place,” her mother continued.
Worry about George and Tom had pushed that rather down
Harriet’s list of concerns, but it had crossed her mind. She was sure all the
female guests would have spent a fortune.
“So I bought you a few,” her mother said with a smile.
“We’ll try them on later, see what works. You’re about the same size as me so
it was easy to pick some out.”
They skipped puddings - “Sugar isn’t good for you darling,
and you don’t want to lose your gorgeous figure,”- but drank strong black
coffee and a glass of brandy each.
When her mother asked for the bill, the manager wandered
over, looking entranced, and explained that it was on the house.
Harriet was astonished, but Adelaide laughed lightly. “You’d
be surprised how often that happens to me.”
She left a large tip and led Harriet out to a Bentley parked
by the side of the restaurant. To Harriet’s amazement, there was a driver, who
was wearing a full Edwardian style chauffeur’s outfit and was startlingly
handsome. She tried to hide her surprise and act as though this sort of thing
happened to her every day. Relaxing into the soft leather seats, she wished
that it did. The odd thing about the vehicle was that its windows were blacked
out on both sides, so that they couldn’t see out anymore than other people
could see in. Harriet considered asking about this, but for all she knew, it
was standard for chauffeur driven cars, and she didn’t want to sound ignorant.
After a while, the car pulled smoothly to a halt. The driver
opened first her door and then her mother’s, helping them each out in turn.
“Thank you James, you can take a break and collect me at
midnight,” Adelaide said.
Harriet found herself just outside of the porters’ lodge. Students
weren’t easily impressed, but she saw a few glancing at the car with interest,
and several more staring at her mother.
“Miss French,” said the head porter. “What a surprise to see
you again. It’s been years.”
“Mrs French nowadays. Or indeed Mrs Piso on occasion. Still,
that’s an impressive memory for names and faces you’ve got there.”
“That’s my job Mrs French. I hope you enjoy seeing your
daughter. You really should do it more often.”
It took Harriet a while to put her finger on what was odd
about the perfectly civilised conversation. Then she realised. The porter had
been looking at her mother quite levelly and calmly, free from the look of awe
that all the waiters and passing students had shown. He’d also managed to hold
a normal, two sided, maybe even reprimanding conversation with her.
Adelaide looked slightly discomfited. “You are going to
allow me in aren’t you?”
“Once a member of the college always a member of the college
Mrs French. There’s nothing I or anyone else can do about that.” He turned to
Harriet. “Have a nice evening, Miss French.”
With that, Harriet led her mother to her staircase. When
they reached her landing, she was puzzled to see two long rails of clothing
accompanied by an eager looking, smartly dressed woman wearing a Selfridges
badge.
“What on earth?” Harriet exclaimed.
“As I said, you need a perfect dress. This is my favourite
personal shopper, and here are a selection of things in your size.
“Thanks, I guess. But how did you arrange this?”
“Oh, the usual way. Money and influence,” her mother said
with a light laugh.
Harriet hurriedly opened her door and let the woman wheel
the clothes rails into her room, wishing she’d tidied up a bit more first.
“As I explained on the phone, we’re looking for one cocktail
dress for a party, and another that would work for a formal dinner,” Adelaide
said. “One should be dramatic and figure hugging. Herve Leger or something. The
other should be floaty and romantic. Find some shoes to match as well. Maybe a
couple of Von Furstenberg dresses and similar things too for more casual
events.”
The shop assistant nodded enthusiastically.
Worry about George and Tom had pushed that rather down
Harriet’s list of concerns, but it had crossed her mind. She was sure all the
female guests would have spent a fortune.
“So I bought you a few,” her mother said with a smile.
“We’ll try them on later, see what works. You’re about the same size as me so
it was easy to pick some out.”
They skipped puddings - “Sugar isn’t good for you darling,
and you don’t want to lose your gorgeous figure,”- but drank strong black
coffee and a glass of brandy each.
When her mother asked for the bill, the manager wandered
over, looking entranced, and explained that it was on the house.
Harriet was astonished, but Adelaide laughed lightly. “You’d
be surprised how often that happens to me.”
She left a large tip and led Harriet out to a Bentley parked
by the side of the restaurant. To Harriet’s amazement, there was a driver, who
was wearing a full Edwardian style chauffeur’s outfit and was startlingly
handsome. She tried to hide her surprise and act as though this sort of thing
happened to her every day. Relaxing into the soft leather seats, she wished
that it did. The odd thing about the vehicle was that its windows were blacked
out on both sides, so that they couldn’t see out anymore than other people
could see in. Harriet considered asking about this, but for all she knew, it
was standard for chauffeur driven cars, and she didn’t want to sound ignorant.
After a while, the car pulled smoothly to a halt. The driver
opened first her door and then her mother’s, helping them each out in turn.
“Thank you James, you can take a break and collect me at
midnight,” Adelaide said.
Harriet found herself just outside of the porters’ lodge. Students
weren’t easily impressed, but she saw a few glancing at the car with interest,
and several more staring at her mother.
“Miss French,” said the head porter. “What a surprise to see
you again. It’s been years.”
“Mrs French nowadays. Or indeed Mrs Piso on occasion. Still,
that’s an impressive memory for names and faces you’ve got there.”
“That’s my job Mrs French. I hope you enjoy seeing your
daughter. You really should do it more often.”
It took Harriet a while to put her finger on what was odd
about the perfectly civilised conversation. Then she realised. The porter had
been looking at her mother quite levelly and calmly, free from the look of awe
that all the waiters and passing students had shown. He’d also managed to hold
a normal, two sided, maybe even reprimanding conversation with her.
Adelaide looked slightly discomfited. “You are going to
allow me in aren’t you?”
“Once a member of the college always a member of the college
Mrs French. There’s nothing I or anyone else can do about that.” He turned to
Harriet. “Have a nice evening, Miss French.”
With that, Harriet led her mother to her staircase. When
they reached her landing, she was puzzled to see two long rails of clothing
accompanied by an eager looking, smartly dressed woman wearing a Selfridges
badge.
“What on earth?” Harriet exclaimed.
“As I said, you need a perfect dress. This is my favourite
personal shopper, and here are a selection of things in your size.
“Thanks, I guess. But how did you arrange this?”
“Oh, the usual way. Money and influence,” her mother said
with a light laugh.
Harriet hurriedly opened her door and let the woman wheel
the clothes rails into her room, wishing she’d tidied up a bit more first.
“As I explained on the phone, we’re looking for one cocktail
dress for a party, and another that would work for a formal dinner,” Adelaide
said. “One should be dramatic and figure hugging. Herve Leger or something. The
other should be floaty and romantic. Find some shoes to match as well. Maybe a
couple of Von Furstenberg dresses and similar things too for more casual
events.”
The shop assistant nodded enthusiastically.
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