young thing smiled at her from behind the reception desk. ‘May I help you, madam?’
‘I’m looking for Beauty International,’ said Emily, wishing her voice didn’t always become gruff when she was nervous.
She shouldn’t have done this, she really shouldn’t. Just because she had some spare money, there was no need to waste it. Of all the foolish ideas, fancy trying to do something with a face like hers and with unruly hair which would never do as she wanted!
‘Take the lift to the first floor, madam, and turn left when you get out. Beauty International is the last shop in the row.’ The girl gestured with one perfectly manicured hand.
Emily saw a sign saying ‘LIFTS’. First hurdle over. ‘Thank you,’ she managed, because it was unthinkable not to be polite. She’d always drilled it into the children. Manners cost you nothing. A beggar can be as polite as a king.
Her son seemed to have forgotten about that nowadays, though. Gavin had come down briefly from the north for his father’s funeral, said very little and gone back to work again. He’d hardly said a word to her, let alone asked her what she was going to do now.
She was going to have to do something about her lazy son, she definitely was.
She came out of the lift into a world of palest pink walls, more thick carpets, dusky pink this time – how impractical could you get? – and subdued lighting. Flowers cascaded out of huge bowls on little gilt tables, looking so perfect she had to touch one to check if it was real. And it was.
Soft-toned paintings in ornate gold frames graced the walls and she paused in front of one of them, two children in 1920s dress playing with a little dog while their mother looked on smiling. It was beautiful, every detail perfect.
Emily swallowed hard and turned left, staring into the shop windows in amazement. Dresses that cost as much as she spent on clothes in a year. Shoes that cost four hundred dollars for two little straps. Jewellery, perfumes, all the luxury goods you could imagine. It was like another world. It was another world to her.
When she saw the outside of Beauty International, she paused as if to look in the window, then sucked in a deep breath and took herself by surprise, sweeping through the door before she could change her mind and run away.
She had never run from anything in her life and she bloody well wasn’t going to start now. She didn’t normally swear, didn’t believe in it. But then, she didn’t normally visit beauty salons in posh hotels.
‘Good morning, madam.’
It was the same cooing voice she’d dealt with on the phone. Emily looked at its owner and took heart. The young woman might be ultra-smart but she had a really nice smile. You could tell a lot about people from their smiles. Emily peered at the badge on her chest. ‘Good morning, Rachel.’
‘How may we help you?’
‘I’m booked in for a makeover.’
‘Mrs Norris?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please come this way, madam.’
Grimly determined, Emily followed Rachel into a perfumed world of discreet lights and soft music.
The young woman looked sideways at her and winked. ‘Birthday present, is it?’
Emily relaxed a little. ‘No. Just a present to myself to cheer me up.’
‘You won’t regret it. They work miracles here, honest they do.’
‘They’ll have to, with me.’
There was the sound of a door opening and the young woman’s voice changed back to its formal tones. ‘Our beauty team will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat, Mrs Norris.’
Emily walked over to an ultra-modern chrome and leather chair and sat down on the edge of it, clutching her handbag. Smart, but uncomfortable, that chair. All show and no go, her stepmother would have said. Poor Megs. She hadn’t lived to make old bones. Sixty-two was nothing nowadays.
Emily’s parents hadn’t made old bones either. She was going to do her best not to follow their example, had learned about nutrition when the children were young from
‘I’m looking for Beauty International,’ said Emily, wishing her voice didn’t always become gruff when she was nervous.
She shouldn’t have done this, she really shouldn’t. Just because she had some spare money, there was no need to waste it. Of all the foolish ideas, fancy trying to do something with a face like hers and with unruly hair which would never do as she wanted!
‘Take the lift to the first floor, madam, and turn left when you get out. Beauty International is the last shop in the row.’ The girl gestured with one perfectly manicured hand.
Emily saw a sign saying ‘LIFTS’. First hurdle over. ‘Thank you,’ she managed, because it was unthinkable not to be polite. She’d always drilled it into the children. Manners cost you nothing. A beggar can be as polite as a king.
Her son seemed to have forgotten about that nowadays, though. Gavin had come down briefly from the north for his father’s funeral, said very little and gone back to work again. He’d hardly said a word to her, let alone asked her what she was going to do now.
She was going to have to do something about her lazy son, she definitely was.
She came out of the lift into a world of palest pink walls, more thick carpets, dusky pink this time – how impractical could you get? – and subdued lighting. Flowers cascaded out of huge bowls on little gilt tables, looking so perfect she had to touch one to check if it was real. And it was.
Soft-toned paintings in ornate gold frames graced the walls and she paused in front of one of them, two children in 1920s dress playing with a little dog while their mother looked on smiling. It was beautiful, every detail perfect.
Emily swallowed hard and turned left, staring into the shop windows in amazement. Dresses that cost as much as she spent on clothes in a year. Shoes that cost four hundred dollars for two little straps. Jewellery, perfumes, all the luxury goods you could imagine. It was like another world. It was another world to her.
When she saw the outside of Beauty International, she paused as if to look in the window, then sucked in a deep breath and took herself by surprise, sweeping through the door before she could change her mind and run away.
She had never run from anything in her life and she bloody well wasn’t going to start now. She didn’t normally swear, didn’t believe in it. But then, she didn’t normally visit beauty salons in posh hotels.
‘Good morning, madam.’
It was the same cooing voice she’d dealt with on the phone. Emily looked at its owner and took heart. The young woman might be ultra-smart but she had a really nice smile. You could tell a lot about people from their smiles. Emily peered at the badge on her chest. ‘Good morning, Rachel.’
‘How may we help you?’
‘I’m booked in for a makeover.’
‘Mrs Norris?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please come this way, madam.’
Grimly determined, Emily followed Rachel into a perfumed world of discreet lights and soft music.
The young woman looked sideways at her and winked. ‘Birthday present, is it?’
Emily relaxed a little. ‘No. Just a present to myself to cheer me up.’
‘You won’t regret it. They work miracles here, honest they do.’
‘They’ll have to, with me.’
There was the sound of a door opening and the young woman’s voice changed back to its formal tones. ‘Our beauty team will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat, Mrs Norris.’
Emily walked over to an ultra-modern chrome and leather chair and sat down on the edge of it, clutching her handbag. Smart, but uncomfortable, that chair. All show and no go, her stepmother would have said. Poor Megs. She hadn’t lived to make old bones. Sixty-two was nothing nowadays.
Emily’s parents hadn’t made old bones either. She was going to do her best not to follow their example, had learned about nutrition when the children were young from
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