The Blood Royal(50)

Lily was lost for words in front of the rows of dresses. They ranged from pure white satin to darkest mulberry grosgrain, some a daring four inches below the knee for flappers, some ankle-length for dowagers, all intimidating and out of her reach.

‘Anything but white,’ Lily said, making a start. ‘I don’t want to look as though I’m being presented at court.’

‘And I rule out anything dark. Not for a balmy evening.’

Half the exhibits were whisked aside.

‘Some of these are very décolleté,’ Lily murmured dubiously, passing the remainder in review. ‘And I haven’t got the bust for them. Let’s remember this isn’t a date. I’m going to be working undercover so I ought to have some cover to work under. Something discreet that won’t let me down if I have to run or pick a fight or defend my virtue.’

‘The shoestring straps are out then,’ Phyl said sliding them to the end of the rail. ‘Fusspot! Cinderella’s fairy godmother never had these problems.’

An apricot georgette and a raspberry crêpe de Chine followed them into the rejected section. ‘No bonbons.’

‘That leaves us with a choice of two. Well, that was quick. Some women take three hours. Anyway, either of these models will cut down six inches without ruining the proportions and, in their different ways, they’re both stunners.’

She held one in front of Lily to assess the effect. ‘Heavy silk in eau de Nil: fashionable colour without being outrageous. Green always looks right with coppery hair and a creamy skin. Slim fitting and sleek, but the shoulder straps are built up and embroidered with a Russian motif – very fashionable! And strong – you could go ten rounds with Jack Dempsey and they wouldn’t come adrift. I’ve got the sweetest little headdress to go with it.’ Her voice took on the modulated confidentiality of a saleswoman’s. ‘A cap of green and gold shot tissue with an overlay of oxidized silver thread, pearls, gold beads and bells, madam. Perfect on a heart-shaped face. Just dangle a gold earring on each side and you wouldn’t need anything sparkling with this outfit. That would be excessive. This delightful confection tells its own tale.’

‘In a mysterious voice carried on the east wind … It’s like a Dulac illustration for The Corn Spirit. But you’d need to silence the bells.’

‘That’s no problem … a drop of candle wax’ll do it. But it’s only a dress, love. Don’t get carried away. It was, in fact, not made up on spec – it was designed by me and the client herself with a special occasion in mind. She cancelled the order – “held up in Paris”, she said. The scandal sheets reveal that she has indeed been detained over the Channel – with a dark-eyed charmer! An Italian tenor, they say. Anyway, I’m left with a work of art on my hands. Now – if we’re being fanciful – I’m not sure in what accent this last one will speak.’

‘We’ll never know. I think probably it wouldn’t deign to address a word to us.’

‘You’re right. This really is haute couture. And discretion itself. I nicked the idea from the spring Paris designs. Coco Chanel inspired it though she doesn’t know that. It’s a bit of a gymslip but then you’d feel comfortable with that – cut and colour.’

Lily looked with approval at the midnight blue silk. A sleeveless bodice ran from the square neck smoothly down to a lowered waist delicately emphasized by a satin sash. The severity of the line was softened by the addition of an overskirt of navy tulle.

‘Well? What’ll it be?’ Phyl asked. ‘Princess of the Steppes or Saucy Gym Mistress? Want to try them both? Practise a few ju-jitsu moves in front of the mirror?’

‘No need. I know what I like and I’ve made my mind up,’ said Lily. ‘Get your scissors out, Phyl. I’ll take that one, if you’re sure that’s all right?’

Phyl hesitated for a second. ‘If you’re quite certain?’ she said. ‘Will the commander like it, do you think?’





Chapter Sixteen




‘Come in, come in. What I imagine the commander would like is to find us all settled down and getting acquainted.’ James Bacchus of Special Branch waved a languidly inviting hand across the central table of the operations room. ‘I see we’ve all arrived five minutes early to impress Sir. It’s Hopkirk, isn’t it? How do you do, Superintendent? Hopkirk, why don’t you and your colleague park yourselves over there while we’re waiting? And may I introduce my second in command – Captain Rupert Fanshawe, late of the Grenadier Guards?’