Modern booksellers cant really compete with these eccentric charms. They keep regular hours, have central heating and are staffed by freshly scrubbed young people in black tee-shirts. Theyre devoid both of basement rooms and fallen Greek heroes in smelly tweeds. Youll find no dogs or cats curled up next to ancient space heaters like familiars nor the intoxicating smell of mould and mildew that could emanate equally from the unevenly stacked volumes or from the owner himself. People visit Waterstones and leave. But second-hand bookshops have pilgrims. The words out of print are a call to arms for those who seek a Holy Grail made of paper and ink.
I reach up and carefully remove the book from its shelf. Sitting down on a stack of military history books (they will migrate if youre not careful), I open to the title page.
Elegance
By Genevieve Antoine Dariaux
it announces in elaborate script and then, underneath:
A complete guide for every woman who wants tobe well and properly dressed on all occasions.
Dariaux. I know that name. Could it be the same woman I saw in the photo? As I leaf through the book, the faint fragrance of jasmine perfume floats from its yellowed pages. Written in 1964, it appears to be a kind of encyclopaedia, with entries for every known fashion dilemma starting with A and going through to Z. Ive never before encountered anything quite like it. I flip through the pages in search of a photo of the author. And there, on the back cover, my efforts are rewarded.
She looks to be in her late fifties, with classic, even features and heavily lacquered white hair Margaret Thatcher hair before it had a career of its own. But the same black, intelligent eyes gleam back at me; I recognize the distinctive, imperious set of her mouth and there, luminous against the fitted black cardigan shes wearing, is the trade-mark strand of impeccably matched pearls. Madame Georges Antoine Dariaux, the caption below the photo reads. She doesnt look directly at the camera with the same beguiling candour of her earlier portrait, but rather beyond it, as if shes too polite to challenge our gaze. Older now, shes naturally more discreet, and discretion is, after all, the cornerstone of elegance.
I turn back eagerly to the preface.
Elegance is rare in the modern world, largely because it requires precision, attention to detail, and the careful development of a delicate taste in all forms of manners and style. In short, it does not come easily to most women and never will.
However, in my 30-year career as the directress of the Nina Ricci Salon in Paris, my life has been devoted to advising our clients and helping them to selectwhat is most flattering. Some are exquisitely beautiful and really need no assistance from me at all. I enjoy admiring them as one enjoys admiring a work of art, but they are not the clients I cherish the most. No, the ones that I am fondest of are those who have neither the time nor the experience necessary to succeed in the art of being well-dressed. For these women, I am willing to turn my imagination inside out.
Now, would you like to play a little game of Pygmalion? If you have a little confidence in me, let me share with you some practical ideas on one of the surest ways of making the most of yourself through elegance, your own elegance.
At last, I have found my Holy Grail.
Its only 4 pm, but its already growing dark when I leave the shop. I weave through the streets; down Bell Street, over Marble Arch, across St Jamess and then into Westminster, clutching my magical parcel.
Big Ben chimes in the background as I push open the door and am greeted by the sound of a Hoover.
My husband is home.
Theres something about the persistent, draining, incessancy of domesticity that signals a call to arms for my husband. (Those who know him only as a rising star of the London stage are, in fact, blind to his most astonishing talents.) Each day finds him bravely battling the enemies of filth, disorder, untidiness and decay with renewed determination. A resourceful soul, he can transform any sort of disarray into a clean, habitable environment, usually in under half an hour.
He cant hear me as I come in, so I poke my head into the living room where he is furiously forcing the vacuum over the parquet wood floor (he claims to be able to actually see the dust settling on it, so remarkable is his sensitivity to that sort of thing) and shout to him.
Hey!
Switching off the Hoover, he rests his arms against its handle, with the same masculine ease of a television cowboy leaning on a fence. He is a man in his element, setting the world to rights.
Hey yourself. Whatve you been up to?
Oh, nothing really, I fib, concealing the brown paper parcel behind my back. In the face of my husbands never-ending schedule of home improvements, spending an afternoon ferreting around old bookshops seems like a kind of betrayal.
Did you return that lampshade?
Ah, yes I confirm, but I couldnt find anything better, so they gave me a credit note.
He sighs, and we both look mournfully at the pale marble lamp Mona gave us a month ago.
In every marriage there are certain ties that bind. Much more substantial than the actual marriage vows, these are the real-life, unspoken forces that keep it glued together, day in and day out, year after year, through endless trial and adversity. For some people its their social ambitions, for others their children. But in our case, the pursuit of the perfect lampshade will do.
We are bound, my husband and I, by a complete, relentless commitment to the interior decoration of our home. And this lamp is the delinquent, drug-addicted teenager that threatens to destroy our domestic bliss by refusing to coordinate with any ready-made lampshade from a reasonably priced store. Its incredibly heavy and almost impossible to lift. We are doomed to a Sisyphean fate: forever purchasing lampshades we will only return the next day.
My husband shakes his head. Were going to have to go to Harrods, he says gravely.
Harrods is always a last resort. There will be no reasonable lampshades at Harrods.
But you know what? he adds, his face brightening. You can come with me and well make a day of it if you like.
Sure, I smile.
Lampshade Day certain to be right up there with the Great Garden Trellis Outing and the Afternoon of a Dozen Shower Hoses. Wouldnt miss it for the world.
Great. He forces one of the windows open, relishing the gust of cool air. Of course, youll be glad to know Ive had considerably more success here while you were away.
Really?
You know those pigeons that roost on the drainpipe just above the bedroom window?
Yeah I lie.
Well, Ive attached some barbed wire around the pipe. Thats the last well see of them!
Im still trying to place these pigeons. Well done you!
And thats not all. Ive got some fantastic ideas for draining the garden path which Im going to draw up during the interval tonight. Maybe I can show them to you later?
Sounds brilliant. Listen, Im just going to do some reading in the other room. Maybe youll look in on me before you go?
And thats not all. Ive got some fantastic ideas for draining the garden path which Im going to draw up during the interval tonight. Maybe I can show them to you later?
Sounds brilliant. Listen, Im just going to do some reading in the other room. Maybe youll look in on me before you go?
He nods, surveying the living room contentedly. Its all coming together, Louie. I mean, the place is really starting to shape up. All we need is that lampshade.
I watch as he switches the Hoover back on.
There is always one more lampshade, one more set of authentic looking faux-Georgian fire utensils, one more non-slip natural hessian runner carpet. Like Daisys green light in the Great Gatsby, these things call to us with the promise of a final, lasting happiness, yet somehow remain forever out of reach.
Retreating into the bedroom, I close the door, kick off my shoes and curl up on the bed.
The bed is enormous. Its actually two single beds that are joined in the centre. Zipped and Linked is what the man at John Lewis called it. We needed a bed that was big enough so that we wouldnt disturb each other in the night: my husband twitches like a dog and I cant bear noise or any sort of movement.
You are sure you want to sleep together? the salesman had asked when we briefed him of our requirements. But my husband was adamant. Weve only just been married, he informed the offending fellow haughtily, implying a kind of rampant, newlywed sex life that could only just be contained within the confines of a solidly made double bed. So now he twitches away somewhere west of me and I slumber, comatose, half a mile to the east.
Climbing underneath the duvet, I remove the delicate volume from its brown paper bag. Im on the verge of something very big, very real.
This is it.
I open to Chapter One.
And the next thing I know, Im asleep.
When I wake up, hes already gone to the theatre. Theres a note on the kitchen table. Were snoring, so didnt bother to wake you. My husband is nothing, if not concise.
This is bad.
The truth is, I sleep far too much wake up late, take naps in the afternoon, go to bed early. I live with one foot dangling in a dark, warm, pool of unconsciousness, ready at any moment to slide into oblivion. But its just a little bit anti-social, all this sleeping, so I try to hide it.
I make toast. (I believe thats whats known as cooking for one.) Then climb back on board the bed. Turning to the first letter in the alphabet, I try not to get butter on the pages.
A Accessories
You can always tell the character of a woman by the care and attention she lavishes upon the details of her dress. The accessories worn with an outfit gloves, hat, shoes, and handbag are among the most important elements of an elegant appearance. A modest dress or suit can triple its face value when worn with an elegant hat, bag, gloves, and shoes, while a designers original can lose much of its prestige if its accessories have been carelessly selected. It is indispensable to own a complete set of accessories in black and, if possible, another in brown, plus a pair of beige shoes and a beige straw handbag for the summer. With this basic minimum, almost any combination is attractive.
Of course, it would be ideal to have each set of accessories in two different versions: one for sport and the other dressy. And in this regard I cannot restrain myself from expressing the dismay I feel when I see a woman carry an alligator handbag with a dressyensemble merely because she has paid an enormous sum of money for it. Alligator is strictly for sports or travel, shoes as well as bags, and this respected reptile should be permitted to retire every evening at 5 pm.
And here, as in no other department, quality is essential. Be strict with yourself. Save. Economize on food if you must (believe me, it will do you good!) but not on your handbags or shoes. Refuse to be seduced by anything that isnt first rate. The saying, I cannot afford to buy cheaply, was never so true. Although I am far from rich, I have bought my handbags for years from Hermès, Germaine Guerin, and Roberta. And without exception, I have ended up by giving away all the cheap little novelty bags that I found irresistible at first. The same is true of shoes and gloves.
I realize that all of this may seem rather austere, and even very expensive. But these efforts are one of the keys, one of the Open Sesames that unlock the door to elegance.
I look down at my own handbag crumpled in a heap on the floor. Its a navy Gap rucksack the kind that seems to attract bits of dried biscuit to the bottom, even if you havent eaten a biscuit in months. Needless to say, it could do with a wash.
Or a glass of milk.
I wonder if it qualifies as a sports bag. I can remember purchasing it in the Back to School department several seasons ago and feeling quite elated that Id managed to resolve all my handbag dilemmas in a single swoop. It would never occur to me to buy more than one bag, in more than one colour or style.
The only other one I own is a squashed maroon leather shoulder bag I bought in the sale from Hobbs four years ago. The leather has worn away and the framework of the bag is exposed; however Im too attached to it to throw it away. I keep pretending that Im going to have it repaired, even though its gone out of style.
The more I think of it, the more hard pressed I am to think of any accessories I own that might be described as even remotely stylish, let alone first rate. Certainly not the collection of woolly brown and grey berets I live in, so practical because they wont blow off your head during the windy London winters and because theyre invaluable for those days (always on the increase) when I havent washed or even combed my hair. I like to think of them as emergency hair.
I find myself gazing at my feet, or rather at the pair of well-worn beige plimsolls that adorn them. Its been raining and theyre soaked through. The fabrics worn away above my big toe and I catch a glimpse of the green and red Christmas socks underneath. (My mother sent me those.) I give my big toe a little wiggle.
My nose is running and as I fumble for a tissue in my raincoat pocket, I discover a pair of mismatched black gloves I found on the floor of a movie theatre two weeks ago. They seemed like quite a find at the time but suddenly its clear, even to me, that Ive obviously not been lavishing enough care and attention on the details of my dress.
Elegance may be in the details but my situation appears to be a little more serious than that. Clearly, drastic action is needed. I resolve, in an unprecedented burst of enthusiasm, to begin my transformation with a thorough cleansing of my closet. Systematically working my way through, Ill weed out the elements that dont flatter me. And then Ill be free to construct a new, improved look around those that do.
Fine, lets get cracking! I fling open my closet door with a dramatic sweep of my arms and nearly pass out from hopelessness.
I possess a rail of items gleaned from second-hand clothing stores all over the country. Everything in front of me symbolizes an element of compromise. Skirts that fit around the waist but flare out like something Maria Von Trapp would wear. Piles of itchy or slightly moth-eaten woolly jumpers not one of them in my size. Coats in strange fabrics or suit jackets with no matching skirts bought simply because they fit and that in itself is an event.