no! She suddenly found herself encased in a fur coat so soft, so silky, so blissfully warm, she knew she had never known luxury before.
“Oh!” gasped Miss Pettigrew. “Oh! I can’t believe it. All my life I’ve longed to wear a fur coat, just once.”
“No hat?” asked Miss Dubarry.
“None of mine are suitable,” decided Miss LaFosse. “She’ll have to go without. No one will notice.”
Gloves, handkerchief, a new handbag.
“Ready?” asked Miss Dubarry, after a last touch to herself.
“All set,” agreed Miss LaFosse. “Let’s get going.”
A last look round: a final inventory. They all made for the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
5.2 PM —6.21 PM
M ISS PETTIGREW found herself wafted into the passage. She was past remonstrance now, past bewilderment, surprise, expostulation. Her eyes shone. Her face glowed. Her spirits soared. Everything was happening too quickly. She couldn’t keep up with things, but, by golly, she could enjoy them.
“I don’t care,” thought Miss Pettigrew rapturously. “My dear mother would have been shocked. I can’t help it. I’ve never been so thrilled in my life before. She always said be careful of strangers, you never know. They may be leading me to destruction, but who can possibly want to destroy a middle-aged spinster like me? I refuse to credit it. I don’t know why these things are happening. I don’t care. They’re happening. That’s enough.”
“Feeling O.K.?” asked Miss LaFosse solicitously.
“Lead on,” said Miss Pettigrew joyfully, radiantly.
“Taxi, miss?” asked the porter downstairs.
Miss Pettigrew had never been in a taxi for pure frivolity before. It was the final touch: the gesture perfect. She sat back and watched the London streets fly past her with the sense of being in a dream, but a perfectly sensible dream. No nightmare round the corner. She didn’t know where they went. She had always been terrified of the London maze and had never yet learned to get her bearings. They stopped and bought a pair of soles. They went on. They stopped in front of a house. All the windows were lit. They got out. Miss LaFosse paid off the taxi. They knocked and were admitted. No one challenged Miss Pettigrew. “We’re very late,” remarked Miss Dubarry.
The maid led them to a dressing-room. There were no other occupants.
“That’s all right, Maisie,” said Miss LaFosse. “We know the way.”
The maid left them.
Miss LaFosse and Miss Dubarry powdered their noses.
“Come along now, Guinevere,” said Miss LaFosse. “You must powder your nose again. It isn’t done not to. Last gesture before entering a room—powder your nose. It gives a sense of confidence.”
With trembling fingers, nervous, clumsy, contented, for the first time in life Miss Pettigrew powdered her own nose.
“Do you know,” she said happily, “I think you’re right. It does add a certain assurance to one’s demeanour. I feel it already.”
“Attaboy,” praised Miss Dubarry.
They walked downstairs. From behind a closed door came high sounds of revelry. Suddenly Miss Pettigrew felt qualms. She stood rooted to the spot. Stage-fright engulfed her. She forgot absolutely what she now looked like. Her glimpses had been too short. She would need solid hours of close concentration to get her new image soaked in. She simply felt as she had always felt: Miss Pettigrew permanently seeking a new job, nervous, incompetent, dowdy and shy. She began to shake. They would laugh at her, stare at her, make remarks. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t face any more ridicule. She had had so much in her life.
Miss LaFosse and Miss Dubarry had also stopped.
“We’re here,” said Miss Dubarry in a weak voice.
Miss Pettigrew stared at her. All Miss Dubarry’s gay insouciance had gone. She looked limp as a rag: drooping, nervous, more terrified than herself. She was so surprised she forgot her own nervousness again.
“Buck up, Edythe,” Miss LaFosse implored. “You can’t let him
“Oh!” gasped Miss Pettigrew. “Oh! I can’t believe it. All my life I’ve longed to wear a fur coat, just once.”
“No hat?” asked Miss Dubarry.
“None of mine are suitable,” decided Miss LaFosse. “She’ll have to go without. No one will notice.”
Gloves, handkerchief, a new handbag.
“Ready?” asked Miss Dubarry, after a last touch to herself.
“All set,” agreed Miss LaFosse. “Let’s get going.”
A last look round: a final inventory. They all made for the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
5.2 PM —6.21 PM
M ISS PETTIGREW found herself wafted into the passage. She was past remonstrance now, past bewilderment, surprise, expostulation. Her eyes shone. Her face glowed. Her spirits soared. Everything was happening too quickly. She couldn’t keep up with things, but, by golly, she could enjoy them.
“I don’t care,” thought Miss Pettigrew rapturously. “My dear mother would have been shocked. I can’t help it. I’ve never been so thrilled in my life before. She always said be careful of strangers, you never know. They may be leading me to destruction, but who can possibly want to destroy a middle-aged spinster like me? I refuse to credit it. I don’t know why these things are happening. I don’t care. They’re happening. That’s enough.”
“Feeling O.K.?” asked Miss LaFosse solicitously.
“Lead on,” said Miss Pettigrew joyfully, radiantly.
“Taxi, miss?” asked the porter downstairs.
Miss Pettigrew had never been in a taxi for pure frivolity before. It was the final touch: the gesture perfect. She sat back and watched the London streets fly past her with the sense of being in a dream, but a perfectly sensible dream. No nightmare round the corner. She didn’t know where they went. She had always been terrified of the London maze and had never yet learned to get her bearings. They stopped and bought a pair of soles. They went on. They stopped in front of a house. All the windows were lit. They got out. Miss LaFosse paid off the taxi. They knocked and were admitted. No one challenged Miss Pettigrew. “We’re very late,” remarked Miss Dubarry.
The maid led them to a dressing-room. There were no other occupants.
“That’s all right, Maisie,” said Miss LaFosse. “We know the way.”
The maid left them.
Miss LaFosse and Miss Dubarry powdered their noses.
“Come along now, Guinevere,” said Miss LaFosse. “You must powder your nose again. It isn’t done not to. Last gesture before entering a room—powder your nose. It gives a sense of confidence.”
With trembling fingers, nervous, clumsy, contented, for the first time in life Miss Pettigrew powdered her own nose.
“Do you know,” she said happily, “I think you’re right. It does add a certain assurance to one’s demeanour. I feel it already.”
“Attaboy,” praised Miss Dubarry.
They walked downstairs. From behind a closed door came high sounds of revelry. Suddenly Miss Pettigrew felt qualms. She stood rooted to the spot. Stage-fright engulfed her. She forgot absolutely what she now looked like. Her glimpses had been too short. She would need solid hours of close concentration to get her new image soaked in. She simply felt as she had always felt: Miss Pettigrew permanently seeking a new job, nervous, incompetent, dowdy and shy. She began to shake. They would laugh at her, stare at her, make remarks. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t face any more ridicule. She had had so much in her life.
Miss LaFosse and Miss Dubarry had also stopped.
“We’re here,” said Miss Dubarry in a weak voice.
Miss Pettigrew stared at her. All Miss Dubarry’s gay insouciance had gone. She looked limp as a rag: drooping, nervous, more terrified than herself. She was so surprised she forgot her own nervousness again.
“Buck up, Edythe,” Miss LaFosse implored. “You can’t let him
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