Girl in the Beaded Mask by Amanda Mccabe Page A

the bed beside Jessica, peering over her sister’s shoulder at the glossy photos of Bright Young People at various parties. Dancing in elaborate fake Watteau gowns, swimming on the French Riviera, riding in sleek cars, champagne glasses always aloft and painted mouths laughing.
    â€œOh, heaps,” said Jessica as she turned the page. “Or at least there was, until everyone left London for the summer. Is it always like this in the city?”
    Lulu studied a photo of party-goers dressed as pinafored babies for a theme party, riding in giant prams. “Not under Mum’s watch it’s not,” she said. “London is all staid tea dances and the opera for a deb like me.”
    â€œI shouldn’t like London anyway,” Jessica said decisively.
    â€œWouldn’t you?”
    â€œNo. I’m sure I couldn’t take Angel there and I can’t live without her.”
    Angel was Jessica’s favorite pet, a smelly lamb she dressed up in little jackets and took around on a silk cord lead. “It’s true Mum wouldn’t let you take Angel to London, which is too bad. She’d be a big hit at parties.”
    â€œWould she? Maybe London wouldn’t be so bad after all then.” Jessica gave her a shrewd look. “But you didn’t seem like you’d had much fun there when you got home.”
    â€œI had fun,” Lulu protested. “It just wasn’t entirely what I expected.”
    â€œAnd now you’re back at Hatton Hall, where nothing happens at all.” Jessica suddenly sat up straight, staring down at the magazine. “Or maybe sometimes things do happen.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI’m talking about Lord Finch-Granley’s summer masked ball, of course! At Granley Park. It’s only a few miles away, and it’s…” Jessica turned the page. “Next week! Oh, I’ve always wanted to see the Granley Ball.”
    â€œYou and everyone else.” Lulu snatched the magazine out of her sister’s hands to see the article for herself. The Granley Ball was famous, not only in the neighborhood but also throughout English Society. Lord Finch-Granley, who had also once been a friend of Bill’s, had been holding his “start of summer” party every year since the end of the war, and it was legendary for its lavishness and style, for the wild times to be had there. Invitations were hotly sought-after.
    Not that an invitation was required. Plenty of people just piled into cars and went. There was always copious amounts of food and champagne to go around.
    â€œMum would never let me go,” Lulu murmured. Her mother was always pursing her lips when she talked of the “goings on” at Granley Park, which was never a good sign. And their father always went along with her. It made life easier that way, he claimed.
    She turned the page to read about who was expected to attend the ball. Lords and ladies, of course, and writers and film stars, shady American businessmen, musicians, maybe even a European prince. There were photos of a few of them, shining with jewels and wide, white smiles. Of course they smiled—they were going to have loads of fun at the Granley Ball, while she stayed home and played mah-jongg with Mum.
    Then a small image at the bottom of the page caught her attention. It was David, dressed in a sharply cut white suit and leaning against a Bentley. His face was shadowed by the brim of his hat, but she could tell right away it was him. The grim set to his jaw and the expressionless look on his chiseled, handsome face were just the same as when she last saw him on that sad day here at Hatton Hall.
    A slender woman in a dark satin drop-waist dress and feathered cloche hat clung to his arm. Unlike David, she smiled happily for the camera.
    And will the Granley guest list include the elusive, reclusive and oh-so-gorgeous David Carlisle, seen here with Lady Elizabeth Ashley at a rare