Page 13 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Alice is enjoying herself, wringing the sarcasm out of every word. “I had no idea that you had so many white evening gowns just lying around the house.” She gestures around the bedroom. “Of course you should wear one of those, I’ll just ask Midge if she’d mind pressing the Jeanne Lanvin, shall I?”

“I can’t go,” I say flatly, choosing to ignore her. “That’s it. I simply cannot go.”

“Nonsense. Just wait a minute and see. It won’t look like a curtain when I’m finished.” With that she brandishes a pair of scissors. Before I can say a word she has sliced the curtain clean in two.

“Oh, no!” I gasp. “You shouldn’t … you can’t … Alice, your lovely curtains!”

“It’s for a good cause.” Alice is stoical. “There will be other curtains.”

I finger the material, knowing how hard Alice scrimped to buy these frothy, feminine scraps of lace for her first home, and I see the determination in her eyes. The damage is done now – the least I can do is see her mad scheme through.

“OK,” I sigh. “Show me.”

Ten minutes later I have to admit that Alice is not as mad as I thought. She has tucked the nightdress up around my hips and pinned it before winding the larger piece of curtain around like a sash, gathering it up at the side in a large, loose bow, leaving the ends trailing. The end result is quite a modish silhouette, not a million miles away from the picture in the magazine that Alice shows me.

“It’s a shame about the long sleeves,” I say. “I don’t suppose we can cut them off? It looks a bit puritanical compared to what they’ll all be wearing.”

“It will look worse if we hack them with the scissors,” Alice replies. “Anyway, I quite like it. You look different. You just need to pin all your hair up properly and wear my little pearl earrings and it will look very elegant.”

I tilt my head to one side, still staring at my reflection. “I don’t know,” I say, not at all sure that I want to be different. “Do you really think it’ll pass?”

“Of course it will!” Alice insists. “You know how much time I spend looking in those magazines. I’m the expert here, trust me. If anything, you’ll set the fashion.”

“OK,” I say reluctantly, because Alice’s mania for the society pages really is something I can put my faith in.

Alice’s dimple appears. “Plus, just think of the thrill of going to a party in a nightdress that was a gift from Aunt Irene. I bet that’s not what she had in mind when she gave it to you!”

I snort at that. It is quite a pleasing thought, I have to admit. “And what’s that for?” I ask, pointing to the smaller strip of lace curtain that Alice is running through her fingers.

“For your hair,” Alice replies. “Sit down, please.”

I do as she says, sitting in front of her on the floor and trying to relax as Alice’s fingers work through my hair, gently untangling my curls. We sit for a long time in silence, and I close my eyes. If I put the Cardew party out of my mind, this feels almost normal. It’s a relief to have Alice back in the house.

“OK, done,” she says. I open my eyes, stand and look in the mirror.

“Oh, Alice. You are clever,” I say, raising a hand to my hair. Alice has wrapped the lace strip around the top of my head in a broad band and threaded it through my curls before pinning them up. The effect is really quite pretty, and I think that against the white lace my hair looks a bit darker and less mousy.

“I can’t believe you ever doubted me,” Alice says as I continue to revolve in front of the mirror, checking my reflection from every angle.

“Now.” Alice’s voice is brisk and businesslike again. “What are you going to do about shoes?”

I freeze. “Oh, no,” I whisper, and the face reflected back at me in the mirror is like a mask from a Greek tragedy. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of glass slippers in that bag?”

Alice shakes her head, exhaling in frustration.

“What am I going to do?” I groan.

“You’ll just have to wear your pink ones,” Alice says finally. “You can always take them off … you usually end up barefoot anyway.”

“OK.” I nod. “Although I don’t think this is really a barefoot kind of event.” I can feel the nerves jangling in my stomach.

“You’re going to be fine.” Alice jumps to her feet, dusting herself off. “And I have to get home. My husband will be wondering about his tea.”

“Can’t Jack get his own tea?” I ask impatiently. This is a sister emergency, for goodness’ sake.

“If you think my cooking is bad, you should see what happens when he’s left unsupervised,” Alice says as she gathers her things together. I take a deep breath.

“And you’re sure it’s OK?” I ask again.