Page 23 of The Work Husband

Nadia glanced down at her screen, biting her lip. ‘Ah… Valentina couldn’t make it today – she’s tested positive for Covid. But not to worry, Sebastian had a cancellation so he’s stepped in instead.’

‘Right. Are you sure that’s—’ I began.

Then I heard a chirpy, ‘Good morning, darlings,’ from behind me, and an elfin blond man I’d never met before wafted in. ‘The cavalry has arrived. Are you the lady from Devereaux Partners? We’ve just got time for you to fill me in on your client’s requirements.’

‘Um… this is kind of awkward.’ In my three years at Devereaux Partners, I’d encountered some tricky situations, but this was up with the worst of them. I didn’t want to risk offending Sebastian – but on the other hand, there was the cast-iron certainty of offending my client.

‘Don’t worry, Georgia,’ Nadia said. ‘You’re in good hands. Sebastian is one of our most in-demand stylists.’

‘Sweet of you to say so.’ Sebastian preened. ‘I do my best.’

‘Honestly, I’m sure you’re amazing,’ I said. ‘But I think there might be a problem. The thing is, Ms Kadar is – well, she’s a Saudi woman and an observant Muslim, and I’m not sure whether…’

Nadia and Sebastian exchanged looks, alarm and embarrassment registering in their faces.

Shit, I could see them both thinking.

‘Ah, you’re not sure whether she’s going to want to have me organising her wardrobe,’ Sebastian finished for me.

I shrugged helplessly. There was no better way of summing up the problem than the way he just had. Of course, strictly speaking it was the store’s problem, not mine. But having secured a booking for Zahra Kadar with great difficulty, it was also my job to make sure the whole thing went smoothly.

‘There’s no way we can juggle things around.’ Nadia tapped her keyboard frantically. ‘Everyone else is already with clients. Could we reschedule?’

I shook my head. ‘She’ll be on her way already.’

‘Right.’ Sebastian rubbed his hands together like he was hoping to start a fire between his palms. ‘Time for plan B. The fitting room is completely private, so you go in there with her and bring her the garments to try on. I’ll get my skates on and scour the store for the very best of the best.’

He whisked away, leaving Nadia and me looking at each other dubiously. I was no fashion stylist, and helping a client dress and undress was way out of my comfort zone, but neither of us could think of any alternative.

And even if we’d been able to, it was too late. A woman in a black abaya and niqab was approaching us hesitantly, an orange Hermès Birkin bag hooked over her elbow.

‘Hello! You must be Zahra?’ I greeted her warmly, hoping she’d get no hint of the unfolding crisis her appointment had become. ‘I’m Georgia. We spoke on the phone.’

Although her face was mostly covered, I could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Hi, Georgia. It’s so good to meet you.’

‘As you’re one of Devereaux Partners’ most valued clients,’ I said, laying it on thick, ‘we thought it would be appropriate if I accompany you into the fitting room and give you any assistance you require. If that works for you?’

‘Great!’ She sounded about my age or a bit younger, and from her accent she could have grown up in a posh part of London rather than on the other side of the world. ‘That’ll be so fun. Shall we get cracking?’

We entered the fitting room, and Zahra chucked her bag on the floor like it had cost fifty pounds and not fifty thousand. She kicked off her shoes, and I poured her a glass of chilled sparkling water.

‘Sebastian will be along in just a minute with some outfits for you to try on,’ I said. ‘I’ll bring the rail in here, and we can take a look together.’

She met my eyes and I wondered if she’d guessed that this wasn’t quite the original plan.

But with the same brightness, she just said, ‘That sounds fab,’ and began removing the veil from her face.

Now, I could see that my guess at her age had been correct. She was in her mid-twenties and strikingly pretty, with wide hazel eyes, high cheekbones and perfect white teeth. A gold stud glinted on the left side of her nose.

‘Was there any particular event you were looking for outfits for?’ I asked, hearing Sebastian’s discreet tap on the door and waiting what I hoped was long enough for him to scarper before opening it and wheeling in a groaning rail of clothes, its lower level stacked with shoes and bags.

Zahra looked at the clothes the way I remembered seeing Ava look at Sam all those years ago at university.

‘Mostly, I’ll be wearing them at home,’ she said wistfully. ‘But there’ll be some nights out with my sisters or with my girlfriends. Mum used to say you wear modesty in your heart, but my dad’s really strict. Mum passed away when I was fourteen so he’s in charge now, as well as my uncle and auntie.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I muttered, wondering awkwardly if she’d know that I was sorry about her losing her mum, not about her dad being strict or about her not getting out much.

She rapidly stripped off her black robes then her yoga pants and vest top and stood in front of me in a lacy teal bra and pants, as unselfconscious as if we’d known each other for years. I tried not to let my embarrassment show – presumably Sebastian and his colleagues were used to clients getting their kit off in front of them, but I wasn’t. I lifted a gorgeous peacock-blue silk dress off the rail and held it out to her.