Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (20 page)

Vera's professionally calculating gaze swept Senda from head to toe and back up. She nodded to herself with satisfac
tion, though her face revealed nothing. Her heart began to
beat just a little quicker. Transforming the shy, unassuming
woman into a fairy-tale princess, at least for tonight's perform
ance and the ball, would not be a difficult task at all. Behind
eyes still filled with sleep and beneath obvious insecurities and the loathsome clothes, lurked a fine figure for clothes. A noble
figure, rare and remarkable. Long-waisted torso, long legs, all
crowned with that head of spectacularly abundant, if unruly,
wild red hair. Indeed, the more closely she inspected her,
the more inspired Vera became. The girl really did possess a devilishly rarefied and radiant beauty which could easily be
accentuated and brought to full bloom. Like a tightly clenched
rosebud brought into the warmth to open.

Yes!

She studied Senda closely, prowled slow, measured circles around her, feeling at once exhilarated and defeated.
How?
How was she to conjure up a dream of striking ethereal
beauty, one which would bewitch and tantalize, waltz and
polonaise through the night, and put all those filthy-rich,
multi-titled society dowagers to shame? Then the lightning
bolt of inspiration flashed, crackled, and caused her to freeze
in mid-step. She caught her breath, dared hardly breathe.

Youth.

Innocence.

Simplicity.

Dusty rose.

Suddenly she was swept away, her mind reeling. She could
already see it: a vision in taffeta the colour of fading roses.

Vera Lamothe lived for those moments when she could
revel in the potency of her creative talent and power. But
she kept her face carefully composed, entirely neutral. She
motioned for Senda to turn around slowly, and she spoke
calmly, almost wistfully. 'Very well,' she said shortly, glancing
at Countess Florinsky. 'I shall see what I can do. But I'm
making no promises.' Vera held herself regally erect, smug
with the satisfaction of what she was about to achieve.

'Oh, thank goodness!' Countess Florinsky trilled happily,
flinging her arms across her massive turquoise bosom in a
gesture of pleasure. 'I knew I could count on you, Madame!
How delighted you've made me! Such a weight you've taken
off my shoulders.' The Countess turned to Senda, held both
her hands, and squeezed them affectionately. 'Well, my dear,
I do wish I could stay and keep you company, but alas, duty
calls.' Unexpectedly the Countess hopped on tiptoe and
deposited a quick kiss on Senda's cheek.

Senda was touched by the gesture, but appalled that she
would have to suffer through her first fitting alone. 'You must
leave?' She sounded stricken. 'Just when my fairy godmother
appears out of nowhere, she disappears again.' She bit down
on her lip nervously.

'No, no, no, my dear.' The Countess flapped a hand in
Vera's direction. 'I'm not your fairy godmother. She is.'

'You are far too kind, Countess,' the seamstress murmured, working to hide her pleasure behind the mask of inscrutability
she had perfected over the decades.

'Well, I must be off!' the Countess sang. 'I've dallied far too long. There is so much . . . Heavens! The flowers!' She
slapped herself gently on the cheek. 'Goodness, I'd forgotten
them.' She smiled at Senda. 'You see, it isn't easy to arrange
a fete like the princess's birthday celebration. There are so
many responsibilities, you've no idea. The food . . . the
music
...
the floral arrangements. Oh, dear, my head is spin
ning. I'm afraid I might faint!' She hesitated, glanced about
frantically, and spied a square of cardboard on a work table.
She seized upon it and began fanning herself furiously with it.
'Maybe. . .' she said haltingly, 'maybe I'll sit for a
moment. . .' Her words trailed off as she seemed to slowly
wither and sag.

Alarmed, Senda reached out to catch her, but with a single nod from Madame Lamothe her two assistants sprang for
ward. They helped lower the Countess's considerable bulk
into a mahogany armchair.

'Ah, yes, yes. That is so much better. What got into me?
It's so unlike me . . .' Her makeshift fan a blur, the Countess
closed her eyes. Senda was saying something, and she hadn't
been paying attention. Abruptly she ceased fanning. 'I'm
sorry, my dear. I think my mind is filled with cobwebs. You
must forgive me.'

'You said that you're in charge of the fete?' Senda asked. 'I
didn't know that.'

'Of course!' the Countess said negligibly. 'Everybody
knows that. Helping give parties is how I earn my living.' The
Countess felt compelled to explain, seeing Senda's puzzled
expression, and her giant, distorted eyes took on a faraway
look. 'You see, when my Boris died—God rest his soul—he
was a Hussar officer, so tall and handsome
...
so dashing and
slim. Imagine, his elkskin breeches fit so tightly that it took
two servants to pull them on! His shoulders were so wide, and
with those epaulettes . . . I'll never for the life of me know
what he saw in me.' She paused, and when she continued, her
voice took on a feeble tone. 'Of course, I know. Everyone
knows. Boris' commission took nearly every rouble his parents
had left, and he was under the impression that I was wealthy.'

'Oh.' Senda's heart went out to her newfound friend. 'How
awful it must have been for you to discover that.'

'No, you mustn't think badly of him. It's a very long story,
my dear, but suffice to say that my dear Boris gambled away
every rouble, and then
...
oh, my dear . . . committed
suicide and left me alone with enormous debts. So I took the bull by the horns, as they say, and went to work to pay them off and make a life for myself.' She fanned furiously for a
moment and then continued. 'I refused to live off the kindness
of family and friends, like someone's dreary maiden aunt. So
for years I've arranged fetes and so on for a fee. I began
working for Vaslav's father and have managed to keep going.
Thank God for dear Vaslav and his friends.' She laughed affec
tionately. 'So you see, Senda, my dear, although I am titled,
I'm really a simple working woman.' She caught Madame
Lamothe's stern, disapproving gaze and ignored it, fingering
the gold locket which hung from her neck. She snapped it open
to reveal a watch.

The Countess regarded the time in wide-eyed shock, and
then snapped the locket decisively shut and dropped her
makeshift fan to the floor. She recovered her equilibrium
remarkably well, leaping up from the chair in such an energetic
bound that it put a lie to her dizzy spell. 'I mustn't dally
another minute!' she cried. 'The flowers should have arrived from the Crimea, and I must see to the decorations. Oh, and
I'm certain camellias are among them. I will see to it that
a bouquet is delivered to the theatre.' She embraced Senda
swiftly, enfolding her in her lilac-scented breast, waddled hur
riedly to the door, and then turned her head. 'Toodles!' she
sang, wagging her fingertips and blowing a kiss as she shut the
door behind her.

Madam Lamothe sighed with relief, but Senda couldn't help
smiling. The Countess needn't have shared her circumstances
with her; she had done that to make her feel at ease. Silently Senda blessed her. She was such a guileless, charming, and honest woman that she'd won Senda over completely.

Madame Lamothe apparently wasn't happy with the inter
ruption at all. As soon as the door closed, she turned to Senda
and clapped her hands sharply. 'Come. We have wasted
enough precious time. Now we must measure you . . .
madame . . . mademoiselle?'

'I am a widow.'

'Madame, then. Undress completely.' Madame Lamothe's
patrician eyebrows arched imperiously, suggesting that Senda
had best hurry.

Nine hours later, Senda stared critically at herself in the cun
ningly angled reflections of four tall, floridly carved cheval
mirrors. Madame Lamothe stood off to one side, hands
clasped primly in front of her, an almost pleased expression softening her usually stolid features. She was flanked by the
two assistants, each of whom gaped at Senda openmouthed.

'That's . . .
me?'
Senda gasped incredulously, taking her
eyes off her reflection for a few seconds and staring sideways
at Madame Lamothe.

The dressmaker nodded. 'Yes. Indeed it is.'

'My God. I'm
...
I don't know what to say.' Senda turned
back to the mirror facing her and shook her head. 'I look . . .'

'Breathtaking?' Madame Lamothe ventured softly.

Senda nodded wordlessly, as if speaking would break the spell. She was uncomfortable with preening and primping,
especially with three sets of appraising eyes watching, but she
was unable to keep her eyes off her reflection. She turned
hesitantly and studied herself from the back. The skirt of the gown rustled and moved with her every motion, as if it had a
fluid life of its own. She could scarcely believe the vision of
loveliness which mimed her every move. She was . . .

Was it possible? Was that extraordinarily exquisite creature
really she?

Swallowing her embarrassment at such self-centered fasci
nation, she realized that the young woman in the mirrors—
perhaps they were magic mirrors?—was sophisticated, aristo
cratically regal, and yet somehow touched with an elusive, innocent vulnerability. The pale ashes-of-roses taffeta high-lighted her naturally rosy complexion, shining even pinker under the scrutiny of the prying eyes. The elegant low-cut
bodice fit snugly and her shoulders were left bare. Her breasts were pushed upward, making them appear to be two perfect
creamy orbs, larger and more sublime than she knew them to
be in reality. The puffy short sleeves were like delicate taffeta
epaulettes, cloudy afterthoughts perched ever so lightly just
off her shoulders. Senda marvelled at her almost nonexistent
waist. Pinned just above her left hip was a single silk camellia,
identical to the one attached to her right shoulder. The effect
was superbly balanced. On the flaring skirt Madame Lamothe
had applied pale silk camellias near the hem, each blossom
holding up resplendent curving swags of taffeta which barely
swept the parquet. The matching velvet gloves reached to mid
bicep, complimenting her perfectly.