly the woman appeared to understand as she nodded and indicated a rail of ordinary day dresses.
Belle looked through them. They were all good, plain dresses, but she needed something with a bit more flair if she wanted to hook some rich men.
Perhaps the owner noted her lack of enthusiasm as she looked through the rail of dresses because she said something Belle couldn’t understand and held out a two-piece costume for her to look at.
It was pale blue with darker blue embroidery on the figure-hugging jacket. It looked as if it had been very expensive and it was much closer to what Belle had in mind. But the colour was all wrong. Belle smiled and nodded, so the woman knew she approved, then pointed to a purple dress and a red one, and back to the costume.
The woman nodded. After rummaging through the rails for a minute or two she pulled out a red costume with black frogging across the chest which made it look slightly military, and a purple one with a black velvet collar and cuffs.
Belle held the red one up to herself and looked in the mirror. It would be perfect as long as it fitted, classy and fashionable but just a bit racy, and the colour really suited her.
The woman led her to a cubicle at the back of the shop to try it on. She pointed to a silk label in the jacket which said ‘Renee’ and Belle realized she was trying to say it was special, not just made by an ordinary dressmaker. Belle could tell by the feel of the fabric, the stitching and even the cut of the costume that it had belonged to a rich woman. She could hardly wait to put it on.
The shopkeeper was gabbling away in French just outside the cubicle, and Belle was fairly certain she was giving it a big sales pitch, saying it belonged to someone young and beautiful just like her. The moment she had fastened the skirt at her waist, she could see the owner must have been the same height and size, for it was the perfect length, just an inch from the floor, and clung to her hips like a second skin. She held her breath as she slipped the jacket on, willing it not to be too small, and it wasn’t; like the skirt, it was a perfect fit.
‘Magnifique! Il est fait pour vous,’ the shopkeeper crowed as Belle came out of the cubicle, and she had to assume that meant it was perfect for her.
It was indeed perfect in every way. The fit made her waist look tiny, the colour contrasted well with her dark hair, and the military style frogging gave it a slightly saucy air.
‘Combien?’ Belle asked. That was one word she’d learned from Madame Albertine while in the market with her.
‘Vingt francs,’ the shopkeeper replied, and put up all her fingers twice.
Belle swallowed hard. She knew that twenty francs was a very reasonable price for such a beautiful costume, but it would make a huge hole in the money she had. She needed the right