Rescuing Rose. Isabel Wolff

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СКАЧАТЬ around the Windsmoor concession in Debenhams the following Saturday. ‘How about this?’ I held up a stretch lace, high-necked blouse. He cocked his head to one side.

      ‘I’d prefer a scoop neckline,’ he said.

      ‘Not advisable – you’ve got a hairy chest.’ I showed him a red crushed velvet jacket – size twenty. ‘This take your fancy?’ He shook his head.

      ‘So what happens with these calls?’ he asked as I riffled through a rack of large frocks. ‘Do they speak to you?’

      ‘No they don’t. All I hear is heavy breathing.’

      ‘Oh, nasty. So what do you do?’

      ‘I do what I advise my readers to do. I don’t speak to them, or try and engage them in conversation, and I don’t blow a whistle down the phone. I simply wait a few seconds, say absolutely nothing, then quietly put down the phone. They want you to react Henry – that’s why they do it; so it’s much better to spoil their fun. Eventually the tiny-minded wankers realise that they’re wasting their time and they stop.’

      ‘How many calls have there been so far?’

      ‘I’ve had four in the last two weeks. It’s not that many but it’s unnerving and it makes me feel jumpy about answering the phone. How about this?’ I held up a blue floral skirt the size of a windbreak. He pulled a face.

      ‘Too chintzy. Well if it carries on then complain.’

      ‘I probably will, but to be honest I’m so busy and it all takes time. No, not that bubble-gum pink Henry, it’s much too “Barbie” – try this fuchsia. But no shoulder pads, okay?’

      ‘Okay. And do you press 1471 afterwards?’

      ‘Of course, but it always says that the number’s been withheld.’

      ‘Hmm,’ he murmured, ‘that’s significant.’

      ‘I know it is. It’s beginning to bother me,’ I added as we passed through Separates on our way to Eveningwear to the sound of synthesised ‘Jingle Bells’. ‘But until they say something malicious or threatening it’s rather hard to complain.’

      ‘Perhaps it’s Ed?’ Henry suggested as he surreptitiously fingered a taffeta ball gown.

      ‘I doubt it. It’s not his style. In any case he doesn’t even have my new number – we’ve been on total non-speakers since our split.’

      ‘I still think you should check.’

      ‘But how? I can hardly ring him up and say, “Hi Ed, this is Rose. I was just wondering if you’ve been making nuisance phone calls to me lately.” Anyway, I know it’s not him.’

      ‘Have you fallen out with anyone lately?’ Henry asked.

      ‘Not that I can think of, although…I did have a bit of a run in with a mad woman on my phone-in the other week.’

      ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I heard her. I must say she sounded a bit of a brute.’

      ‘And she’s convinced I advised her husband to leave her; she said I’d be “sorry,” so maybe it’s her. Though God knows how she got my number.’

      ‘That’s the trouble with what you do,’ Henry said as he held a pink feather boa under his stubbled chin, ‘you get some weird people contacting you.’

      ‘I know. Now I think you’d look lovely in this,’ I went on as I pulled out a black bias-cut silk satin dress. ‘Ooh, and it’s got thirty per cent off!’

      ‘Really?’ he said.

      ‘Yeah, shall we give it a whirl?’ He nodded enthusiastically and we headed off to the fitting room.

      ‘That’s not your size Madam,’ said the sales assistant peremptorily, ‘it’s a twenty, I’d say you’re a ten.’

      ‘But I like things nice and loose. My husband will be coming into the cubicle with me,’ I added briskly, ‘as he always likes to see what I buy.’

      We pulled the curtain shut and Henry quickly undressed. Then he strapped on a pair of silicone-jelly breasts he’d got from Transformation, and struggled into the dress. As I did up the zip he looked at his reflection and sighed with happiness.

      ‘Oh yes!’ he said, turning this way and that, ‘it’s just so…me.’ He looked like a gorilla in a ball gown. That hairy back! ‘What accessories should I wear?’

      ‘A velvet scarf maybe, or some pearls. Or better still, a choker, to cover your Adam’s apple. And you’ll need some black tights, sixty denier at least unless you’re prepared to shave.’

      ‘Can’t I have fishnets?’

      ‘No, Henry. Too tarty.’

      ‘Really?’ He looked disappointed.

      ‘Yes, really. Your mother would be horrified.’

      ‘That’s true.’

      He bought a sparkly handbag and then we went down to cosmetics on the ground floor.

      ‘Were the Beaumont Society helpful?’ I enquired sotto voce as we perused the make-up.

      ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘they were great. They told me how to avoid being “read” when I go out.’

      ‘You’re not planning to wear this stuff in public are you?’ I whispered.

      ‘Not at work, no; I might get the hem caught in my tank. But, who knows,’ he breathed, ‘when I’m on leave, if I’m feeling daring, I might.’

      ‘But you’re six foot one Henry!’

      ‘So are you!’

      ‘But I’m feminine.’

      ‘Well you’re not the only one!’

      ‘Now, your skin-tone is fair,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘I think you’ll need this Leichner extra-thick foundation to hide the five o’clock shadow and of course translucent powder – pressed or loose? Coral lipstick, rather than red, would suit you for that English Rose look, and eye-liner should be navy not black. We’d better get you a good pair of tweezers too while we’re here and something to minimise those pores.’

      ‘Christ, you’re right,’ he said, as he peered, horrified, into an adjacent mirror. ‘They’re the size of a grapefruit’s. And I need a wig and some scent.’

      ‘I think you should go for something really feminine, like Ô de Lancôme or Femme.’

      We emerged from the store two hours later with six large carrier bags, Henry beaming from ear to ear.

      ‘You’ll look ravishing in that lot,’ I said as he hailed a cab. ‘Really gorgeous.’

      ‘Gosh thanks, Rose. You’re a real sport.’

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