Tony: Rushton "senses" narrative

[set in 1949 – Pamela and Rushton are engaged - Rushton has offered to buy Pamela a dress as a sort of engagement present - not the wedding dress(!)]

It was a late May afternoon in North London.  The rain was easing now – Rushton drew in his umbrella – Pamela stooped to adjust one of her shoes which had caught on a shiny wet paving stone.  The last cool drops of rain insinuated themselves under Rushton’s collar – he brushed them away wearily...

“It’s up this little lane, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes – at the top there...”  Pamela was gazing at a man who passed by wearing striped red and blue trousers and carrying a sumptuous black leather briefcase under one arm.

“What a strange idea!” she mused, following the man with her eyes, as he drew a sparkling blue handkerchief from his pocket, and flapped it open.

“All things are possible, dear,” Rushton brooded.  “What colour did you say this dress was?”

“It’s pink – a sort of gentle pink – I think you’ll like it.”

At last the windows of the little boutique came into view, with the name, “Vivienne’s”, embossed above the door in dainty script.  A silent tableau of radiant figures was displayed behind the window – a young man in resplendent blue blazer with silver buttons, hand in hand with a young, petite girl, whose thoughtful eyes gazed out beneath a fetching wide-brimmed hat.

The door opened as they approached, and a living girl, also petite, smiled at them.

“Hallo, Vivienne!  This is my fiancé, John,” Pamela announced with rosy red cheeks, as she turned to Rushton and almost whispered, “This is Vivienne, darling.”

Rushton, feeling himself under scrutiny, albeit affectionate, smiled congenially as they entered.

“I’ve been invited to see the dress, seeing as I'm the...er, benefactor,” he explained, though he knew, in any case, that he was expected here.  Pamela had already disappeared through a little blue door to the rear of the shop.

“It’s a little unusual,” Vivienne confided.

“So I gather.” Rushton breathed in the scent of cotton, and other, indefinable fragrances.  He stood there, transplanted, as it were, from the terrestrial world outside, at liberty now to gaze at a wistful assortment of feminine things.  Indeed he seemed to have been assumed, bodily, into the temple of femininity itself: head-scarves, floral scarves, shawls, wraps, and an array of hats in delicate pastel shades.  Where was he to begin?

“Here it is!”  Pamela had changed into the new dress and returned.  She was standing in a small alcove opposite them, next to a tall oval mirror.

So there it was!  Rushton found himself suddenly gulping, swallowing for no apparent reason.  His eyes moistened - he blinked rapidly.

There was no doubt that it was her dress.  Coloured gentle pink, as she had said, it was slightly above ankle length, falling in simple folds about her neck and arms, and drawn in slenderly at the waist.

She was telling him, he felt, something about herself with this dress, and something about her feelings for the forthcoming marriage – adventurous yet reflective; beautiful, yet also homely in its measured appeal.

And she was to marry him!  This was what had caught him, unawares.  There was a sweetness in her which outraced all irony, a gentle intent which had surprised him here – here where she was free to be herself.  The colours and the fabrics surrounded her, like hopes and expectations – and somewhere, in all these hints and suggestions, he could sense, by its unique effect upon him, the mystery of love...