The Exciting Life by Karen Mason Page A

of
finishing school. Iris guessed she would either be a complete
push-over or else it would be like penetrating a steel
wall.
    ‘ Can I help you?’ the receptionist asked in a snooty
voice.
    ‘ Yes, can I see Mr Silver please?’
    ‘ Can I ask what it’s about?’
    ‘ I’m from Tanner Beresford, the charity. Mr Silver is a patron
of ours.’
    ‘ Oh, I see. Take the stairs to the first floor. Mr Silver’s
room is at the end of the corridor.’
    Like taking candy from a baby Iris
smiled to herself as she headed for the concrete stairs at the back
of the lobby. At the top, she walked along the narrow corridor
until she passed an open door and spotted a small, dark-haired man
sitting hunched over a drawing board. She gave a polite knock and
he looked up. He reminded Iris of a little pixie, with his close
cropped hair and elfin features.
    ‘ Hello?’ he asked in a light, breathy, camp voice.
    ‘ Are you Ralf?’
    ‘ Yes.’
    She
walked into the room and noticed another drawing board opposite him
– indicating that he shared the room with someone. But it was not
occupied for now, so at least they had some privacy.
    ‘ My name’s Iris Lindholm. Tansy Topham gave me your
name.’
    ‘ Tansy,’ he gasped, standing up. Iris almost giggled to see he
was even shorter than her - no more than five foot three she would
guess. ‘How is she?’
    ‘ Same as ever. Is it alright to talk?’
    ‘ Course it is Iris. Pull up a pew.’
    As he
spoke more, Iris detected a Welsh accent. But he seemed to be doing
all he could to hide it. It seemed everyone was ashamed of where
they came from – except Kenneth Holland.
    Iris
fetched the chair that was by the other drawing board, and placed
it close to Ralf. She sat upon it, and looked at the sketch on his
board of a lady in a very conservative-looking dress.
    ‘ Tansy tells me this isn’t the usual thing you
design.’
    ‘ Well it’s how I make my living. Why do you ask?’
    ‘ I’m holding a fashion show at my boyfriend’s nightclub. It’s
in aid of charity, so I can’t pay the designer who supplies the
clothes. But it would give them free publicity.’
    ‘ And you want me?!’ Ralf gasped, dramatically clutching his
chest.
    ‘ What sort of things do you design?’
    He
didn’t reply, but instead got up and practically ran to the end of
the room. He opened one of the fitted cupboards, and Iris saw that
it was a wardrobe and from it, Ralf fetched a dress. As he brought
it over to her, she saw it was quite something. It was made from
dark red corduroy - halter-necked with a pinched waist and a full
skirt. The style and the fabric it was made from didn’t match, but
somehow it worked and made it more interesting.
    ‘ I ran it up one lunchtime from some spare material,’ he
enthused. ‘What do you think? Is it the sort of thing you’re
looking for?’
    ‘ It’s wonderful,’ she said, fingering the needle thin corduroy.
‘Is it typical of the sort of things you make?’
    ‘ I like to use heavy fabrics and jewels. I love
jewels.’
    ‘ Alright,’ Iris said. ‘Why don’t we meet properly and you can
show me more of your work? This dress is perfect.’
    ‘ Of course they can’t know about any of this, here,’ Ralf said.
‘I’d get in terrible trouble for moonlighting.’
    ‘ I’m the sole of discretion,’ Iris smiled. ‘Secrets are my
speciality.’

Chapter Seven
     
    Late May
1959
     
    Annie
wasn’t sure why she objected to this fashion show. It was a chance
for her to impress her brother, and show the world that Bruno’s
wasn’t just some sleazy dive. But what sat badly with her was that
Iris had cooked the whole thing up with Kenneth. And instead of
using it as a chance for Annie to showcase her shoes, they had
asked the supremely irritating Ralf Silver to design the clothes;
and the models were providing their own shoes! Annie wasn’t sure
about Iris, but she knew Kenneth like the back of her hand and
guessed he was enjoying every minute of rubbing