The Hollow - Agatha Christie [79]
Edward peered suspiciously into the show window at a little black dress with a narrow gold belt, some rakish-looking, skimpy jumper suits, and an evening gown of rather tawdry coloured lace.
Edward knew nothing about women’s clothes except by instinct, but had a shrewd idea that all these exhibits were somehow of a meretricious order. No, he thought, this place was not worthy of her. Someone–Lady Angkatell, perhaps–must do something about it.
Overcoming his shyness with an effort, Edward straightened his slightly stooping shoulders and walked in.
He was instantly paralysed with embarrassment. Two platinum blonde little minxes with shrill voices were examining dresses in a show-case, with a dark saleswoman in attendance. At the back of the shop a small woman with a thick nose, henna red hair and a disagreeable voice was arguing with a stout and bewildered customer over some alterations to an evening gown. From an adjacent cubicle a woman’s fretful voice was raised.
‘Frightful–perfectly frightful–can’t you bring me anything decent to try?’
In response he heard the soft murmur of Midge’s voice–a deferential, persuasive voice.
‘This wine model is really very smart. And I think it would suit you. If you’d just slip it on–’
‘I’m not going to waste my time trying on things that I can see are no good. Do take a little trouble. I’ve told you I don’t want reds. If you’d listen to what you are told–’
The colour surged up into Edward’s neck. He hoped Midge would throw the dress in the odious woman’s face. Instead she murmured:
‘I’ll have another look. You wouldn’t care for green I suppose, Madam? Or this peach?’
‘Dreadful–perfectly dreadful! No, I won’t see anything more. Sheer waste of time–’
But now Madame Alfrege, detaching herself from the stout customer, had come down to Edward and was looking at him inquiringly.
He pulled himself together.
‘Is–could I speak–is Miss Hardcastle here?’
Madame Alfrege’s eyebrows went up, but she took in the Savile Row cut of Edward’s clothes, and she produced a smile whose graciousness was rather more unpleasant than her bad temper would have been.
From inside the cubicle the fretful voice rose sharply.
‘Do be careful! How clumsy you are. You’ve torn my hairnet.’
And Midge, her voice unsteady:
‘I’m very sorry, Madam.’
‘Stupid clumsiness.’ (The voice appeared muffled.) ‘No, I’ll do it myself. My belt, please.’
‘Miss Hardcastle will be free in a minute,’ said Madame Alfrege. Her smile was now a leer.
A sandy-haired, bad-tempered-looking woman emerged from the cubicle carrying several parcels and went out into the street. Midge, in a severe black dress, opened the door for her. She looked pale and unhappy.
‘I’ve come to take you out to lunch,’ said Edward without preamble.
Midge gave a harried glance up at the clock.
‘I don’t get off until quarter-past one,’ she began.
It was ten past one.
Madame Alfrege said graciously:
‘You can go off now if you like, Miss Hardcastle, as your friend has called for you.’
Midge murmured: ‘Oh thank you, Madame Alfrege,’ and to Edward: ‘I’ll be ready in a minute,’ and disappeared into the back of the shop.
Edward, who had winced under the impact of Madame Alfrege’s heavy emphasis on ‘friend’, stood helplessly waiting.
Madame Alfrege was just about to enter into arch conversation with him when the door opened and an opulent-looking woman with a Pekinese came in, and Madame Alfrege’s business instincts took her forward to the newcomer.
Midge reappeared with her coat on, and taking her by the elbow, Edward steered her out of the shop into the street.
‘My God,’ he said, ‘is that the sort of thing you have to put up with? I heard that damned woman talking to you behind the curtain. How can you stick it, Midge? Why didn’t you throw the damned frocks at her head?’
‘I’d soon lose my job if I did things like that.’
‘But don’t you want to fling things at a woman of that kind?’
Midge drew a deep breath.
‘Of course I do. And there are times, especially at the end