The Finishing Touches by Browne Hester

Author:Browne, Hester [Browne, Hester]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2009-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

She slid an old photograph across the table. I picked it up eagerly, and Nell sank her nose into the gin and tonic, watching my reactions over the top.

“Wow,” I said as my eyes scanned it greedily. It must have been taken before some formal party or other: there were thirteen, no, fourteen girls grouped around two couches, with Miss Vanderbilt in the center of one and Franny in the other, and the oil painting of the buxom first Lady Phillimore in the background. All the girls had mushroom clouds of curls and tight, practiced smiles, and they were sporting the sort of ball gowns that pinned the photograph firmly around 1980: off-the-shoulder flounces the size of valances, tiny pin-tuck ruffles, black velvet bodices over taffeta skirts in royal blue, magenta, and bright green.

Well, nearly all the girls were. Two had very nonregulation gowns. Leaning on the back of the sofa, where Miss Vanderbilt couldn’t see her sultry camera expression, was a stunning blonde in a full-length black jersey halter dress with a silver snake slithering up the side in multicolored sequins. Next to her, on the other side and equally out of eyeshot, was a mischievous brunette in shoestring straps with a tiger lily stuck in her bobbed hair.

“I mentioned that there were some wild girls in that year—well, that’s Coralie, for a start,” said Nell, pointing to the brunette. “She was terrible. We were always being told not to be like Coralie Hendricks, but we all had raging crushes on her. She had a bonkers dachshund called Mitzi that she trained to attack the art teacher’s hairpiece, and she smoked Marlboro reds out of the loo windows.” She sighed. “Of course the boys loved her.”

Was that like me? I wondered. Was I naughty? Was that the sort of thing that carried?

“And that’s Sophie. Sophie Townend,” Nell went on, pointing at the blonde. “She was what we called a ten-pointer. Got herself a mini part in a Bond film, can’t remember which one, doing something mysterious and sexy with a deck of tarot cards—after she left here, of course. Not on old Vander’s curriculum, being shagged to death by a secret agent.”

“And Hector dated her?” I asked. She looked like the prize pick—the man-eating model in a garden of sweet nannies-to-be. I didn’t feel drawn to her much, but then—would I? Should I? My eye jumped from one face to another while I monitored myself for any telltale flashes of recognition.

“No, Hector went out with Emma-Jane.” Nell moved her red nail across to the girl sitting next to Franny, who sat with her hands folded on her pink taffeta lap and her eyes cast down beneath heavy blond bangs. “Don’t let that shy look fool you. Lady Frances had her sitting there for a reason.”

“Which was?”

“So she could keep an eye on her. Emma-Jane never knew when to stop,” said Nell darkly, and tapped the side of her nose.

I stared hard at Emma-Jane, searching for any vague familial resemblances,

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