Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman by Elizabeth Buchan

Author:Elizabeth Buchan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Adult
Published: 2008-10-15T22:00:00+00:00

After lunch, Mazarine took me shopping. ‘This trip is to get you sorted out,’ she said. ‘I think you must face facts and pay attention to your appearance.’

‘Do I look so bad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shopping will sort me out?’

She shrugged. ‘It is a duty’

Our first stop was La Belle Dame Sans Merci, a boutique specializing in underwear. There was a poster advertising Mazarine’s exhibition in the window. ‘No jokes, Rose.’ Once inside, she submitted me to the attentions of an exquisite-looking youth. ‘Not interested in women,’ she murmured.

I observed myself in the mirror. ‘That’s lucky.’

While he measured and prodded, I gazed awkwardly at the knots of cream satin ribbon that tethered the curtains. Mazarine and the youth conferred and pushed me this way and that, as if I was weightless.

A full-length mirror reconfirmed my thinness but it did not please me as it might have done. Who was this person in the mirror, without presence, without bearing?

‘Pay attention, Rose, and try this on.’ Mazarine handed me the first of many garments.

I obeyed and felt my flesh settle into lace and wire.

‘There,’ she said, a magician happy with her work. ‘Good.’

For anyone’s information, the healing quotient of getting without difficulty into a black lace body embroidered with tiny butterflies is high.

‘How are the finances?’ Mazarine inquired, a little late in the day, as we carried expensive-looking bags out of the boutique.

‘I have six months’ salary. Or I did until an hour ago.’ Mazarine looked smug. ‘This is an investment in your future.’

‘I’m not looking for a husband replacement.’

‘Who said that you were?’

Our next stop was Zou Zou, whose proprietor, a slender, chic woman, appeared to be on the best of terms with Mazarine. The two women conferred fast and emphatically with many a gesture in my direction, and I got the impression that they considered I did not possess a rag worthy to sit on my back. They hustled me into a cubicle and practically ripped off my clothes.

Hands and voices fussed and chattered and pinned on alterations.

I found myself in a sleeveless linen dress cut in the oh-so-French manner. But, dear me, the buttons were not, apparently, in sympathy with my bustline. I confess to being enchanted with this notion. So much in life is wasted or lost – supermarket packaging, emotion, methane gas from cows, years of building up a marriage – but this particular art of placement was the one area in which nothing was overlooked. Buttons sympathetic to the precise line of nipples were there to help salve the wounds of time and love that had gaped open and bloody after one short sentence had been uttered: I’ve found someone else.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.