Free Threads by Sophia Bennett Page B

never seen the famous red soles close up before. They're very covetable. If he ever makes a flat, cheap, boot version, with laces, I'll be sorely tempted.

    I get home dying to tell everyone about the shoes, and Crow's stuff selling out at the stall, but the chance doesn't come. I find Mum in the kitchen looking all dithery and trying to remember where she's stored the bone china teacups. This can only mean one thing – and it's more momentous than Louboutins.
    Granny has arrived.
    I head gingerly for the sitting room and poke my head round the door.
    Granny is sitting in the largest armchair with her back to the window and the light streaming through her perfect coiffure. Her posture is straight as a ruler, her ankles crossed. Her expression, as usual, is severe.
    ‘I'm staying,’ she says, ‘at the Ritz. At least it has a view of the park. I notice my room here has been commandeered.’
    ‘Hi Granny. Good to see you.’
    ‘What are you wearing, child? You look like a Brillo pad.’
    I'm in a silver net mini that Jenny brought back from LA, worn over a grey tee-shirt dress, with a silver flower in my hair. It could have been a lot worse. Granny wouldn't have liked the romper suit at all.
    ‘Come and give me a kiss.’
    I kiss her powdered cheek, with its signature smell of Arpège. Granny, I have to say, is looking good, as usual. She has first-class cheekbones, the Chatham speedy metabolism – so no spare fat – an expensive hairdresserand an innate knowledge of what suits her. Today she's in a tailored purple cotton dress accessorised with a massive turquoise necklace and purple patent Bally heels.
    ‘Like the outfit, Granny.’
    ‘Of course you do, darling. You have taste. Or you will shortly, when you grow out of this metallic phase. I've come to meet your friend Crow. Your mother has told me all about her. By the way, Sally's taking an age to make tea and I've been here for hours. Will you be so kind as to introduce me?’
    I'm a bit surprised. Granny doesn't usually ask to meet my friends. She wasn't remotely interested when Jenny came back from her first trip away shooting with Hollywood's Hottest Couple, and only talks to her because she met Sir Lionel at a few house parties in the seventies. She's tried to make an effort with Edie, but having established that they don't have any friends or relatives in common, she quickly ran out of things to say. Edie thinks Granny is a certifiable loony and doesn't like to be left in a room with her, which doesn't exactly make for a great relationship. So what Granny's going to make of a little black girl who lives with her aunt in a flat off Gloucester Road, I can't imagine.
    Nevertheless, I'm curious. I'm about to take Granny downstairs when I realise that Crow's been standing behind me all the time, observing Granny from the shadows with a sort of half smile. So I bring her into the room and Granny holds out her hands.

    ‘Darling child! What a pleasure! Sally has been telling me all about you. I've been looking at those beautiful drawings you do. I sense the influence of Dior and Balenciaga. Are you a great fan of Dior?’
    ‘Yes,’ Crow whispers, sitting at Granny's feet. She doesn't know this, but it happens to be the perfect thing to do. Granny was brought up in an age when children sat at their elders’ feet and looked up at them adoringly. We, of course, tend to curl up on the sofa and eye people like Granny a bit suspiciously, which doesn't go down so well.
    ‘My mother bought one of the original New Look designs in forty-seven. Do you know,’ Granny goes on, ‘when I was a girl I wore Dior regularly to all the best places? Oh, those Paris fittings! What a joy!’
    ‘Did you know Yvette Mansard?’ Crow asks eagerly. ‘She worked for Dior.’
    ‘Yvette?’ Granny thinks for a minute. ‘In the atelier flou? She specialised in dresses, didn't she? She was a legend. Is she still alive? She must be ninety.’
    ‘She's ninety-two. She's been teaching