You Don't Own Me (The Russian Don 1)

‘What’s that?’ I ask curiously.

‘If I tell you I’ll spoil it. It is much better if you simply go and enjoy it,’ she advises.

We go out of the front door to where her white van is parked. She opens the back doors and it’s like Aladdin’s cave in there. She hops onto the steps and goes in.

‘You’ve got a mini shop in here,’ I say in an awed voice.

‘It’s what I’ve collected over the years. Some of it is from second hand shops, some are things designers have handed down to me, and some I’ve wheedled from customers who simply didn’t have the figure for them.’

I watch her professionally running her hands through two rails displaying a beautiful variety of clothes. There are hangers of chunky jewel-colored knitwear, camel coats, silk dresses in a rainbow of colors, leather jackets, velvet wraps in a selection of rich colors, luscious cream woolen trousers, tweeds in salmon and purple, a racy red miniskirt. There are boxes crammed full of belts and scarves, a glass case with hundreds of pieces of costume jewelry, and shelves filled with shoes. Stella would think she had died and gone to heaven.

Molly pulls out a long silver-grey cashmere coat that looks like it must have cost the earth. She comes to where I’m standing and holds it out to me. ‘This will go perfectly with your hair and the dress I have in mind for you.’

‘Oh it’s lovely,’ I breathe.

The label says, Lolita Lempika. I stroke it and it’s deliciously smooth and luxurious as the velvety tummy of a puppy.

‘It will be perfectly cozy in this weather,’ she says with her back turned to me. At the end of the second rail she finds the dress she is looking for and pulls it out triumphantly.

I shriek. For the first time in my life I actually shriek.

She beams like a girl. ‘I know,’ she gushes. ‘I’ve been saving this one for ages. I knew it was special, but I never found the right customer for it. It’s vintage Valentino. It’s even got a bra built into it. I found it in a carboot sale in Weybridge. Can you believe it? Weybridge!’

I stare in amazement at the black silk, art deco confection. It has short spaghetti straps covered with narrow, delicate frills, and filled in with a panel of sheer organza material to form the illusion of a boat neckline. An enormous flower bow fashioned of thin strips of velvet sits over the top of the right breast. The dress is form fitting until just below the waist then flares out into an A-line skirt.

I don’t know where the hell Weybridge is, but it is truly unbelievable that anyone would ever want to part with such a glamorous dress, let alone take it to a carboot sale.

‘It had a small tear near the hem, but I had it taken up by half an inch and voila,’ Molly explains.

I take a step towards the dress and touch the panel of transparent material.

‘That’s the sheerest organza you can find,’ Molly says quietly.

‘Is it my size?’ I can’t believe how much I want to hear her say yes.

‘Down to the last half-inch.’

‘It’s mind-blowingly sexy, isn’t it?’ I whisper back.

She waggles her eyebrows. ‘It is, but just in case anybody thinks you haven’t got morals, we have these.’ She dips her hands into a plastic drawer and comes up with great handfuls of pearl ropes and necklaces.

I laugh. ‘Molly Street you are brilliant.’

She throws her left hand in an arc in front of her face and snaps her fingers. ‘Tell me something new,‘ she sings with a grin. She pulls out a pearl choker and a matching pearl bracelet and puts them aside. ‘You will be putting your hair up, won’t you?’

‘Well …’

‘Here. This will make it easy for you.’ She passes me a pearl pin. ‘Put your hair into a simple bun at the nape of your neck and stick this in anywhere. Can’t go wrong.’

‘Thanks,’ I say taking the pin from her.

‘Now shoes. The thing about vintage dresses is never to pair them with vintage style shoes. You’ll look like you’re going to a fancy dress party. What’s the time now?’

I look at my watch. ‘Nearly three.’

‘I know the perfect pair. They are to die for. Very, very high, in pewter with silver heels and a velvet trim all the way around. The curving straps in the front are held by tiny silver buttons. They’re a work of art. I’ll go pick them up now and drop them off before four. How’s that?’

‘Awesome.’

Then she helps me carry the coat, dress, and the accessories to the house before she leaves.

Fifteen

Dahlia Fury

-Ask for money and get advice-

As I glide down the stairs in the most beautiful dress I have ever worn, my pearls, my expensive coat over my arm, and my fantastically fabulous new shoes (I’ve already ordered a pair in Stella’s size), Noah appears at the bottom. His black eyes run down my body quickly and professionally, as if I’m a room he’s checking out for trouble.