“Quite something,” she commented sympathetically. “You handled yourself pretty well, though.”

“You think so?” he asked hopefully. “I couldn’t believe it when she walked in. I didn’t know where to look. As God is my witness, I did not know where to look.”

“Well, you never know,” said Emma. “If things go the way they seem to be, you might be seeing more like her in future.”

He shuddered, turning faintly pale.

“I hope not,” he said. “Did you see the legs on her?”

“Um …” Curiosity now aroused, Emma turned to peer from the window. He sprang ahead of her, blocking her view.

“Don’t look,” he advised. “It’ll haunt your dreams. No wonder her agent keeps sending her for period parts. And she wanted to buy the Josephine! I do not know what we are coming to.”

He bustled to the back of the shop and rummaged in a drawer.

“I don’t hold it against them,” he said. “Having tragic legs. It’s not their fault, after all. My mum’s got terrible legs, lovely woman, heart of gold, but great thick legs like an antique Steinway grand, my dad always says the first time they met he wanted to sit down and tinkle out ‘Chopsticks,’ and I say to her, ‘Mum, that’s why they have nice knee-length boots, to hide your terrible old piano legs.’ Lovely boots I made her for Christmas, she looks just lovely in them, and no one’s the wiser. But when it gets criminal, Josephine, is when they don’t hide them away in nice boots—they go out and wear shoes that’ll draw attention. It doesn’t make the legs any better. It just makes people look at them, and who wants to do that? Show them off, indeed. Anyway, here she is, waiting for you.”

From the drawer, he withdrew a box, and from the box withdrew another Josephine shoe, which he held out to her expectantly.

Emma looked at it and thought her heart would shatter into pieces.

“But I’m size five, too,” she said.

He looked up, puzzled.

“Sorry?” he said.

“I’m size five,” she said. “Like she is. And you told her you’re out of size five.”

“Oh, Josephine!” He shook his head reprovingly. “You didn’t believe that load of tosh, did you? Size five’s the pretty size my uncle Arthur, you need to sharpen up, my girl, or someone’s going to take you for a ride. I wouldn’t let my Josephine go prancing out at the end of those great tree trunks, I don’t care how famous they are, she’d never forgive me. I was saving her for you. I knew you’d come back for her, and now here you are. Try her on, not that you need to—I can tell.”

The shoe was size five. Looking at it, Emma had once again that curious sensation of being borne on soft winds through a cloud of pink-colored petals. And once again, she caught herself and brought herself down.

“I’m not trying her—them—on,” she said. “There’s no point, because I can’t afford these prices. I’m not very rich like you and Alice Weathers and all the other people who come in here. I’m not a fashion designer, or a film star, or a rich man’s wife. I work for a medical company, my boyfriend and I have a budget for our wedding, we have the fridge to buy at the weekend, we want to buy a house in two years, if we can afford one, and then we want to start a family, which will cost money. And I’m not called Josephine, either, I’m called Emma.”