As The Sun Goes Down Page 2

Emily’s Hat

  Traffic in the suburbs had been heavy and it was getting worse as Emily approached the city centre. She had been tempted to park up several miles back and find a bus to take her in the rest of the way, but her doubts about finding her way back had stopped her. Her smile was rueful as she remembered how easy it used to be to park up at their local station and get the train into the city. Now there were so few trains she’d never get back in time for the children.

  At yet another set of red lights she reached round the back of her neck with one hand, trying to massage away the tension that had been growing with every mile she travelled further from her native fields and woodland.

  She glanced over to the other lane, her attention drawn by the blare of the Rolling Stones hit that her daughter had listened to endlessly when it was released the previous summer. Alongside her was a very smart Mini, with an equally smart young woman at the wheel who was busy checking her heavy makeup in the mirror.

  What is that song called? she thought, frowning as she tried to remember.

  The words she heard at that point gave the answer - Satisfaction. She sincerely hoped she’d be able to satisfy Jon’s expectations today.

  She wriggled a little, unused to the feel of a skirt and tights, wishing they were her favourite old jeans, socks and wellies, and that she was mucking out the stables or gardening. She took a deep, steadying breath and gently rotated her head, admitting that it had to be today, so she’d best just get on with it. No more procrastination: this really was her last chance before she and Jon travelled south for the sales conference and the concomitant entertainment. Emily wasn’t quite sure which facet of all this was most frightening. All she knew for sure was that the first of her many fears and worries had to be overcome today – the purchase of a suitable outfit.

  Emily parked up in the multi-storey and made her way through the busy streets to the department store. She stood on the kerb and gathered her courage around her, but it felt more of a wet paper bag than protective armour. Her mind drifted back to the previous Friday.

  “There you go, love,” he’d said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

  She’d been sat in her favourite armchair, mending a light cotton blouse that would soon be needed in the growing heat of the new season. He’d taken the sewing out of her hands and replaced it with a white envelope, obviously a card.

  “What’s this? My birthday’s not for another month yet.”

  His lovable boyish grin told her how pleased he was with himself, his startling blue eyes sparking sapphire lights.

  “I know that. This is extra.” He sat on the padded arm of the chair and draped his arm across her shoulders. “I stopped off on the way home,” he said. “Go on, open it up!”

  She took the card out and paused, admiring the beautiful red rose on the front. She looked up at him, took his hand and kissed the palm.

  “Open it!”

  The sheet of paper within gave details of a store account. The spending limit left her eyes wide and mouth open. “But -“

  “But nothing. I’m not having you wearing that charity shop hat and the outfit from last year’s wedding. You’re the wife of the Sales and Marketing Manager (UK) now and need to look the part next Thursday.”

  “Well, I could maybe get some new shoes,” she said, thinking about what else could be done with that much money.

  “You could maybe do as I ask and buy the whole kit and caboodle.” His slight frown warned he’d brook no argument on this. “I can afford it now I’ve been promoted. The standard farmer’s wife fashion of these parts is just not good enough, Emily. I don’t want their pitying glances if you look any less than perfect.”

  Her head snapped back from the verbal slap, her sharply indrawn breath was loud.

  Has he been ashamed of me all this time?

  A sudden solitary tear shimmered in the corner of her eye, her pleasure in the card gone. He was instantly apologetic, gathering her into his arms and kissing her hair.

  “Emily, I’m so sorry, that came out all wrong. You always look beautiful to me, whatever you’re wearing. Honestly, I just thought I was helping, please don’t cry.”

  She pulled him tight and spoke into his waist. “You have, my love, and I do appreciate it, really. I’ll go in next week.”

  He laughed, the sound a little forced. “Well, the week after won’t be much use.” He tipped up her face with cupped fingers under her chin, wiping his thumb across her cheek. “You are allowed to enjoy spending on yourself, you know.”

  She nodded and forced a smile.

  Now it was next week. He’d removed the ‘where’ part of the equation. She had sorted out the ‘how’. Now she had to sort out the ‘what’.

  She dragged her eyes down from the fancy gold lettering on bottle green above the entrance, By Appointment to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth no less, and hesitantly advanced to the door.

  All that money to be squandered on one outfit! It feels vaguely obscene.

  “Good morning, Madam,” the uniformed doorman greeted her, ushering her in with a smile and a tip of his hat.

  No backsliding now, Emily, she told herself sternly. You’ll look a right fool if you turn and run. And Jon will never forgive you if you fall at this hurdle.

  She knew Jon loved her, as she loved him. She was very proud of the hard work and dedication that had seen him rise through the ranks. But she also knew how their life together had started. She could clearly remember how flattered (and surprised!) she had been to find herself being wooed by Jon, the most handsome and extrovert of that year’s intake of trainee sales reps.

  Emily’s habit had always been to rush back to her parents’ farm after work, never stopping to socialise with any of her colleagues. She was the one they called Mouse Clarke instead of Miss Clarke. She was the one people assumed must have been at the meeting because the minutes always appeared promptly, but no one could ever recall actually seeing her there. Her face and figure were comely enough, but she just lacked that certain flair and self-confidence that other women had.

  What Emily didn’t know, until it was too late, was that Jon’s peers had bet him a night’s drinks that his newly honed sales patter would not be good enough to sell himself to her as far as agreement to a date. Mouse Clarke never dated, period.

  Strangely enough, that first date had been a resounding success. They had found their views on so many aspects of life were in accord, and had talked most of the night away. Jon had insisted on a second date, then a third. Within six weeks they were an acknowledged item, engaged within six months. Now, after nine years of marriage, Emily was blissfully happy caring for Jon and their two children, totally immersed in their lives and that of the village. But she could no longer sidestep Jon’s need for her to get more involved in his work. She had to accept the social duties that went along with his promotion.

  I wish it still only meant hosting dinner parties for him.

  “Can I be of some assistance, Madam?”

  Startled, Emily realised she had been lost in reverie in front of the same display for several minutes.

  “Yes, I, um, need an outfit,” she stammered.

  Oh Lord, why do even the assistants look smarter than me? And I took such care with my appearance this morning. I guess Jon’s right about me needing a new outfit.

  “Yes, Madam. Would this be for a special occasion?”

  Emily could hear the undercurrent of mockery in the voice. If someone who looked like her came into this very exclusive establishment for an outfit it had to be for a one-off ‘special occasion’, not something one did routinely as part of a pampered, hedonistic lifestyle.

  “Yes, it’s for Ladies’ Day. That’s Royal Ascot, you know.”

  “Yes, Madam.”

  The smirk was almost visible and Emily blushed furiously.

  Of course she knows about Ladies’ Day, one of the days of the social calendar.

  She kept her eyes on the floor while her body was appraised, biting on the insi
de of her lip.

  The assistant led Emily to the changing rooms, on the way selecting a suit and two dresses for her to try. Emily felt like she was being taken to the Headmistress’s room for punishment, but quickly changed her mind.

  The changing room was actually a very pleasant place to be on such a hot day, with its air conditioning and subtle lighting. There was plenty of room, and it was an actual room, no worrying about curtains that didn’t quite meet the cubicle edge, and the mirrors showed Emily how well her active life had kept her in trim. She could feel the quality of the clothes as they slipped over her skin and settled naturally into place, with no awkward tugging needed against poor cuts and slipshod sewing.

  But how can I choose the best option when I’ve no mental yardstick to check them against?

  She tried each of them on three times and was still unsure. Each time her assistant had carefully brushed imaginary creases out of the clothes as she returned them to their hangers, with no sign of impatience when they were requested again.

  Emily could feel herself getting more and more flustered but eventually, with subtle guidance, she made her selection. The assistant smiled a cat’s-got-the-cream smile and turned to leave the changing rooms with the citrus lemon and cream dress over her arm.

  “No, wait,” Emily called, one hand raised and panic in her eyes.

  The assistant looked back, swivelling on her heel, one finely-plucked eyebrow raised. “Madam?”

  “I, er...” She lowered her hand. “Are you sure?”

  It was not a colour in which one could blend into the background.

  “It is by far the best dress for your colouring. You’ve seen how well it complements your skin tone, and your hair - it brings out all those wonderful burnished copper depths.”

  “It does fit well,” Emily conceded.

  “The fit is superb. There’s no one it would look better on.”

  Emily meekly followed her.

  The assistant stroked the dress into a box, seeming reluctant to let it out of the store. She glanced up at Emily from under thickly mascaraed eyelashes and sighed.

  Does she think I’m not ‘worthy’ of it? Emily thought, suddenly feeling more cross than nervous.

  “Might I suggest Madam visits our millinery department next?” the assistant prompted after reverently consigning the boxed dress to its store bag. “It is rather de rigueur to have a hat for Ladies’ Day.”

  There’s that damn smirk back again!

  “Of course I’m getting a hat!” Emily snapped. Jon’s money is as good as anyone else’s. Of course I deserve the dress. This is all getting just too much, and I’m still only half way to my goal.

  -0-

  Sat in front of the mirror, Emily could not help but let her eyes slide sideways to watch two very fashionable young women who were trying on hat after hat for the sheer pleasure of it.

  How do they manage to make an apparently simple hat look so chic just by casually giving it a little tilt? How do they get away with creating such chaos while the assistant looks flustered and harried, not them?

  “If I may see the dress, Madam, to ensure we match the exact shade of cream?” her assistant suggested.

  “Of course... I’ll just...”

  The assistant smoothly took over the opening of the box from Emily’s fumbling fingers. Emily bit her lip at the surprise evident in the assistant’s face when the startling yellow fairly leapt out at them.

  “A most interesting choice, Madam.”

  Why didn’t I go with my instincts and settle on the navy suit? It’s too late now: there’s no way I can face that snotty assistant again to change it.

  The new assistant held the dress up against Emily and nodded, a smile of amazed approval curving her lips. “I believe a hat with a wide brim would be best. One moment, please, and I’ll fetch the one that I’m sure will be absolutely perfect for Madam. It came in just this morning.”

  I don’t care if it’s the ugliest hat in the world. I’m not a hat person. I hate hats! Just let me buy it and end this agony. I want to go home...

  The hat was indeed perfect, and Emily found that she, too, was now smiling. Could she really pull this off?

  “I’ll bet it was Nadine who assisted you with the dress purchase,” her new assistant said while helping Emily learn how to put the hat on to best effect. “She is totally amazing, spots possibilities no one else would.”

  Emily’s panic flared again. “I won’t look odd or strange, will I? Why would no one else choose that dress?”

  “You’ll look totally stunning, in all the best ways.”

  “Is it possible…“ Emily paused, her eyes pleading, “Could you help me with the shoes and bag?”

  “I’d love to help you.”

  -0-

  “Are you ready, love?” Jon asked.

  Emily took one last look in the cheval mirror in their hotel bedroom and gave the hat what she hoped was the same little tilt that she had seen could be so effective. Nervously she turned round and was reassured by Jon’s smile and the love in his eyes.

  “You look absolutely gorgeous, darling. You’ll knock them all dead and the folks back home will see you in tomorrow’s papers, headline blaring ‘Unknown beauty takes Ascot by storm’.”

  Bless him, but why didn’t I buy the navy? Such a nice, safe colour, and so serviceable.

  They shared the stretched limo with two other managers and their girlfriends.

  Strange… From what Jon’s said I could have sworn they were both married. Obviously I’m more out of touch with his work and colleagues than I realised. They seem nice enough, though.

  She reminded herself that today she was expected to join in the conversation and ‘fun’, and must not allow her instinct to fade into the background get the better of her.

  Not that I’ve got much option about being noticed, wearing this beacon of a dress.

  As Jon handed her out of the limo she blushed at the very obvious stares from a group of men who were passing by. She tilted her head away from them and suddenly realised the advantage of a hat with a brim. She could use it to allow people to see her face, or hide from them entirely. It didn’t matter a jot that she was so noticeable in the citrus yellow. She could choose to accept or reject such attention. Hold her head this way and it was an invitation, hold it that way and it was a dismissal. She could be as friendly or rude as she liked without saying a word.

  That was why Regency and Edwardian ladies depended on their exquisite fans, not for a cooling movement of air but for the language the fans spoke in skillful hands. Well, I don’t have a fan but I do have a hat and I’m going to use it for all it’s worth!

  A feeling of warm affection for her hat started to grow. Emily glanced up at Jon from beneath the brim as she straightened up and pushed the car door shut behind her.

  How sensuous that feels, how coy and flirtatious! With my hat I can be whoever I wish to be, in this place where I know no one and no one knows me.

  They entered the hospitality area, the entry corridor mirrored on both walls. Her eyes sparkled as she saw the confirmation in her reflections that she looked her very best. The dress fitted superbly and even the tilt of the hat was just right.

  Waiters were ready with trays laden with champagne and she graciously inclined her head in thanks, feeling quite regal. They walked towards the huge windows overlooking the course and she heard a low wolf whistle just behind her. She felt a blush burn her cheeks but felt safe from comment within the privacy of her hat.

  Jon’s colleagues seemed more interested in checking out the women inside than looking at the action outside. Their girlfriends chattered on nonstop about the latest celebrity gossip, equally uninterested in the horses and people. It became just background babble to her ears as she watched the fascinating kaleidoscope of action around the course and stands.

  “All right, love?” Jon asked and squeezed her hand.

  Emily turned to him, that he might see the love for him in her eyes and her de
light at the day on her face. She squeezed his hand back and sipped her champagne, smiling at the prospect of the role she was about to play.

  How surprised he will be!

  “Well, gentlemen,” she announced, “if you’ve quite finished checking out the form of the fillies at the bar I suggest we go and assess some horseflesh.”

  Emily confidently led the way without waiting for a reply, somehow knowing that today she would be the one followed rather than the follower.

  Close up, the thoroughbreds really were magnificent, silken ripples of light flowing over well-proportioned bone and finely honed muscle. It was evident the stable lads had been determined that their charges should look their best for this magnificent occasion and the horses had picked up the electric excitement in the air, skittering on their still tight lead reins. Emily was discussing which horse to bet on when a touch on her elbow announced the MD’s arrival.

  “Emily, my dear, how nice to see you looking so well,” he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “May I present His Highness Sheikh Abdul ibn Kefirat? He wished to be introduced to the most stunning woman here and was most disappointed when I mentioned that our newest European manager had already snapped her up.”

  “George, it’s been far too long since you came to dinner – phone me when we get back home.” She turned to the Sheikh and shook his proffered hand. “I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, Your Highness. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

  “I want to know why I cannot say likewise.”

  He has a most charming smile.

  “I overheard some of your conversation, Emily. You seem very knowledgeable about horses. Do you often attend the racing?”

  “Indeed no! This is the first time and I have yet to discover how one goes about placing a bet.”

  “Then what is the source of this knowledge of horses?”

  “Your Highness -”

  “Abdul, please,” he interrupted.

  “I am sure,” she paused and smiled, “Abdul, that you know the ancient Arabic story of Amr?”

  Abdul slightly raised one dark eyebrow, his near-black eyes giving nothing away.

  “Amr asked his cousin to buy him a horse. Muslim protested that he knew nothing about horses, to which Amr replied, ‘Are you not a hunting man?’ ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Then look for everything which you consider good in the hound and seek it in the horse.’ And Muslim bought for Amr a horse the like of which had never been seen by the Bedouin Arabs.” Emily gestured gracefully towards the ring. “The thoroughbreds we see before us are descendants of such Arab horses.”

  “Bravo, Emily!” He applauded gently. “And which hounds do you know so well?”

  “I have the privilege of being the carer of two Salukis, Sabbah, the morning, and La’aman, flash of light. Mine are rescue Salukis whom I named after two very fine champions in British breeding history.”

  Abdul bowed to her. “Jon, you have been munificently blessed by Allah. Guard your wife and your hounds well. So, Emily, what is your choice for the 3:30?”

  Emily was prompt in her reply. “Firestorm.”

  “And what points of the hound do you see in the horse that make you so positive?”

  This is fun! I might come racing again.

  They discussed equine anatomy for several minutes before Abdul excused himself to return to his guests.

  “Do you realise whose horse you picked?” Jon asked as he led Emily towards the bookies. He could see from her innocent expression that she did not. “Abdul’s. Feel’s strange calling him that. He owns many of the horses here this week, of course, but Firestorm is said to be his favourite.”

  “Then let us hope, for his sake as well as ours, that he wins.”

  They took their betting slips and collected yet more champagne in readiness to shout Firestorm to victory.

  -0-

  Later, much later, Emily gratefully kicked off her shoes and threw the hat on the bed.

  What a day!

  Jon put his arms round her waist from behind and nuzzled her neck.

  “You were amazing!” he congratulated her. “The MD reckons I’ll go far with a wife like you behind me.”

  “Oh, Jon, I love you and I’m so pleased I didn’t let you down. But it didn’t feel like it was me there. Sometimes it was as though I was standing just to one side listening to this sparkling, witty conversationalist I’d only just met.”

  Jon smiled his endearing boy-grin that Emily hadn’t seen during the many months while he was trying to prove himself worthy of promotion.

  “Don’t you remember, when we first met, how many mornings we both needed matchsticks to keep our eyes open after yet again talking the night away?” he asked gently.

  “I remember.” She turned in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. “But that was just the two of us. I’ve never been able to join in groups like that.”

  “Well maybe it was you, and maybe it wasn’t, or maybe you were just talking out of your hat.”

  How well you know me, my darling. I think I may have to buy a few more hats.

  ~~~