‘Modiste, good morning. Can I help you?’ It’s Veronique on reception.
‘Hi, Veronique, can you put me through to Amanda on the sales team?’ I ask politely but firmly.
‘Hi, Sophie, are you off sick?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Oh okay, I’ll put you through,’ Veronique says, ever professional.
‘Morning, Sophie darling. Are you unwell?’ Amanda asks, distracted. Monday mornings are always busy. I can picture her there, lecturing the sales team on this week’s targets. I don’t miss it one little bit.
‘Not exactly. I’m sorry, Amanda, but I’ve decided to leave Modiste.’ There, I’ve done it, I’ve said it, it’s out there.
‘Sorry, Sophie darling, for a moment there I thought you said you’re leaving.’
‘I did, I am. I mean, that’s what I said.’ I pause, unsure what to say next.
‘But why? You can’t be serious? Think of all the training you’ve done, you’re just getting started.’
‘No, Amanda, it’s too much, it’s not what I want to do. I’m sorry.’ I suddenly feel bad. After all, Modiste have invested their time into training me and I think Amanda had become quite fond of me in her own little way. There’s a silence.
‘Sophie, have you really thought about this? You are giving up an incredible opportunity. Hundreds of girls would give anything to work for Modiste, to be in your place.’
‘I know,’ I squeak, ‘but not me.’
‘But you’ve got so much potential and you want to throw it all away?’ Amanda is incredulous, disbelieving almost.
‘No, I mean, yes. I think your heart’s got to be in whatever you do, don’t you think?’
‘I believe you make the most of whatever opportunities you’re lucky enough to be offered,’ says Amanda firmly. ‘Your resignation is accepted… if you’re not going to change your mind.’
‘No.’
‘Then I wish you all the best.’
‘Goodbye and… thanks,’ I say sadly, but she’s already gone. And just like that, I’ve done it. I’m free.
I should feel like I’ve thrown away the best opportunity of my life but I don’t. One day in the distant future, maybe I might regret this decision but not right now. For the first time in ages I feel like me, and free, like dancing and skipping with joy with it all.
Over the next few days I make endless lists, write a couple of articles for a local magazine, listen to Chloe rhapsodise over Nick, moan to Mel on the phone, and think about what I’m going to do about the future. Mel is full of the fashion show and I’ve had one brief e-mail from Miffy to say thanks for my article and that it will be in next month’s Modiste. And just like that, my glamorous life in London is over.
My endless applications for editorial positions and copywriting continue to meet with a wall of silence. But I keep trying anyway in the hope that if I persevere, something will come up. It will have to as my share of the rent is due on the flat and I can’t expect Mel to keep footing the bill, though Izzy and Maria are still camping out there at the moment, which will help tide things over.
As the days go on, I begin to feel slightly empty as, although I don’t miss the pretentious rubbish of Modiste, life back at home is pretty mundane. It feels like a huge anti-climax. Chloe is at work or mostly with Nick, which is a good thing of course, I’m pleased for her, but somehow I feel a bit as though there’s still something missing.
‘Come back up here with us for a few days,’ Mel suggests when I speak to her on the phone. ‘We’re all missing you and it sounds like you’ve had enough of your parents’ bickering and Ben’s womanising to last a long while.’
‘You’re right,’ I say gratefully. ‘Tidy up the flat, I’m on my way.’
Later that day, having shoved a few things in my bag and after a two-hour train journey, which involved a bus trip due to works at Basingstoke, I arrive back at the flat, hot and bothered.
I open the door wearily and, ‘Surprise!’ I jump out of my skin as Mel, Izzy, Maria and, to my delight, Emma, all rush to hug me. There’s a banner across the ceiling saying, ‘Welcome home!’ and glasses of fizz at the ready. I’m flabbergasted.
‘Thanks, guys, but what’s going on?’ I gasp, dumping my heavy bags on the floor.
‘It’s a welcome home party for loyal members of The Jane Austen Dating Agency,’ Emma says, laughing.
‘Look, we’ve even got Keep Calm and Read Jane Austen balloons and everything,’ Izzy says proudly.
For a moment I’m speechless, and so pleased to see these girls, they are such good friends.
‘Well, here’s to The Jane Austen Dating Agency,’ I toast. ‘Even though it’s no more, we’re all friends because of it.’
Chapter 37
The next morning I’m wrestling with a long article I’ve been trying to write with suggestions for next month’s Modiste, when there’s a ring at the doorbell. I’m all alone as Mel has gone to a meeting with a colleague of Tim’s who is interested in signing her label, and Izzy and Maria are out. I sidle to the door and peer through the side window, hoping against hope it’s not Lady Constance or Mrs Drummond. I really don’t feel strong enough today to cope with them or Sir Henry Greaves, who might be coming to complain about my part in encouraging Maria’s engagement to Charles.
Thank goodness it’s none of the above, but I still stagger back in surprise. It’s only Darcy Drummond, on my doorstep. He’s looking more rugged and handsome than ever this morning as he hasn’t shaved, but his pale blue shirt and dark trousers are smart, as always. It crosses my mind momentarily to hide and not answer the door, but he rings the doorbell again. It’s as though he knows I’m here.
I give in and open the door. ‘Darcy.’ I smile in a friendly manner.
‘Hi, Sophie, I was passing and wanted to check you’re okay.’
‘Yes, yes I’m fine.’ Passing? Islington is somewhere he’s probably always passing and driving on by.
There’s an awkward silence and I’m not sure whether I should invite him in, so instead I dither and hover on the doorstep undecided. ‘Erm…’ I stumble.
‘Er…’ he says at exactly the same time, and we both laugh. At least it breaks the ice.
‘Are you doing anything today?’ he asks.
‘Yes, I’m working, writing, you know, another article for Modiste.’
‘Of course, yes I saw your feature in this month’s magazine, it’s very good,’ he says, sounding surprised that I can actually write something that might be.
‘I didn’t know you read Modiste?’ I say, raising my eyebrows.
‘I don’t usually, but I thought I might make an exception just this once as I may have a vested interest in it.’
‘Oh?’ I reply, still feeling puzzled.
‘If you’re busy I can go away again, but I wondered if you might like to come for a drive with me. I have something I would like your opinion on.’ Darcy appears unusually diffident and humble. It suits him.