‘I’ll be going to parties, then?’ Lacey said questioningly, and her stepmother raised her eyebrows.
‘Mais certainement,’ she replied sharply. ‘What else did you expect?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Lacey wriggled her fingers out of the gloves that every convent-trained girl wore as a matter of course when she went out. She had never cared for the feel of gloves on her hands even in the coldest weather, and it occurred to her that she no longer had to trouble about this little bit of discipline. She stole a glance at her stepmother, who was smoking rather jerkily and staring out of the window at the rather drab landscape with a slight frown. ‘Michelle, is everything—all right? At home—with Father, I mean?’
‘Naturally.’ Michelle gave her a long look. ‘Why should it not be?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ It was Lacey’s turn to shrug. ‘One—just hears things and I wondered …’
‘You have heard what?’ Her stepmother’s tone sharpened.
‘Who has been talking to you? What has been said?’
‘Well, nothing really,’ Lacey hastened to assure her, feeling oddly perturbed. ‘But Reverend Mother said something odd—about me being needed, and Vanessa said there had been hints in the papers about the bank—that something might be wrong.’ She paused, but Michelle made no immediate reply. Her frown, however, had deepened. ‘If there is something wrong, I wish you’d tell me. You’ve just said I’m not a child any longer, so please don’t treat me like one if there’s something I should know.’
There was silence for a moment, then Michelle gave a harsh little laugh and muttered, ‘Touchée,’ as she stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray beside her. Then she faced the girl sitting tensely beside her.
‘To begin with,’ she said, ‘your father has not been well. He saw a specialist last week and has been told he has a bad heart and must take care. I did not intend to tell you until we reached England, but you wished me to be honest, and I do not agree with your father that you must any longer be protected and sheltered from life. There are realities that very soon you must face, and this is one of them.’
Lacey sat stunned. She moistened her lips. ‘Is—Father isn’t going to die?’ It was a heartrending little cry.
Michelle moved irritably. ‘Mon dieu, non. At least, we must all hope—and pray too, as the good Sisters have promised to do at the convent, that he will live for many years. But he must avoid shocks and any sort of worry, so this—trouble at the bank could not have happened at a worse time for him.’
‘What sort of trouble?’
‘Lack of foreign investment—some unwise investments of his own. The world of finance is full of these ups and down and always your father has been able to weather any storms that came. People had confidence in him—in his name. But now it is whispered that he is a sick man, confidence is failing. There have been one or two resignations from the board, allegedly for other reasons, it is true, but it causes talk, and then the rumours appear in the newspapers.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘So—you will come home, and we will give a dance for you and on the surface all will be well. This is the façade that we must present to the world, and you must help.’
Lacey lifted haunted eyes to meet her stepmother’s. ‘What’s going to happen, Michelle?’
Michelle blew a reflective smoke ring and looked at the girl through narrowed eyes. ‘We shall—overcome this crisis, or we shall be ruined,’ she said almost idly. ‘It is as simple as that, ma chère.’
‘I must get a job,’ Lacey said half to herself. ‘I—I don’t want a dance or any of that nonsense. I want to earn money—and help Father …’
She bit back a cry as Michelle’s fingers gripped her slender arms.
‘And what money could you earn? A drop in the ocean compared to what! is needed,’ Michelle said contemptuously. ‘Be content, Lacey, and do as you are asked. Do not further complicate matters, I beg you.’
Lacey flushed painfully. ‘I’ll do anything, of course,’ she managed.
‘Will you?’ That reflective note had returned to Michelle’s voice and it puzzled Lacey. ‘Perhaps I will remind you of that—one day, ma chère.’
The remainder of the journey into Paris was accomplished in silence. Lacey was glad to be left in peace with her churning thoughts. In the space of a few hours her entire world had been turned upside down, she thought confusedly. Even the security of her background which she had always taken for granted was no longer certain. Was it conceivable that her father could be ruined? He had always seemed so confident of his ability to keep ahead of the game even in difficult times that it did not seem possible that he could now be facing disaster. But other banks had collapsed, she knew. It was a chilling thought. Michelle had spoken calmly, but Lacey found herself wondering what private thoughts her stepmother might be harbouring. She had relished being the wife of a wealthy and successful man. How would she react to being married to a failure? Lacey shook herself mentally. Poor Father! She was condemning him unheard, treating him as if ruin was staring them in the face already.
But it was the news about his bad heart that had really disturbed her. He had always been so proud of his health and energy, as if it were some private lodestar. Now he was sick and his business too was ailing. It was like some ill omen.
When they arrived at the hotel, Lacey allowed herself to be shepherded up to the palatial suite reserved for them while Michelle went to the reception desk to arrange for an extension of the reservation. They lunched together in the suite on clear soup, followed by grilled trout, but Lacey was too disturbed and upset to eat very much. She was not keen either on the suggested shopping expedition, but Michelle was adamant that she should accompany her, so she gave in with a little sigh.
In the end it was rather fun, she discovered. She would never be wholly at her ease with Michelle, but she had to admit that her stepmother had an unerring eye for colour and line and as the elegantly wrapped boxes began to mount up, Lacey experienced all the genuine pleasures that the possession of new and elegant clothes could give any young woman. She could not feel any real regret when her grey coat was replaced by smooth cream suede trimmed with fur, with high-heeled matching boots.
‘Aren’t you going to buy anything for yourself?’ she asked curiously when they were back in the loaded car and returning to the hotel.
‘Hmm.’ Michelle consulted her wristwatch, then leaned forward and tapped on the glass partition separating the driver from the passengers. ‘Driver!’ Briefly she directed him to take them instead to Jean Louis, the fashion house where, Lacey knew, she acquired most of her clothes.
Lacey had always considered it was an odd way to buy clothes, to go into a showroom where there were no racks to pore over but just a few gilt chairs where you sat and watched incredibly slender mannequins parade in the latest creations until you saw something that took your eye.
Today it seemed that Michelle was in the market for evening dresses. Lacey admired the models being paraded with pure objectivity. There was nothing that would have suited her anyway. The models being shown were far too old and sophisticated, and Michelle and the vendeuse had their heads together in close consultation.
Then, as the next model appeared on the catwalk, she sat up and gave a little gasp, wondering which of Jean Louis’ wealthy clients would have the daring—or the figure—to wear such a gown. It was plain stark black with a long floating skirt that clung revealingly to the girl’s hips. But it was the bodice that was the really eye-catching feature, consisting as it did of hardly more than two broad straps of the softly swathed material which barely covered the girl’s breasts.
Michelle sat up, her face animated,