Page 52 of A Sky Painted Gold

“I don’t think you do,” I murmur under my breath.

“Oh, hush,” she chides, and again I feel like her unruly charge. “Now let’s go and see what Madame Carradice has to offer today.” With this she hurries up the stairs.

At the top we reach another black door, and Caitlin pushes her way through as if she owns the place. Standing waiting for us in the long room is an older woman of breathtaking elegance. I am not quite sure what it is about her that looks so expensive and so absolutely right. She is wearing a simple black dress, with sheer stockings and only a single string of pearls. Her hair is dark, streaked with grey and pulled back into a chignon, and she wears little make-up. But there is something about the way she stands, about the way her dress falls and the way she wears it that makes you stop and look at her.

“Madame Carradice.” Caitlin moves forward, grasping her hands as they exchange a kiss on each cheek. “And as you see I have brought my dearest friend, Lou, with me today.” Caitlin turns and gestures for me to step forward. I do so reluctantly, feeling myself shrink beneath Madame Carradice’s steady gaze.

Her eyes rake over me, and I feel her notice every single stitch on the hand-me-down dress that I inherited from Alice.

“I see,” she says slowly. But what, precisely, she sees I have no idea. I give her a tentative smile, which she does not return.

At that moment there is a tap at the door and Celia arrives with a tray of champagne glasses and an open bottle. I accept a glass, grateful for something to do with my hands, and take a nervous swig before sinking into a plump pink chair. Celia disappears back the way she came, leaving us once more alone with Madame Carradice.

“Well, first of all,” Caitlin begins, sipping her drink, “we have something of an emergency. It is Lou’s eighteenth birthday in just a few days’ time, on Friday, in fact, and I plan to throw an extremely lavish masquerade party at our house in Cornwall to celebrate.”

Madame Carradice nods, unperturbed as she perches on the edge of her own seat.

“So I will, of course, need something ravishing to wear for that,” Caitlin says.

“Of course.” Madame Carradice nods again, and a gleam of interest has appeared in her eyes.

Caitlin inclines her head. “And the other thing is Lou here.”

I am taking a sip of my champagne when she says this, and I find myself choking over it in a not very ladylike fashion at this unexpected mention of my name. “Me?” I splutter.

“Yes, you.” Caitlin is brisk. She turns to Madame Carradice, her eyes wide and appealing. “We will need a few things – a couple of day dresses, and something to wear this evening. It’s very important that we both look our absolute best this evening. Very important.”

“Caitlin!” I exclaim. “What are you talking about? I – I’m afraid this isn’t…” I trail off, mortified, trying to avoid Madame Carradice’s eye.

“Don’t be silly, Lou,” Caitlin says impatiently. “It’s my gift to you, for your birthday.”

My head snaps up then. “Oh, no!” I wheeze, wishing I could sink into the ground. “That’s so kind, but I couldn’t.” Madame Carradice is completely still, silent, her face a polite blank.

“Nonsense,” Caitlin says. “You said that you were going to let me have my own way and this is what I want. It will make me very happy. It is your birthday, after all,” she wheedles.

“Well, I…” I flounder.

“And I suppose if you say no then there’s a good chance I may remember to tell Robert that you think he’s an artistic genius,” she says, dropping her eyes innocently and toying with her champagne glass.

I laugh at this, I can’t help it. “The word genius never crossed my lips,” I say.

Caitlin eyes me expectantly.

“OK,” I say finally. “If you’re sure. One dress. It’s really so generous of you…”

“That’s enough of that.” Caitlin waves my thanks away impatiently and returns her attention to Madame Carradice. “So, Madame,” she says earnestly, “we place ourselves entirely in your hands.”

“Very well.” Madame Carradice nods, refilling our champagne glasses. “We’ll begin by taking the young lady’s measurements, and then I will show you some samples. I think … yes, I think I have just the thing.” She is tapping her finger against her cheek, and then her face breaks into a sudden smile that takes me by surprise. Her smile is crooked and something about its imperfection is reassuring.

“If you would come this way.” She turns to me, and gestures towards the back of the room with her hand.

Standing, I follow her as she slips behind a pink curtain. I find myself in a luxuriously decorated changing room. “If you could just slip your dress off,” Madame Carradice says, picking up a tape measure from a small table, “then I can get your measurements.”

“Of course,” I say hastily, fumbling with the buttons on my dress and battling the intense waves of mortification that I am feeling over the tattered state of my undergarments.

Madame Carradice makes no comment, but begins taking the measurements with cool, practised movements.

“Oh, yes,” she says, “I have quite a lot to choose from that will need very little alteration.” She looks pleased. “You may put your dress back on now,” she adds.