I clutch the expensive looking bag tightly in my hand, attempting in vain to stop the hammering raindrops from harming the delicate item contained inside. After all, there will be no chance of a refund on damaged goods. Delia’s is like a step back in time, located on a quiet Mews, well off the beaten track and with quaint hand painted signage. The frontage is dominated by a huge bay window which houses three dated mannequins sporting Delia’s designs. It seems such a paradox – the beautifully made dresses in such an unfashionable, overlooked part of the city. I push open the heavy door and feel like I’ve been transported back to the Seventies, an old fashioned bell chimes as I enter, and shops these days just don’t have that anymore. I make my way to the front counter, and wait a moment, there is nobody serving. I’m sure that bell was quite loud enough to be heard two doors away, but there seems to be no reaction here. I survey my surroundings – a sparse selection of stunning. " For a moment, she was drawn into his deep blue eyes, then she felt the soft but firm touch of his hand gently guiding her as he moved to her side as if he was shielding her from the crowd and prying eyes. She immediately felt safe and relaxed as he held her gaze. He guided her to a small table close to a corner in the front of the room. Behind the table were French doors that led to a garden. Craig pulled a chair out for her to sit and then motioned for the waiter, who immediately came to the table. "Champagne please," he said to the waiter as he sat down still looking into her eyes. “I hope this table will be fine for you. I think it offers some prestige, yet still has some privacy and a means of escape if you feel the need to leave the air in the room." She caught his meaning immediately and smiled, "Yes, it can be pretentious at times at these events." The waiter appeared with their drinks. He set them down, smiled at her, and slightly bowed to Craig as he moved to stand just far.
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