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On the point of turning away, Emerald saw a new opportunity to get at Gwendolyn.
Touching her aunt’s arm, she told her with faked innocence and naïvety, ‘Aunt Beth, His Highness, Crown Prince Alessandro says that he is desolate that there is no one to introduce us. I am sure you must have met his mother at some time since she is related to one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting.’
As Emerald had known they would be, the magically potent words, ‘His Highness’ and ‘the Queen’ were enough to have her godmother looking approvingly at Alessandro.
‘It is true,’ he agreed, proving to be rather more savvy than Emerald had expected. ‘I am desolate that my mama is not here to make the necessary introductions, but sadly my mother’s cousin is not well and Mama wishes to keep her company, so I have to come here without her.’
‘Alessandro is the Crown Prince of the Principality of Lauranto, on the Côte d’Azur,’ Emerald further explained. ‘I dare say that you must have visited there, Aunt Beth.’
‘Well, yes. I am sure that we must.’
‘I too am sure that this must be so,’ Alessandro was agreeing. He was proving to be an able henchman, Emerald decided approvingly.
‘So you see,’ he told Emerald, turning back to her, ‘we are as good as known to one another already, and I beg that you will allow me to call on you.’
‘Not until my godmother has given her permission,’ Emerald stopped him demurely.
Her godmother bestowed an approving smile on her and, in no time at all, Alessandro had been given permission to call at Eaton Square whilst in turn he had given Aunt Beth his temporary address at the Savoy Hotel, where he was staying with his mother.
They had, Alessandro told them, come to London not only to see his mother’s cousin but so that he could attend the coming-out ball of the sister of one of his school friends.
He meant Lavinia, Emerald guessed, making a mental note to ensure that Lavinia’s was one of the balls she attended. It would do no harm for a certain Duke of Kent to see her being admired by the dashing Alessandro.
‘How could you encourage that…that foreigner like that?’ Gwendolyn hissed once they were outside. ‘My mother is right about you: you might have a title but you do not have any real breeding.’
Emerald stopped dead in the street, swinging round to confront the other girl, her face tight with anger.
‘Don’t you ever, ever say that to me again! I am the daughter of a duke,’ she reminded Gwendolyn, adding cruelly, ‘and you are the one who lacks breeding. You are the daughter of a nobody, a man who can’t even father an heir on his wife; just as I told you in Paris, a man who cannot keep his hands to himself or his prick in his pants–and if you don’t believe me, ask your mother. Everyone knows that your father has fucked more tarts than any other man in society.’
Gwendolyn had begun to whimper in shock, trying to cover her ears to protect herself from the coarseness of Emerald’s language as much as the truths she didn’t want to hear.
‘A girl of my rank and wealth can be neither vulgar nor common; she can only be delightfully eccentric and perhaps a little outrageous. Compared with me you are nothing. When I am married you will still be nothing. You will be nothing all your life, poor, fat, dull Gwennie, and you know it, and that is why you are so jealous of me. I will marry well and live the kind of life you can only dream of whilst you’ll end up at home darning socks and being downtrodden. You’re jealous because men admire me and want me, you’re jealous because Alessandro has fallen in love with me. Well, you are right to envy me because no man will ever fall in love with you.’
Suddenly realising that her niece and her goddaughter had fallen behind, Beth turned round to urge them to catch up.
Whilst Gwendolyn struggled to control her shocked distress, Emerald pushed past her to catch up with her godmother, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.
Chapter Thirteen
The Channel had been rough, and the fashion editor’s assistant, with whom Ella had shared a cramped cabin, had been up all night being sick, and was still looking green when they all boarded the train in Calais.
The models were changing into the outfits in which they would be photographed standing outside the Orient-Express before it left Paris. The stop was only a brief one and, because of the fashion editor’s assistant’s sickness, Ella had been pressed into service as her stand-in, and sent scrurrying on various errands at the fashion editor’s behest.
Normally Ella wouldn’t have minded, but it stung her pride to have to carry messages between the fashion editor and her personal bête noire, especially when Oliver Charters laced his messages with so many ripe expletives–deliberately, so Ella suspected. She was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her look shocked.
It was so hot in the carriage that she ended up having to remove her suit jacket and her hat as she rushed round.
The hats chosen by the fashion editor were impossible to photograph, Ollie announced disparagingly, having studied them through the lens of his precious Rolleiflex.
He had saved up for nearly six months to buy the camera second-hand from a pawnbroker, desperately hoping that its owner wouldn’t suddenly find the money to reclaim it before he had saved enough to buy it. He had spent many a Saturday afternoon arguing and bargaining with the pawnbroker, trying to wheedle down the price.
‘The hat brims throw too much shadow over the models’ features. They’ll have to wear them back off their faces,’ he told the fashion editor now.
As he went to demonstrate what he meant the fashion editor stepped protectively in front of the model, warning him, ‘Don’t you dare touch those hats. They cost twenty guineas each and are only on loan to us.’
Frustrated in his attempt to demonstrate what he meant, Ollie wheeled round and, catching sight of Ella, marched over to her.
‘Look, this is what I meant,’ he said, taking hold of Ella’s precious best hat, which she’d placed safely on a table, brutally turning back the brim and then ramming the crown down firmly on Ella’s curls. Moving away from her, he saw her lifting her hands to examine the damage, and he ordered sharply, ‘No, don’t touch it!’ then stepped up to her, tilting it to one side.
