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‘Oh.’ She sat back with a frown. She hadn’t expected it to be set in stone so soon and she hadn’t contacted Simon, herself, which she should have done. ‘Well, I guess that’s it,’ she said a little helplessly.
‘And one last footnote.’ Jake pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Lady Olivia McPherson will be in attendance, with Sir Michael, naturally, tomorrow night.’
It was a moment before Alex made the connection, as both Stan and Mrs Mills snapped upright in their chairs.
‘His sister?’ she hazarded.
‘His sister,’ Jake said gently. ‘So—’ he scanned them in turn ‘—let’s all pull together and produce a perfect evening.’
‘What’s she like? His sister,’ Alex enquired of Mrs Mills after the briefing had broken up.
‘She’s—she can be a bit exacting,’ Mrs Mills said carefully. ‘Oh, she’s very attractive, very vibrant, but—just not the easiest person to please.’
‘Sounds a lot like her brother,’ Alex commented with a grin. Then she sobered and sighed. ‘I wish I didn’t have to go to this function. I’m not that used to them.’
‘You’ll
do fine, Alex,’ Mrs Mills said encouragingly. ‘In fact you’re like a breath of fresh air compared to—’ She broke off and shrugged.
Alex glanced at her. ‘Compared to what?’
‘Some of the spoilt socialites we get to see around here. OK. I need to start making lists. Some people seem to be able to carry it all around in their heads—I need lists.’
Alex gave her a quick hug. ‘You’re a treasure, actually.’
At six o’clock the next evening, Alex started to get ready.
The dress was beautiful even though it was discreet and black. It had a ruched, strapless bodice in a fine silk crêpe and a long fitted skirt with a small slit up one side. A cropped, short-sleeved bolero with a stand-up collar completed the outfit.
Alex stared at herself once she was in the dress, and remembered Margaret Winston’s enthusiasm for it.
‘You don’t think it’s—too dressy for an interpreter?’ she’d asked Margaret at the time.
‘I think it’s perfect for—for you, my dear. And it’s going to be a very dressy occasion, believe me.’
Alex came back to the present with a grimace. At the time she’d had no idea just how glamorous, expensive and sophisticated a world she was about to enter. She did now and she was grateful for this dress.
Also, black did suit her, she decided. It did make her skin look creamy. And the style made her waist look reed-slim. With it she wore sheer black tights and, thankfully, medium-heel black suede shoes.
But as she stared at herself with her hands on her hips something seemed to be missing.
Her make-up was nearly as good as Mary’s efforts. Her nails were not painted—dogs and kids didn’t seem to go well with painted nails—but they were smooth, neat ovals and a healthy pink.
Her hair might not have quite the extra—what was the word?—zip it had had after Mr Roger had combed it, but she was happy with the fair, tamed curls.
‘It just needs something to lift it—I know, I need a flower. Maybe Mrs Mills or Stan could help me out?’ she said to her reflection.
They both helped out.
Stan found a perfect white gardenia for her and Mrs Mills pinned it into her hair with a tiny pearl clip.
‘There.’ Mrs Mills stood back. ‘You look lovely, Alex! Doesn’t she, Stan?’
‘She looks beaut!’ Stan concurred.
She thanked them laughingly, but Nicky was of the same opinion when she went to see him.
‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Can’t I come to this party with you?’
