The Proposal

‘So it’s your date tonight,’ said Georgia, noticeably changing tack.

‘Claridge’s, apparently.’

‘How do you feel about it?’

Amy laughed awkwardly.

‘You mean after Dan’s awful behaviour am I going to sock him one in the face with one of Claridge’s famous desserts?’

‘I mean do you want him back,’ said Georgia simply.

Amy looked at the older woman’s face, trying to work out if she disapproved of her plans. She wouldn’t blame her after what she had said in New York about Daniel and his snobby family.

‘I don’t know. My head is telling me to not even bother turning up tonight. But my heart . . . We had some pretty good times, you know.’

‘So you’re prepared to give him a second chance?’ Georgia asked sceptically.

‘Everyone deserves a second chance.’

She saw the older woman’s expression soften.

‘Come with me, Amy. I have something to show you.’

Georgia got out of the car and had a word with the driver. Amy followed her up the path with a sense of anxiety. What did she want to show her? A bill, perhaps, she thought with sudden panic. The Lady advertisement had said flight and accommodation provided, but Georgia had paid for countless extras and Amy hadn’t even thought that she might have to settle up at the end of the trip.

They walked slowly up to Georgia’s second-floor apartment.

‘Come through,’ she said, leading Amy inside. ‘I know you have your little black dress, and it will carry you through many occasions in your life, but tonight is special. And sometimes a special night demands something out of the ordinary.’

At the far end of the flat was a set of polished double doors. The old lady pulled them open and Amy gasped.

It was a huge dressing room, but no ordinary dressing room, she could see, stepping closer. There were built-in cupboards down either side, crammed with gowns and dresses of every type.

‘One thing the Season gave me was a love of beautiful dresses,’ said Georgia. ‘But I didn’t really have any myself. In my twenties I could never afford them, but then when I had some success in business, it gave me the opportunity.’ She beckoned to Amy. ‘Don’t be shy, come and see.’

The walk-in closet was brightly lit. Dresses, blouses, cashmere jumpers, all colour-coded on little wooden shelves. She had always imagined Georgia as a bookish, academic woman. Stylish, yes. But here there were flamboyant prints, lace, feathers, floor-length gowns fit for a Hollywood princess. You think you know people, thought Amy, but they still find ways to surprise you.

‘These clothes,’ she said, shaking her head in wonder as she touched the fabric, ‘they’re wonderful.’

They were, in Amy’s eyes, even more fabulous than the clothes they had seen in Ralph Lauren, because these clothes had been lived in. Every garment spoke of a lover, a chance meeting, a triumph or a loss. Every one told a story.

‘None of it is couture, I’m afraid,’ said Georgia. ‘I could never bring myself to pay those prices. Most of it is ready-to-wear from the sixties, seventies and eighties.’

Amy nodded, dumbstruck, as she pulled out various items. There were Ossie Clark evening gowns, a low-cut Halston that looked like it had been to Studio 54, an eighties Calvin Klein, a beautiful beaded Dior dress, an Yves Saint Laurent with moa feathers around the collar.

‘They’re just . . . amazing,’ she said. Georgia nodded appreciatively.

‘I always think that people who rubbish fashion, those who think it’s frivolous, have never worn a truly spectacular dress. There’s nothing like a wonderful gown to make you feel like you can conquer the world. Pick one,’ she said finally. ‘Wear it tonight.’

‘Really? You really mean it?’

‘Absolutely. They’re just going to waste sitting here.’

Amy blew out her cheeks and looked around.

‘Georgia, I am completely spoilt for choice. I genuinely don’t know where to start.’

‘Well, how about here,’ she said, unhooking a dress from the rail and pulling it out with a flourish.