Cinderella’s Wedding Wish

could. ‘Besides, I haven’t got anything to wear. I’ll stay behind the scenes.’

On the surface she seemed steady enough, Miranda hoped, but she could feel the precariousness of her control. All Rafe had to do was take a step nearer, or smile at her, or touch her, and it would shatter completely. She was desperate to get away and compose herself.

From somewhere she produced a brilliant smile. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve still got a lot to do.’

She hurried away and for the rest of the afternoon kept herself too busy to think about how pathetically she had reacted to Rafe’s appearance. At half past six, she calculated that she just had time for a shower before flinging on a black shirt and a clean pair of black trousers. Quickly drying her hair, she brushed it back and secured it with a scrunchie. There, now she was perfectly dressed to fade into the background, Miranda thought with satisfaction. She looked neat and businesslike and unobtrusive, just the way she liked it.

Before heading down to check that all was under control in the marquee, she made her way along to Elvira’s sitting room. Rafe had tried to persuade his grandmother to go to the ball, but she had laughed and told him not to be so silly.

‘The last thing you want is an old lady like me there,’ she said trenchantly. ‘Besides I’m too old for all that. I won’t hear anything on this side of the house, so I’ll go to bed early and hear all about it in the morning.’

Miranda put her head round the sitting room door. ‘Is there anything you need before we start?’ Much to her relief, Rafe wasn’t there.

‘Come in and let me have a look at you,’ his grandmother ordered, but her face changed as Miranda advanced into the room.

‘What on earth are you wearing?’ she demanded.

Miranda looked down at herself. ‘Er…black.’

‘You can’t go to a ball dressed like that!’

‘I’m not going to a ball,’ said Miranda. ‘I’m strictly backstage tonight.’

‘You most certainly are not! Go and put on a dress.’

‘I haven’t got anything with me,’ she tried to explain, and Elvira heaved herself out of her chair with a dramatic sigh.

‘You’re about as stubborn as that grandson of mine. Come with me.’

Ignoring Miranda’s protests that she had things to do, Elvira led the way to a dressing room with a whole wall of wardrobes. She flung open the doors and began rifling through the now-vintage designer dresses that had been carefully hung in covers.

‘You’re about the size I was when I was young, and I’ve never thrown anything away. I wonder if…’ She pulled out a hanger and peered at the outfit. ‘Maybe.’ Flinging it at Miranda, she carried on, tossing the occasional outfit into Miranda’s hapless arms until at last she drew a satisfied breath.

‘This is the one,’ she said. ‘Put all those down and try this on.’

‘B-but I can’t wear your dress,’ Miranda stammered, but Elvira refused to listen.

‘Put it on,’ she ordered.

Helplessly, Miranda found herself stripping down to her pants and stepping into the dress. A strapless sheath, it was exquisitely cut, with a row of tiny covered buttons that Elvira did up with surprisingly deft fingers, all the way down to the small of her back. It fit snugly under the bust with a ribbon effect, and then curved over her hips and down in a tulip shape before finishing in a stylish fishtail.

‘Much better,’ said Elvira with satisfaction. ‘That’s the perfect colour for you.’

In spite of her awkwardness, Miranda couldn’t resist smoothing down the shot silk. ‘It’s a lovely green.’

‘That’s not just green. It’s greengage. I had it made specially for me in London just after I got married. What a summer that was!’ Elvira’s keen eyes softened reminiscently before she recollected herself. ‘Of course, I wore long gloves with it, but you won’t want those on a hot night like this.’

‘Elvira, it’s terribly generous of you, but I really can’t wear this,’ Miranda tried again, wondering how on earth she would ever get those buttons undone. An image of Rafe slowly unbuttoning her with long, warm fingers flashed into her mind, and her breath stumbled at the thought before she pushed it firmly away.

‘You’ll hurt me very much if you refuse,’ said Elvira, who, as Rafe had once pointed out, was not above emotional blackmail when it suited her. ‘Of course, if you’d rather not…’ she went on, assuming the air of a decrepit and tearful old lady that had Miranda stammering an acceptance even though she knew perfectly well that Elvira was putting it on.

‘That’s agreed, then,’ said Elvira, miraculously restored to vigour. ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’d have the same size shoes. You certainly can’t wear those,’ she added, wincing at the sight of Miranda’s sensible flatties.

She looked through what seemed like racks and racks of shoes and eventually selected a pair of elegantly strappy sandals. ‘You might be able to get away with these.’

Surrendering to a force greater than herself, Miranda tried them on. ‘They’re a bit tight,’ she said, making a face as she wriggled her toes.

‘They’ll do fine,’ said Elvira. ‘You must be prepared to suffer for beauty. Now, all you need is to do something about your hair and put on some lipstick. In my day I wouldn’t have dreamed of going out in the evening without so much as a dab of make-up. You girls don’t have standards any more.’

Miranda was desperate by now to get downstairs and make sure everything was ready. She would find some lipstick if she had a moment, but there were more important things to do first.

She bent to kiss Elvira’s cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said, touched by Rafe’s grandmother’s generosity even while she wondered how on earth she was going to get through the evening feeling half-naked. She even found herself thinking fondly of the catsuit. It might have clung in an embarrassingly revealing way, but at least she hadn’t had all this flesh on display then. She would have to try and find a cardigan or a pashmina or something to cover her bare back and shoulders.

‘Off you go,’ said Elvira briskly. ‘And don’t hide yourself away all evening!’

Determined to do just that, Miranda hurried down the magnificent staircase, only to find herself face to face with Octavia in the hall.

‘Are you here already?’ she asked, surprised. ‘I thought you were coming down with Cassandra and the Fox- Smythes?’

Very faint colour touched her sister’s lovely cheeks. ‘Simon offered me a lift,’ she said a little too airily, ‘so I thought I might as well come with him and-’ Octavia broke off, as if noticing Miranda’s appearance for the first time. ‘You look fantastic!’ she said in surprise. ‘Where did you get that fabulous dress?’ she added enviously.

‘Rafe’s grandmother insisted I wear it.’ Miranda fiddled fretfully with the plunging neckline. ‘I can’t hurt her feelings by taking it off, but I feel half-naked!’

‘That’s because you’ve got no make-up on.’

‘Don’t you start! I haven’t got time for make-up. I’ve got to check that Rosie is OK.’

‘Rosie’s fine,’ said Octavia and took her sister firmly by the arm. ‘The last thing she needs is you fussing around. You’re not ruining that dress by going out with nothing on your face.’

Miranda rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’

But Octavia was serious, and not taking no for an answer. She bore Miranda off to her bedroom and opened her bag. ‘Now sit still,’ she ordered.

Miranda hardly recognised herself when Octavia had finished. She stared at her reflection in something like shock. Was that really her, with her hair swinging shining to her bare shoulders? With those eyes, the ones she had always thought of as ditchwater dull, now cunningly emphasised so that they looked huge and brilliantly green? With that mouth, outlined in a colour that Octavia informed her, apparently quite seriously, was called Passionate Encounter. It made her look warm and sophisticated and really quite sexy, all at the same time.

She swallowed.

‘Now can you see why we keep going on at you to make more of an effort?’ demanded Octavia. ‘You’ve never had any idea how beautiful you are.’

‘But this isn’t me,’ said Miranda in a small voice.

‘It is you,’ said Octavia, exasperated. ‘Or it’s how you could be if only you’d have some confidence in yourself.’