The Cornish Vintage Dress Shop Chapter One
Chapter One
Rosie unlocked the door to The Cornish Vintage Dress Shop after popping out to grab a sandwich for lunch. It was like stepping into the arms of a loved one. Rosie immediately felt her body relax as she breathed in the familiar scent of roses. The smell transported her back to her grandmother’s bedroom. Granny Maeve’s perfume bottle was always on the dressing table and when Rosie was little, she would sneak in and cover herself with the delicious scent. Rosie unwound the scarf from her neck and hung it on the hook in the backroom. She pulled out her sandwich from her pocket and took a bite.
“Hello? Rosemary, are you there?”
Rosie jumped at the interruption. She hadn’t heard the bell as the front door opened. She placed her cheese and chutney sandwich back on the counter. The voice was familiar. It was Wendy from the charity shop up the road. The old post office had closed down a few years ago and so Wendy had converted the building into a treasure trove filled with household items. Thankfully, Wendy didn’t sell clothes. There was no competition between Ives-On-Sea’s Bits “N” Bobs and Rosie’s Cornish Vintage Dress Shop.
“Coming!” she called back. Rosie flicked the few crumbs from her jumper and walked towards the voice. Standing in the middle of her shop was the older lady with three black bin bags at her feet.
“There you are. I have to be quick as I’ve turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’. These just came in with a house clearance. I’ll see you soon, bye!”
“Thanks Wendy!” Rosie called after her, but it was too late. The door had already shut behind her. Wendy often dropped off clothes that came in with a house clearance, and in return, Rosie would give her any unexpected household items that appeared in her auction purchases. They supported each other.
All thoughts of her lunch disappeared as Rosie’s eyes settled on the bags in front of her, each one filled to the brim with strangers’ treasures. She was itching to dive in and look at them. Without pause for thought, Rosie emptied the contents of the first bag onto the floor and gasped. It was beautiful. She ran her fingers over the pile of clothes and sighed in contentment as she picked up a beautiful 1920s beaded dress. It was in exquisite condition, given its age. The blush pink beads sparkled in the overhead light and they let out a soft jingle as they brushed against each other. A handful of them showed signs of wear, but Rosie loved that. It showed that the dress had lived a life. It saddened Rosie to think she would never know the history behind it. Who had worn it? What parties had it been worn to? Rosie forced herself to put the dress back down and return her attention to the other items of clothing. Each piece was special in its own way; the black leather driving gloves to the fur stole. Although Rosie could appreciate the beauty of vintage furs, she refused to sell them in her shop. She would contact her buyer and they would collect them shortly.
After moving the bags of clothes to the storeroom, Rosie picked up the rest of her sandwich and took it onto the shop floor with her, sitting behind the till to eat. Her mind was still thinking about the clothes in the bags. Some items would need altering, others needed mending, and they all needed steaming before she could put them out for sale. Rosie finished her sandwich and took the empty plate back out to the kitchen area. As she walked past the mirror, she caught a glance of herself. She was smiling. Her red curly hair framed her face in a wild mess from the sea breeze, and her freckles were proudly speckled across her face. This Rosie was worlds apart from the woman she was only six months ago, but she was finally feeling happy and confident again. She was free, and there was nobody telling her how she should live her life. Rosie intended to keep it that way. At least she did until her phone bleeped.
There was a message from her mum asking her how the shop was going and if they could come up in a few weeks. A message from her friend in London saying she missed her and asked when she was coming home from her little quarter-life crisis. Rosie chuckled darkly at the message. Her friends all thought she would soon come running to London. The last message sent a chill down Rosie’s spine as she saw who it was from. It was Oliver. Her hands shook as she opened it.
I got a letter from my solicitor today. Do you really want me to sign the papers? I’ve bought a little flat. It will always be your home, too. I love you and miss you. Your Oli xxx.
Rosie felt her heart constrict as she read the words over and over. He could be so charming. When Rosie had met Oliver at a University dance, she had thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. They loved each other dearly, and they worked hard to create their perfect life together. Their friends all aspired to relationships like theirs. How silly they had been to think things were perfect. How silly Rosie had been to think everything had been perfect. She stuffed her phone into the drawer underneath the till and forced herself to concentrate on the shop.
It was early afternoon and she would soon have a few stray tourists peering through the window and wandering into her treasure trove of history. The welcoming warmth of Rosie’s shop drew in lots people, and few left without purchasing a piece of history. The brass bell above the door chimed as a few stragglers walked in. They rubbed their hands, warming themselves up. Rosie watched as they took in the interior; their eyes lit up. The Cornish Vintage Dress Shop was a feast for the senses.
“Good afternoon!” Rosie called, greeting them with a big smile. The two women smiled back at her and wandered over to the display of jewellery that was scattered over the up-cycled sideboard. The jewellery ranged from costume earrings to antique diamond rings, some of which were on loan to the shop, as Rosie couldn’t afford to purchase them. Many of the locals had donated items to help Rosie launch. They knew the shop would benefit their little seaside village and wanted to do everything they could to support it. Their generosity and good nature had overwhelmed Rosie.
Rosie’s heart swelled with pride. She had poured her heart, her soul, and her life savings into this venture. Rosie had spent hours painstakingly deliberating over every inch of the shop. Her past life as an interior designer meant she knew just how to make the shop into the welcoming time capsule that made her heart soar every time she stepped inside. There was the herringbone floor, finished with a walnut stain, which was complimented by the dark wallpaper adorning the walls, covered with floral blooms in muted pinks, blues, yellows, oranges, and whites. It was dramatic — the perfect backdrop to selling snippets of people’s lives. Velvet pink lampshades with tassels hanging from the ceiling flooded the shop with light. Rosie had displayed the vintage clothes, jewellery, shoes, bags, and accessories in several ways. From shelves made of driftwood, an up-cycled antique sideboard, and brass clothes rails. Each allowed the items to take centre stage. The up-cycled furniture had come from a lovely workshop in North Wales. Rosie had bonded with the owner, Alexis, over their love for vintage items. Alexis had helped Rosie find the perfect pieces for both practicality and prettiness.
“How much is this?” The woman dressed in a beautiful fur coat held up a costume brooch in the shape of a flower and scattered with faux pearls. Rosie checked her price list and informed the woman, who immediately decided she had to have it.
As Rosie took the brooch from the woman so she could wrap in some tissue paper, she glanced at the paper tag which was tied to it with a dusky pink ribbon. Each piece in the shop had a note attached detailing as much of its history as possible. Rosie had bought this brooch at an auction in London. There was a little number in the corner showing that there was an accompanying photograph. Rosie pulled out the leather book from below the till.
“Are you here on holiday?” Rosie made small talk as she flicked through the book, looking for the corresponding photograph.
“Yes, we are. Cornwall is so beautiful but we hate the crowds in summer, so we prefer coming in the winter. Ives-On-Sea is stunning all year round and the friendly welcome from the villagers makes up for the bitter cold.” Rosie recognised the smile on the woman’s face. It mirrored how she felt about the place she now called home.
“Here it is.” Photograph number eighty was of a young woman, wrapped in a black coat with the brooch pinned to the front of it. Rosie remembered the story behind this piece. She had been lucky enough to meet a family member at the auction. The picture dated back to 1939 and showed the woman waving her husband off to war. The woman’s great-granddaughter had told her that the brooch had been a present from her husband before he left for war. Tragically, he had died and never returned. The poignancy of the photo never failed to bring tears to Rosie’s eyes.
“What a heartbreaking story,” the woman commented. “Thank you. It means a lot to know the history behind it.” The woman was ecstatic with her purchase and promised to return whenever she was holidaying in the area.
As the door shut, Rosie wiped a stray tear that was slowly making its way down her cheek. She knew all too well the sadness of losing a husband. The feeling of having your heart torn out and trampled upon. Rosie swallowed hard to stop the memories from overcoming her. All the pain and heartbreak had been worth it. Without it, she wouldn’t be here. Now she had her own little slice of heaven on the Cornish coast.
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