"Do please wake up and listen when your mother is talking to you!"
Chummy sat, wearied and fringing on hunger see swatches of material passed in front of her eyes. As much as she was grateful to Sister Julienne for allowing her an entire Thursday off, the dawning of her trip to her Mother's dress designer had filled her with foreboding.
She had toyed with her breakfast, stealing glances at her friend's faces around her, knowing her fate horribly wishing for half of the women of Poplar to suddenly go into labour so she could say "Sorry, Mater, duty calls!"
Still it would only be postponing the inevitable and, as Trixie had put it – "Stand firm, get it done and think of the relief when it's over!"
Last night, they had sat huddled together in front of the fire in his lodgings and he had asked what time she was going.
"Firing squad at 11" she had responded, after which he had asked if she wanted him to go with her or at least to be there when her mother came to collect her. He had felt her shake her head.
"No, no need. I have to face it sooner rather and later. Besides, as much as I am not looking forward to seeing her, I am happy I am being fitted for my wedding dress".
"Dress?! " He had asked, suddenly surprised she seemed to have changed her mind.
"Suit" she had corrected herself, steadfast this time that she would like a shift dress and jacket. She had a sudden thought that made her smile as they walked hand in hand on the way back to Nonnatus; remembering the giggles from the girls when she told them that she would have to be shoehorned under duress into a white dress.
"Chummy are you sure?" Jenny had asked, when the knowing looks died down.
"Yes, quite sure" she had replied.
As she sat now though, a cup of tea balanced on her knee, she saw white, cream, ivory, lemon and this rather peculiar peachy colour that would be the last thing she would agree to wear laid out across the table as her mother and the designer talked around her. They didn't need to talk over her as she had barely uttered a word for the last hour.
Her stomach grumbled quietly to itself as she glanced at the ornate gold clock on the wall. She had been sitting here for 1 hour and 47 minutes precisely and, whilst she had heard of chain smoking, she had not heard of chain tea drinking, contemplating the third cup she was about to partake of. Turning around she poured the pale liquid into the guilt edged cup and resumed her previous position of studying the clock.
"Camilla, dear?" she heard at the third attempt by her mother, voice becoming terse.
"Sorry Mater!" she replied, coming to her senses
"Are you going to engage in your own wedding gown or not?"
Chummy put the tea cup down and walked over to the design that was laid out on the table top. To her surprise she saw a simple shift dress, a bow about its waist and a jacket.
"If you are so insistent on not having a full wedding gown, I explained to Mr Thompson that a simple dress may be appropriate."
"Yes Mater". It was oddly simple for her mother's tastes and she liked it. It was for the most part, though, disconcerting that her mother was suddenly being so straightforward.
"Now as I see this will not be a conventional wedding dress, do we have a colour in mind?" the designer asked.
"Blue" Camilla said quickly, seeing out of the corner of her eye a bolt of material on the shelf that she felt would suit her.
"Ah yes! Lovely! Blue. Now I see you learnt something from your French history lessons at school young lady". Camilla shivered inwardly at being called 'young lady' and was for a moment confused.
"I have the very thing over here!" he exclaimed, walking over to the very shelf where she had seen the material she would have liked.
Camilla looked to her mother and smiled; see the oddly confused look about her mother's face too at the designer's enthusiasm for blue as well.
"The original colour of purity; the colour of the blood Royal!" he said, the material swirling over the table as her mother delicately examined a corner, face brightening at the designer's declaration.
Inadvertently she seemed to have done something right for a change even if her intentions had been otherwise. She kicked herself but hoped it might make her mother forget that telephone call, regretting being quite so open with her.
Oddly that afternoon, on their return to Nonnatus, her mother had been more engaging regarding the wedding than ever and it made her daughter nervous.
EK
