An elderly woman stepped into an upscale bridal boutique in London, where the air smelled of silk and entitlement. Nigel, the shop assistant, adored extravagancegleaming tiaras, gowns stitched with gold threadyet his heart was stitched with something far less lovely.
One drowsy afternoon, while Harrods down the road swarmed with shoppers, the boutique lay quiet. Only Nigel and his colleague, Beatrice, lingered between the mannequins.
Then in shuffled Editha woman whose tweed coat had seen more seasons than Nigel had birthdays. Her silver hair was tousled by the wind, not styled by a Mayfair salon. But Edith had never fretted over appearances; kindness was her currency, and her modest job as a librarian rarely led her past Bond Streets glittering windows.
Still, for her summer wedding, she fancied something extraordinary.
Nigel glanced up, smirked, and returned to scrolling through his mobile. Blimey, he whispered to Beatrice. Think she took a wrong turn on her way to the charity shop? Look at those shoes. Tragic.
Thats unkind, Beatrice chided. Help her properly, or I will. She vanished into the back, leaving Nigel to his disdain.
Edith approached, her smile gentle. Excuse me, young manmight you assist me?
With what? he snapped, thumb still tapping his screen.
Id like to try some wedding dresses. Im getting married in
Listen, love, Nigel cut in, sighing as if burdened. Lets not waste time. Judging by your aesthetic, youd be better off at Primark. They do lovely polyester.
Ediths eyes twinklednot with hurt, but something sharper. Oh? Youve deduced my entire life from a wrinkled skirt?
Call it professional intuition, Nigel said, shrugging.
Just then, the door chimed. In strutted a woman draped in designer labels, her hair as sleek as a racecar. Nigel sprang up, grinning like a lottery winner. Darling! Welcome! How may we spoil you today?
Beatrice reappeared, took one look at Ediths resigned expression, and swooped in. Ignore him. Nowwhats your vision?
Something magical, Edith confessed. For my wedding in Cornwall this August.
Beatrice led her to a gown so exquisite it seemed spun from moonlight. Meanwhile, the influencer snapped selfies in seven dresses, then announced, Actually, Im just here for the gram. Ta-ta!
Nigel gaped. Youyoure not buying anything?
She winked. Followers dont pay for themselves, pet.
As she flounced out, Nigel turnedand froze. At the till, Edith counted out crisp £50 notes, purchasing the most lavish dress in the shop. Then she slipped Beatrice an envelope. For your kindness, she murmured.
Nigels jaw dropped. Thatsthats five thousand quid!
Funny, Edith mused. A moment ago, I was love in a Primark frock.
Nigel sputtered. II didnt realiseif Id known
Known what? That my fiancé owns half of Chelsea? Assumptions are dreadfully unwise, Nigel.
Beatrice bit back a laugh. Ediths marrying a widowed tycoon. She nursed him after his yacht accidentnever guessed he was loaded till he proposed.
Nigels face burned like a bad sunburn.
That August, Beatrice danced at Ediths seaside wedding, where champagne flowed like the tide. Nigel? He was left with a lesson:
Judge a book by its cover, and youll miss the plot twist.
