The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [124]
There were six Delahaye limousines outside the Park Avenue salon waiting to transport them to Long Island. Madame rode in the first, alone with her chauffeur like a queen, and Missie had to ride with Miranda and Minette, neither of whom was speaking to her. It wasn’t all a fairy story, she thought with a sigh, despite what Rosa said. But it was forty dollars a week and beautiful clothes to wear, because Madame wanted her mannequins to be her walking advertisements. “But I never go anywhere,” Missie had protested.
“Nevaire? A young girl like you? Tiens,” Madame had exclaimed, “then it is high time you started.”
The other four limousines carried the baskets of clothes, the dressers, and the hairstylist. The little procession wound its way through the sleepy Long Island Sunday countryside until they came to a pair of immense wrought-iron gates surmounted by huge carved griffins. A gatekeeper darted from the lodge to open them, and they drove on down a long gravel avenue and drew up in front of a huge white house. Beautifully dressed people were wandering across the lawns, where tables were set with silver and damask for tea and a group of young men in white flannels were playing tennis. A band played on the long terrace amid tubs of bright early-summer flowers, grown in the countess’s famous conservatories specially for the occasion.
Missie was suddenly swept back in time to Anouska’s wonderful parties—to a beautiful house just like this, young people scattered across the lawns laughing, playing games and always music in the air….
“Come, Verity,” Madame called, “the Countess is waiting.”
Imogen, Countess of Wensleyshire was tall, thirtyish, beautiful, and spoiled to death by every man who had ever met her. The earl had been her third husband, an older man who doted on her, even dying conveniently when she grew bored with him three years ago. Now she maintained a stately home in Yorkshire, town houses in London and Paris, a penthouse in Manhattan, and an enormous sea-going yacht moored, now the war was over, at Monte Carlo. And she enjoyed doing what she did best, giving parties and looking for her next husband.
She stared curiously at Missie as she shook hands without smiling. “Ah, now I see what all the fuss was about,” she said enigmatically. “Every man I know has been talking about Verity this week. I did not see Elise’s fashion parade, but your reputation preceded you.”
“I’m just the mannequin,” Missie said quickly. “I’m sure it’s the clothes they were talking about.”
The countess’s eyes narrowed into a smile; “The women, maybe, but the men …” She laughed, leaving the end of her statement hanging in the air.
“Elise, darling,” she cried, turning to Madame, “come and have some tea and then I’ll show you the ballroom where the parade will be held.”
The ballroom was paneled in blue and cream like a Wedgwood vase with a little stage at one end. This time Madame herself organized her mannequins, parading them onto the stage and down the ramp to the lilting strains of a fifteen-piece orchestra.
As she strode onto the stage in Madame’s latest extravaganza, a low-cut shimmering silver sheath overlaid with panels of dove-gray chiffon, Missie realized she was enjoying herself. It was as if she became someone else when she was wearing Elise’s clothes. She felt she had power over these people, the power to make them look at her. She glanced around her audience, commanding them with her eyes, and then with an arrogant toss of her head she swung down the ramp, drifting languidly among them, pausing here and there to bestow a smile or extend a graceful arm so that the chiffon panels floated like gossamer wings. And of course she made sure that everyone noticed the silver shoes with the gray satin ribbons tied in pretty bows at her ankles. For the first time she was aware of the men watching her with as much interest as the women, and somehow their stares made her feel uncomfortable.
The applause afterward