‘You need clothes,’ he continued. ‘Sit down over there.’ He indicated an extra, smaller desk by the wall, on which stood a laptop computer, connected to the internet.
‘You’re online to a store in Rome,’ he said. ‘Go through it and select some items, then I’ll arrange for them to be delivered.’
She could see that it was open at women’s wear, and connected to an account in his name. All she had to do was add things to the shopping basket. Slowly she began to go through the pages, trying to believe what she was seeing. This was the most expensive store she’d ever come across. Just looking at the prices made her eyes cross.
She grew even more distracted studying the clothes. Underwear, dresses-everything seemed to be made of silk. It was intimidating.
‘I’m really looking for something a little more ordinary,’ she said. ‘More like me.’
‘You call yourself ordinary?’ he enquired.
‘Well, look at me.’
‘I am. You make nothing of yourself. You are tall and slim-’
‘Skinny, you mean. And flat-chested. Like a board.’
‘Give me patience! Is that any way for a woman to talk? There are women modelling on the catwalk shaped exactly like you, and all you can do is run yourself down.’
‘I’m not running myself down,’ she said huffily. ‘I’m being realistic. I’m no beauty.’
‘Did I say you were?’
She gaped. ‘You said-’
‘I said you had a shape you should make the best of, but you don’t think that way. You say “thin” when you should say “slim”. Your mind-set is askew.’
‘Well, pardon me for thinking incorrectly. Obviously an Italian woman would do better, but I can’t help being the wrong nationality.’
‘You must learn not to put words into my mouth. Don’t blame your nationality. My wife was also English, and she was as conscious of herself and the effect she made as any Italian woman. It’s something in here.’ He tapped his forehead.
‘Oh, I’m conscious of the effect I make,’ she said, in a sudden temper. ‘Homely is the word. And that’s the kind version.’
‘No woman with a twenty-two-inch waist is ever homely,’ he retorted.
‘And my face? It’s nothing.’
‘All right, it’s nothing,’ he conceded. ‘That’s better than being bad.’
‘Homely,’ she repeated, raising her voice. ‘Look, it’s my face, I know more about it than you do.’
Why were they having this quarrel? It had sprung up from nowhere and made no sense. But from the deep well of tangled emotions inside her came a tension that had to release itself somehow. So she had turned on him.
Something in his eyes told her it was the same with him. His nerves were as taut as her own, and he too had exploded irrationally.
‘I doubt if you know much about it,’ he said now, ‘or about the person behind it.’
‘I know her all right,’ she said with bitter emphasis. ‘She was so used to being a little brown mouse that she fell for the first pack of lies she was told by a man. There’s nothing else to know.’
He didn’t reply at once, but considered her for a while before saying slowly, ‘I doubt that’s true. You’ve never explored the possibilities, so try to see your face as a blank canvas on which you will write whatever you want to.’
‘Is that what your wife did?’
His mouth twisted, though whether with humour or with pain she couldn’t have said.
‘Now you mention it, yes. She wasn’t a great beauty, but she could make every man believe that she was. When she walked into a room, heads turned.’
‘And you didn’t mind?’
‘No, I-I was proud of her.’
‘But I’m not her. I could never be like that.’
‘Nobody could ever be like her. Now, let us return to business.’
His tone had become practical again, like that of a man announcing to a meeting that it was time for the next item on the agenda.
‘In this house you’ll need a decent wardrobe, so forget the kind of thing you’re used to and choose clothes that will help you fit in with…’ He made a gesture indicating the luxurious surroundings. ‘Please hurry up, I have a lot of work to get on with.’
The last of the tension was diffused. She could concentrate on the screen and even enjoy the dizzying array of delightful garments that danced before her.
‘Do the job properly,’ was his only comment as he seated himself at the other desk.
He had prepared everything efficiently, accessing the English version of the site and calling up a conversion table showing both English and continental sizes.
Her puritanical self made one last effort, pointing out remorselessly that cheap materials had always sufficed in the past. But then she told it to shut up and let her concentrate. After that it was easy.
First, casuals, blouses, sweaters, trousers, all cut with deceptive simplicity, all costing a fortune. After the first shocked glance she didn’t concern herself with prices.
Underwear. Satin panties, slips, lacy bras, in white, black, ivory. Here she tried to be a little abstemious, cutting the order down to her barest needs.
She lingered over cocktail dresses, tempted to desperation over a garment in silky chiffon, cut tight and low both back and front. She could buy it in black or deep, dark crimson.
But she wasn’t going to buy it at all, she reminded herself sternly. She was just taking a look.
Coats. Yes. Think sensible! She could justify a light summer coat. This colour. No, that one. But perhaps this one was better.
‘Get them both,’ said a bored voice passing behind her. She looked up quickly, but he was already re-seating himself at the desk.
She got them both. She was only obeying orders.
‘I’ve finished choosing,’ Holly said at last. ‘What do I do now?’
‘Leave the rest to me. Now, it’s late and you’ve had a long day. I suggest you go to bed.’
‘First I should like to see Liza, and say goodnight.’
He checked his watch.
‘She should be asleep by now, but she’s probably stayed up in the hope of seeing you. Very well. Turn left at the top of the stairs, and it’s the second door.’
‘Are you coming with me?’
There was a touch of constraint in his manner as he said, ‘I’ve already said goodnight to her.’
‘But if she’s waited up, I’m sure she’d love to see you again.’
She sensed him about to make an impatient reply. Then he gave a brief nod, as though settling something within himself, and rose to lead the way out of the room.
CHAPTER THREE
AS THEY emerged into the hall they heard the sound of argument coming from above. There was Berta’s voice, but above that was Liza’s, shrill and insistent.
‘They’re coming, I know they are.’
‘But your father has already said goodnight,’ Berta protested. ‘He’s a busy man-’
‘He’s not too busy for me, he’s not, he’s not.’
The last words shook Holly to the depths. They were a cry of desperation, as though the child was frantically trying to convince herself of something she needed to believe.
She glanced at the judge, who was standing as if frozen.
