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The Vintage Cinema Club
JANE LINFOOT
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
Copyright
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Jane Linfoot 2015
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover design by Jane Harwood
Jane Linfoot asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or
stored in or introduced into any information storage and
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whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereinafter invented, without the express
written permission of HarperCollins.
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780008119355
Version: 2016-10-17
Praise for Jane Linfoot
'For those that like Sophie Kinsella style books, this is a cute story about a guy determined to prove he won’t fall for a woman…'
Cosmochicklitan on How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates
'A hot as hell, sexy and enticing story.'
After the Final Chapters on How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates
'Flirty, sexy and impossible to put down.'
Becca's Books on High Heels & Bicycle Wheels
'A delightful romance.'
The Book Lover's Best Friend on High Heels & Bicycle Wheels
'Funny, fast-paced and emotionally fulfilling, this book has firmly placed her onto my must read shelf.'
I am, Indeed on The Right Side of Mr Wrong
'I freaking LOVED this book!'
Crystal Blogs Books on The Right Side of Mr Wrong
This one’s for Sophie…
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for Jane Linfoot
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 59
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Acknowledgements
Also by Jane Linfoot …
Jane Linfoot
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
1
Tuesday Afternoon, 3rd June
IZZY, LUCE & DIDA
Vintage at the Cinema, Matlock
Birthdays and Bubbles
‘So a few words, to celebrate our achievements, before we get on to the cake.’ Dida gave a toss of her head as she cleared her throat. Then she stamped her foot to get the attention of the people gathered in the shop, although to be fair, most of them already had their eyes fixed on this powerhouse in red, standing up there, on her makeshift soap box. Waving her bubbly in the air, she grinned down at Izzy and Luce.
Izzy glanced up at the banner high above Dida’s head, fluttering in the breeze from the open door. Happy Third Birthday to Vintage at the Cinema, and that retro turquoise font they’d gone for looked fab.
Dida might well have had a champagne flute grafted to her hand at birth. Whatever the occasion, she managed to involve Moet & Chandon. It was the same with her ever present high heels. Izzy grimaced at the wooden box Dida had grabbed as her temporary stage. Good thing it was already distressed, as Dida’s Manolo Blahniks were stabbing a hundred tiny indentations in the top as she teetered on her five inch stilettos.
‘So Vintage at the Cinema is three today, and it’s been an amazing journey. Three years since my other half accidentally acquired the cinema building…’ Dida paused for the fleeting grimace that passed over her face every time she mentioned awful Aidie, the husband from hell. She certainly had her hands full being married to that guy, even if they’d all benefitted from this particular impulse buy of his. Getting hold of a building he had no interest in, in some very dodgy deal, was Aidie all over. Dida snatching and commandeering the abandoned cinema building had been a gift for all of them.
She took a slurp of champers, and carried on. ‘Three years ago, Luce, Izzy and I decided to set up a pop up shop in the empty cinema, selling the vintage things we all love so much.’
Luce gave Izzy a nudge, and slipped her a sideways smile. Izzy swallowed down the lump that always came in her throat when she thought how proud she was of her best friend Luce for nailing being a single mum, and launching her vintage dress business at the same time, all thanks to the lucky break of Vintage at the Cinema. Before that they’d both come back from uni, armed with their art degrees, Luce with the additional bundle of baby Ruby, and slipped straight back into their default setting jobs at the coffee shop, where they’d worked before they left. Before the cinema, the furthest Luce and Izzy had got with their creative careers, were occasional stalls at craft fairs. But somehow with Dida, the three of them together had found the momentum to do amazing things. A pop up shop had been much less scary than committing to a lease, and given a risk free opportunity, they’d finally dared to do the things they’d been dreaming of for years.
‘And the rest is history.’ Dida paused for dramatic effect, neatly fast forwarding over all the slog and toil that had gone in along the way. ‘But we couldn’t have pulled this off on our own. Our success is also down to all of our lovely friends and fellow sellers, who joined in with us to make this the fabulous emporium it is today, and of course all our wonderful customers.’ Dida waved her glass towards the crowd in an expansive arc, before knocking back another gulp.
Dida had come a long way too, even if the income made less of an impact on her domestic finances than those of Luce and Izzy. It wasn’t that she’d had ever grumbled previously about being a stay at home mum, managing a home which might have been super-sized on steroids, and a husband as capricious as a stormy day in spring. But Vintage at the Cinema had given her something else to focus on by taking her away from the hell that was her home life. These days Dida glowed with a new found confidence and zest for life she’d never had three years ago.
Looking around the shop now, Izzy knew she’d personally excelled herself with the preparations for this birthday bash. Flowery bunting mingled with the twinkly chandeliers, soaring across the lofty space, above the gorgeous creams and greys of painted cupboards and dressing tables and dressers below. Artful piles of trunks and suitcases nestled against cascades of vintage fabric, and every shelf was decked out with an array of beautifully displayed objects, like a series of arty still life paintings. There wasn’t a corner of the shop that didn’t look as if it had come from the pages of a glossy up market country homes magazine.
Izzy and Luce had first met Dida at art college, when they were eighteen, and she was a thirty something, desperate to find some sanity after having her first baby. The friendship was cemented when Dida and Luce rocked up at the same ante-natal class, having Lolly and Ruby, who were sitting together on the counter now, fingers entwined, swinging their legs. Ruby caught Izzy’s eye as she gazed around, and her little wave made Izzy’s tummy turn over.
Ruby was so like Luce, all pale slender beauty, in her flowery shorts, snuggled in next to the vision of frills in pink fluo net that was Lolly, Dida’s daughter. Whereas Dida got the champagne flute, Lolly had exited the birth canal complete with diamanté tiara. Izzy knew without asking the battle that would have gone on at Alport Towers, Dida’s home, this morning, over Lolly’s insistence on day glow pink and orange glitter wellies.
Her friend was in full flow now. ‘We were the first vintage shop, and as others followed, Matlock has become the retro shopping destination in Derbyshire.’
Izzy and Luce exchanged indulgent smiles. Dida was extending the short and punchy she’d agreed on for her speech, but they had pulled off something spectacular here, and just for once Izzy was enjoying a few minutes of basking in the glory. After the way her dad had treated her mum when he left, all Izzy had wanted was a means to make her way in life, without having to rely on a partnership with a guy who might up and leave at any moment. What seemed at the beginning like a happy accident of a retro shop, had gone a long way to giving her that independence, and she had her wonderful friends Luce and Dida to thank for that.
‘So thanks to Byron from Corks, for the wonderful cocktails we love so much, Gigi at Amandine’s Patisserie for keeping us supplied with delicious tarts especially the blue berry ones, to Evan at Majestic Wine, please don’t count the Moet bottles…’
Izzy gave a wry grin, and noted that Aidie’s name didn’t appear anywhere on Dida’s ever growing list.
Dida bashed on. ‘…and huge hugs to my mum and dad, I am so, so, so grateful…’
Talk about out of control at the Oscars. Izzy knew Dida’s mum was a total nightmare. Dida was doing a Gwynnie here. It was time to cut to the cake.
Izzy put on a five hundred watt beam, and chimed in. ‘So, shall we raise our glasses, and do confectionary?’ She gave Dida’s hip a large nudge, and nodded in the direction of the glorious tower of cupcakes, decorated with roses and lace, in sludgy blues and pinks and creams.
Luce had Izzy’s back. ‘Great idea.’ She added with her own wide grin.
‘Okay, so to sum up…’ Dida took a deep breath, her voice wavering now. ‘Vintage at the Cinema represents three women – Izzy, Luce and I – and we have worked our butts off to create something truly unique, that surpasses all our hopes and dreams.’ Dida wrapped her arms around Luce and Izzy, and pulled them against her.
Tears welled up in Izzy’s eyes at that last bit, and despite her best attempts to control it, her bottom lip began to wobble, as all the love she felt for Luce and Dida burst up in her chest. She was only saved from full blown howling by an overpowering blast of Dida’s Diorissimo, and the pain in her shoulder, as Dida squeezed her tight enough for the linen of Dida’s jacket to graze her skin.
‘So let’s raise our glasses, to the very awesome Vintage at the…’
Dida held her glass high, but before she could say the final word, a loud mechanical sound reverberated through the shop.
A shadow flickered across Dida’s beatific smile. ‘What the hell is going on out there…? Can someone please tell whoever that is, this is not the time for hammer drills.’
Izzy, peering past the crowd, could make out a ladder propped up on the pavement beyond the shop doorway.
As the crew moved towards the door and peered out, Luce got there first. ‘What are those two huge for sale signs propped against the window for?’ Her brow creased into a worried frown.
Dida staggered down from her trunk, and elbowed her way out onto the pavement. Then she grabbed an umbrella from a flower pot, rapped hard on the ladder with the handle, and shouted to the man above. ‘Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?’
‘98 Derwent Street, Commercial Freehold For Sale.’ The man said, glowering down from ten feet up and sounding casually confident.
Dida’s jaw dropped, but she squared her shoulders, ignored the collective gasp behind her, and shouted up. ‘I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.’
Izzy’s heart plummeted. She knew Dida’s husband, Aidie, was ruthless, but surely he wouldn’t do this to them. Although on second thoughts, this stunt had Aidie written all over it. From his snarky comments whenever he was around, which happily wasn’t that often, he clearly resented Dida’s growing independence. His wife’s success was a direct threat to a control freak husband like Aidie, and selling the building was a fast forward way to wrestle back his power, simultaneously wiping the floor with all of them. And if he was hell bent on bursting Dida’s bubble, in the most spectacular and public way possible, his timing was impeccable.
‘Definitely no mistake.’ The workman up the ladder sounded very sure of himself. ‘Don’t blame me, I’m only doing my job.’ His shrug and weary sigh suggested this happened a lot, then his tone became conciliatory. ‘Best ring the agents love, they’ll clear it up for you.’
Izzy, feet welded to the pavement, by a mixture of shock, and panic watched Dida bristle. She hated being called ‘love’.
‘Eldon and Trellis. Right. I’ll do that now.’ Dida’s growl was ferocious. ‘I hope you realise you’re wasting your time up there, you’ll be back in half an hour to take it down.’
Fighting talk, and good on Dida for not taking it lying down, but Izzy, whose stomach was languishing somewhere at pavement level, wasn’t so sure.
Dida bustled back through the shop waving her mobile. ‘So sorry about this, carry on with the cupcakes. One minute, I’ll sort this out.’
Nice try, but nothing flattened bubbly faster than bad news. Realistically, this party was over.
Izzy, Luce and Dida threaded their way past the customers, as they discarded their plastic champagne flutes on the counter next to the untouched cupcake tower, and discretely began to disperse. Izzy’s heart was racing, and she wasn’t sure if her shaking knees were due to anger or pure fear. Dida might have pulled off an upbeat exit to the kitchen, but Izzy had caught the wild whites of her eyes as she passed. The gash of her red lipped grimace reminded Izzy of the face in Munch’s The Scream, and it was enough for Izzy to know that Vintage at the Cinema was in big trouble here. And that had to be awful news for all of them.
2
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
IZZY
A building site in Bakewell
The downside of upcycling
‘Hey, you! Get out of my skip.’
Izzy froze, rammed her shoulder against the rusty metal container side, and crouched lower, cringing as the male voice resonated above her head and echoed across the building site.
Damn it. She kicked herself for coming back for one last look, when she should have got away. In some ways this afternoon’s bombshell news that the cinema building was up for sale made it more important than ever for her to get her hands on stock. They weren’t going to give up, they were going to fight to survive, and tonight’s skip raid was a symbol of that determination. Ever since she, Dida and Luce had launched Vintage at the Cinema, they’d dreamed of a time when business would be booming, and it was ironic that now it was actually happening, it looked as if it might be snatched away.
Something about tonight’s desperation spun Izzy back to the time when she’d first discovered the joys of skip scavenging, when her mum walked out on her dad. With four kids and an empty flat, skips had provided Izzy with most of her bedroom furniture. Those fledgling finds had kick started Izzy’s love of rescuing what other people threw away. It turned out she had a flair for making old, unwanted things beautiful. At least one good thing had come out of her parents’ break up, and the talents she’d discovered back then had exploded with the opportunity of Vintage at the Cinema.
A stripped out cinema building was a big place to fill, especially when the furniture you put in there was flying out as fast as it went in. But ending up on a building site, in a skip, with some guy yelling at you, wasn’t the best of places to spend a Wednesday evening.
‘Oi! I said move it!’ He was still there then.
Izzy shuddered. Luce, always teased her about her compulsion for searching through skips, but it was true that Izzy found it very hard, if not impossible to pass a skip without diving into it. In her experience, there was often treasure to be found, but right now, with an angry man bearing down on her, she was wishing she hadn’t let that last glance into the second, almost empty skip, entice her. She closed her hand around the small carved plaster cherub she’d found lurking at the bottom. Dusk was no time to get caught in the act, even if she had okayed it with the builders earlier.
‘Think you can come round breaking my windows do you, just because the house is empty?’ Enter one apoplectic guy, who’d totally got the wrong end of the stick. He didn’t sound too close, but he only had to walk across, and peer over the skip edge, and she’d be done for. ‘Did you hear me? I know you’re there.’
Fierce and well spoken – they were the worst sort. Izzy grimaced, braced herself for trouble, and began to unfold her legs. Time to face whatever was coming her way. It was a daily hazard of skulking round skips – sometimes it was inevitable, you pissed people off. And Izzy couldn’t bear to see old pieces with the potential to be pretty being tossed away. It broke her heart to think of lovely old things being smashed up by ignorant people who didn’t know any better. As she saw it, she was on a rescue mission here, and no one in their right mind would object to that, once they saw reason. Although from the way Mr Shouty was limbering up, she wasn’t sure reason was going to have much to do with this.
Slowly, she unfolded, to get a peep at what she was dealing with here, and as her nose drew level with the skip edge, she got a full frontal view of the man she was annoying. Talk about chiselled cheekbones. Add in eyes the colour of darkness, a body that would have made most women she knew ache to peel off his well-cut clothes, and for a fraction of a nano second she fell resoundingly, heart-stoppingly, scorchingly in love. She’d always wondered what her friends meant when they talked about thunderbolts, and now she knew. Before she could say “oh my sweet Jesus”, her lips had parted, and she was letting out a long, wavering sigh.
Smitten or what?
‘You little vandal.’ The guy’s scowl darkened as he whipped his growl into overdrive. ‘I won’t tolerate trespassing scumbags, get off my site, and I mean now.’
Phew. That went some way to blasting away the cupid dust.
Izzy straightened, poked her head and then her shoulders above the edge of the skip, and watched with satisfaction as the guy’s jaw dropped. That would be surprise. And then his gaze honed in on her cleavage. That would be…
Oh shit. Nothing like eye-glue stuck on your boobs to give a girl yet another reality check. And her reality was the one where love and men were top of her Things-To-Avoid list. Yay! to Awful Alistair, who had messed with her heart for three years before stomping on it with the “it’s not you it’s me” thing, throwing in the added rider of “but you are coming over quite possessive” when what it turned out he really meant was he’d been shagging someone else for months. Enough said about that one.
Meanwhile, there was no point wasting her time explaining to this perfect specimen in his impeccably cut suit that she had okayed all this with the builders here earlier in the day. She shuddered to think what his reaction would be, if he knew her van was round the corner, full of things she’d dragged out of his other skip, only minutes before. Driving a van plastered with signs saying “Vintage at the Cinema, Everything Retro” might be great for publicity on a day to day basis, but it was hardly going to help her make an anonymous getaway.
The knot in her stomach tightened. She liked to think of herself as cool in the face of provocation, not that Luce would agree with that, but his unwarranted verbal attack had sent her almost as apoplectic as him.
Behind him, parked next to the house, she glimpsed the over-blown tank of a car he’d just arrived in. Nothing like a gas guzzler to add fuel to her fire. So, not only was he rude and aggressive, he was also that arrogant type who thought he could rule the road, as well as the world, by swanning round in one of those “the rest of humanity can fuck off” vehicles. Izzy always saved her most savage contempt for that kind of guy.
She might be in his skip, behind his hedge, on his building site, but he had it coming to him.
‘If you weren’t such a wasteful and ignorant prat, people like me wouldn’t have to go round rescuing the perfectly good stuff you’d discarded, would we?’ Catching another glimpse of the half renovated house in the background, with piles of discarded floorboards in front of it, gave her a second wind. ‘People like you, who rip the guts out of everything, with complete insensitivity, deserve a lot worse than thieving vandals.’
As she paused for breath, teeth clenched, she noticed he was scrutinising her, and that the thunder on his face had moved on like a passing storm. Wonders never ceased, but she suspected it was her chest popping into view that was responsible. Sad to say, she found her D cups often smoothed the way, although she always preferred to make her progress on a gender neutral footing, on the basis of her own merits. It was a depressing fact of life that some men were remarkably a) shallow and b) susceptible, and Mr Shouty was obviously one of them.
‘So, it’s a female dumpster-diver – and dressed for a party too.’ His tone had morphed from angry to mocking, as he strode across and peered in at her.
Izzy glanced down at her frock. Okay, maybe her flowery fifties tea dress was a bit close fitting, and it might be incongruous, but was there really the need for the attitude? She was only picking up a few bits and bobs – well a van full actually, but that was beside the point. It should have been a piece of cake, in a skirt and heels, without this unwelcome spectator.
‘So what? Are you telling me there’s a dress code now?’ She swished her skirt, and an unintentionally vigorous jerk of her head dislodged her hair comb, and next thing her unruly curls were cascading across her face. Damn. Now she was essentially fighting with one eye.
‘Marilyn Munroe curves, and a red head? Who’d have thought?’ He was almost laughing now.
One raised eyebrow? Curves? She needed to close this down.
‘Whoa, can we cut the sexual harassment?’
Her protest seemed to work, because he baulked momentarily, blinked, and when he looked up again the lust had reverted to bad temper.
‘You’re on my land, you’re invalidating my insurance cover.’ His glare sent her insides onto fast-spin. ‘Just get out before I throw you out.’
Izzy took that as a dismissal. Great, time to go.
She put her hands on the skip edge and pushed, but nothing happened. She tried again, scrabbled with her feet, and winced as the lemon leather of her pointy shoes scraped down the skip side. Authentic fifties footwear hadn’t been the best choice.
She’d got into the skip by climbing on a pile of pallets, then dropping over the side, with no thought to getting out. Now the sides of the skip had her trapped, like a hedgehog in a cattle grid. Clenching her teeth, and forcing her shoulders down, she let out an exasperated sigh.
The guy’s hands were on his hips now, resting on his high end leather belt.
‘Get on with it then.’
Could he not see she was trying to? His attitude was definitely not attractive, she noted. Except he was. He was horribly attractive in fact. Everything about him, from his stubble shadowed jawline to his muscular thighs tensing against the grey wool of those über expensive suit trousers, screamed SEXY, with the caps lock on. She gave herself a mental kick. What the hell was she thinking? After Awful Alastair, she was steering clear of men. Especially men with choppy brown hair, and definitely arrogant gits like this one. Her resolve was strengthened now she was well on her way to the financial independence she’d always craved. She bit her lip, and blew again.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
His gravelly voiced query sent goosebumps scurrying up her arms, hotly pursued by a large dose of self-disgust. She was in the shit here on every level, and it was time to admit defeat.
‘Actually, I can’t get out.’
She lowered her eyes, tried to swallow the shame-faced words, desperate not to acknowledge the gleeful sneer chasing across that disgustingly beautiful face of his.
‘Not so stroppy now, then.’ He gave a low grunt that might have been a laugh. ‘What do you suggest? Shall I come to help you, or will I get accused of sexual harassment?’ His tone was lazy, and he didn’t move, but the flash of humour in his eyes had Izzy’s heart skipping a beat.
‘Just sling me a pallet, stop gloating, and shut up. Please.’ She watched him stroll forward, grasp a pallet, and swing it high into the air with brutal ease. A hollow clang rang out as the wood thumped down on the skip base, and sent reverberations through the soles of her feet.
‘Thank you.’ She pulled herself up to her full five foot four inches. Then grasping the pallet, she heaved it into position against the skip side, and checked out its stability with one foot.
‘Careful. If you’ve invalidated my public liability cover, I don’t want any accidents.’
God, this guy was a stuffed-shirt. She let out another impatient snort. ‘If you don’t stop going on about insurance, I might have to squash you on my way down.’ And it was bad news that he made her even more insolent than usual, but at least she hadn’t sworn at him yet. She already owed Luce, and her Customer Service Initiative swear box a bomb as it was.
Izzy clambered up the pallet, nudged her way onto the skip edge, and it was just too bad that her skirt was riding up somewhere around her bottom as the guy looked up. She really hadn’t planned to give him an eyeful of underwear.
