September

Simultaneously, their shared sense of the ridiculous bubbled to the surface and brother and sister dissolved into giggles. Isobel, observing them, shaking her head at their idiotic paroxysms of mirth, was nevertheless filled with grateful wonder. Since Pandora's arrival,

Archie had been in better spirits than Isobel had seen for years, and now, sitting at her own breakfast table, she recognized once more that attractive and blissfully funny man she had fallen in love with over twenty years ago.

Pandora was not the perfect guest. Domestically speaking, she was a dead loss, and Isobel spent much time clearing up after her- making her bed, cleaning her bath, tidying away her clothes, and doing her laundry. But Isobel would forgive her anything, because she knew that it was his sister who had brought about the miraculous change in Archie, and for this she could be nothing but grateful, for somehow Pandora had rekindled Archie's youth and brought, like a gust of fresh wind, laughter back to Croy.

The shopping party, one by one, mustered. Jeff, having eaten his way through Isobel's enormous breakfast, went to collect Pandora's Mercedes from the garage, and drive it around to the front of the house. Isobel, armed with shopping baskets and the inevitable lists, joined him. Pandora was the next to appear, wearing her mink coat and her dark glasses and reeking of Poison.

It was another windy day with flashes of sunshine, and they all stood around in the breeze and waited for Lucilla. She came at last, shouted for by her father, and then shooed out through the door by him, just as he shooed his dogs. But she turned back to say goodbye, embracing and kissing him as though she were never going to see him again, before running down the steps with her dark hair flying.

'Sorry, I didn't know you were waiting.'

Lucilla was dressed in old and faded jeans with slits at the knees that had been ineptly patched with some red-spotted material. With these, she wore a crumpled cotton shirt with much embroidery and drooping sleeves. The tails of this hung down below a very small leather waistcoat, dangling with fringe. She looked, thought her mother, as though she had just been raped by a Sioux.

'Darling, aren't you going to change?' She spoke rashly.

'Mum, I am changed. These are my best jeans. I bought them in Majorca when I was staying with Pandora.'

'Oh, yes, of course.' They all got into the car. 'I am sorry, Lucilla. How silly of me.'

Having reached Relkirk and found a place to park, the shoppers split up, because Lucilla and Jeff wanted to case the antique shops and browse around the famous street market.

'We'll meet you for lunch in the Wine Bar,' Isobel told them. 'At one o'clock.'

'Have you booked a table?'

'No, but we should get one.'

'Right. We'll be off then.' They walked away across the cobbled square. As Isobel watched them go, she saw Jeff put his arm around Lucilla's thin shoulders. Which surprised her, because he had struck her as a most undemonstrative young man.

'That's got rid of them,' said Pandora, sounding like a wicked child who, having disposed of the grown-ups, was ripe and ready for mischief. 'Now, where are all the dress shops?'

'Pandora, I haven't quite made up my mind…'

'We're going to get you a dress for the dance, and that's it. And stop looking agonized because it's going to be my present to you. I owe it. I'm paying a debt.'

'But… shouldn't we do all the important shopping first? The food for Friday, and…'

'What could be more important than a new dress? We can leave all the boring stuff until the afternoon. Now, stop standing around and dithering, or we'll waste the day away. Head us in the right direction…'

'Well… there's McKay's…' said Isobel doubtfully.

'Not a dreary department store. Isn't there somewhere exclusive and expensive?'

'Yes, there is, but I've never been into it.'

'Well, now is the time to start. Come on.'

And Isobel, feeling all at once carefree and pleasantly sinful, abandoned her Calvinistic tendencies and followed.

The shop was narrow and deep, thickly carpeted, lined with mirrors, and sweetly scented like a glamorous woman. They were the only customers, and as they came through the plate-glass door, a woman rose from behind an enviable little marquetry desk and came to meet them. Dressed for work, she wore the sort of outfit that Isobel would have happily gone out to dinner in.

'Good morning.'

She was told what they searched for.

'What size are you, madam?'

'Oh.' Isobel, already, was flustered. '1 think a twelve. Or maybe a fourteen.'

'Oh, no.' A professional eye was cast over Isobel, gauging. Isobel hoped that her tights hadn't laddered. 'I'm sure a twelve. The ball gowns are through here, if you'd like to come.'

They followed her into the back of the shop. She swept aside a curtain and revealed open wardrobes bulging with racks of evening dresses. Some short, some long; silk and velvet, glimmering satin, chiffon, and voile; and every beautiful colour under the sun. She rattled the hangers along the rail.

'These are twelves, here. But of course, if you find something you like in another size, I could always get it altered for you.'

'We haven't time,' Isobel told her. Her eyes moved to the darker gowns. Dark colours didn't date, and you could always add bits to them to make them look different. There was a brown satin. Or a navy-blue ribbed silk. Or maybe black. She took down a black crepe with jet buttons, and moved to the mirror to hold it in front of her… a bit governessy perhaps, but she saw it standing her in good stead for years… She tried squinting at the price ticket but was not wearing her glasses.

'This is nice.'

Pandora scarcely gave it a glance. 'Not black, Isobel. And not red.' She pushed more hangers aside, and then pounced. 'Now, this.'

Isobel, still listlessly holding the black crepe, looked-at the most beautiful dress she had ever imagined. Sapphire-blue Thai silk shot with black, so that as the light moved over the material, it shimmered like the wings of some exotic insect. The skirt was huge, puffed out with petticoats, and it had a low neck. The sleeves were finished at the elbow with narrow ruffles of the same silk, and an identical ruffle bordered the hem.

Scarcely daring to imagine herself owning such a garment, Isobel eyed the tiny waist. 'I'll never get into that.'

'Try.'

It was as though she had lost all will of her own. Bundled into a curtained changing-room, stripped, like some votive sacrifice, of all her outer clothes. 'Now.' She stood in her bra and tights, and the profusion of whispering silk was lowered cautiously over her head; sleeves pulled up over her arms; the zip…

She sucked in her breath, but there was no problem. The waistline hugged her snugly, but she could breathe. The saleslady settled the shoulders, bouffed out the skirt, stepped back to admire.

Isobel saw herself full-length in the mirror, and it was like seeing another person. A woman from another age, stepped down from the frame of an eighteenth-century portrait. The hem of the dress swept the floor, the stiff silk arranging itself in gleaming folds. The sleeves were infinitely flattering, and the deep neckline revealed Isobel's best points, which were her pretty plump shoulders and the swelling curve of her breasts.

Overwhelmed with desire, she tried to remain practical. 'It's too long.'

'It won't be with high heels,' Pandora pointed out. 'And the colour makes your eyes as blue as ink.'

Isobel looked and saw that this was true. But she put her hands to her tanned and weathered cheeks. 'My face is all wrong.'

'Darling, you're wearing no make-up.'

'And my hair.'

'I'll do your hair for you.' Pandora narrowed her eyes. 'You need jewellery.'

'I could wear the Balmerino earrings. The diamond drops with the pearls and sapphires.'

'Of course. Perfection. And Mamma's pearl choker? Have you got that as well?'

'It's in the bank.'