‘I thought Madame Didiot’s school finished in February.’
‘It did,’ said Georgia sulkily.
‘So why have you only just returned to England now?’
You’re lucky I came back at all, thought Georgia, knocking back the squash in one gulp.
‘Well, we can make up for lost time now,’ said Estella cheerfully.
‘Not if no one knows who are you. I heard that you did not submit a coming-out portrait for either Queen or Tatler magazine.’
‘Mum was going to paint me,’ said Georgia, sticking up for her mother.
Estella stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘I thought she’d look sensational in oils. But time ran away from us a bit, didn’t it. Surely it’s not important, though?’
‘It’s extremely important. The portraits mark out the girls to look out for.’ Sybil had begun to shake her head. ‘You are completely unprepared for this. The pair of you. The presentations at the Palace are in a week’s time and you have met no one. This is no joke. If I am to present Georgia at court then we have to take it seriously.’ She had a sternness that not even the most scary nuns at Georgia’s old convent school had possessed.
‘Actually, I have planned a fork luncheon for the day before the presentations,’ replied Estella in her defence.
‘Well, that’s a start. Who is coming?’
Georgia rattled off the names of five girls who were attending. Four of them had been at finishing school with her. Only one of them she had actually liked. The fifth girl was someone through her mother’s art world connections, the daughter of a City trader that Estella had done work for.
‘I can’t say I’ve heard of any of them,’ sniffed Sybil coolly. ‘How about I ask around a few friends? Drum up support? Now, I assume you’ve got your wardrobe ready.’
They heard a click at the front door, followed by footsteps and voices, and Aunt Sybil’s face softened.
‘Ah, here’s Clarissa. Just in time to talk fashion.’
Georgia stood up and gave her cousin a hug.
‘How are you, George? You’ve cut your hair. Very Paris-chic.’
‘And you look fantastic.’ Georgia grinned, admiring her cousin’s navy pencil skirt and soft turquoise jumper.
‘Well, I work at Vogue now. Secretary pool, but still, I have to keep up appearances.’
‘Clarissa, did you ever find that checklist we used for your season?’
‘Yes. I sent Estella a copy a few weeks ago.’
Georgia turned to her mother, who looked blank.
‘The post is very unreliable where we are.’
‘I don’t think I threw it away,’ said Clarissa helpfully. ‘Let me go and find it.’
She returned after a few minutes and handed a sheet of pale blue paper to Sybil, who read out loud from it.
‘“Cocktail dresses – four. Evening frocks – six. Three dark, two pale, one white for Queen Charlotte’s Ball. Palace dress – pale blue silk. Ascot frocks – two. Shoes – seven pairs. Gloves – assorted. Nylons – two dozen. Evening wraps – two. Preferably cashmere. Suits – one. Handbags – six. Hats – four.” I notice we haven’t put lingerie, girdles and perfume. I know they are not going to be seen, but I always think a girl’s under-dressing is so important to make her feel special.’
She looked up and glared at Georgia.
‘I assume you’ve got all these things covered.’
Georgia smiled weakly, thinking about the contents of her trunk. It was half filled with her Paris clothes – jeans, Breton tops and black polo-neck jumpers. There was a pair of jodhpurs and a few old cashmere sweaters that had belonged to her father and which had survived the moths. She also recalled some harem pants, a peasant smock her mother had saved from her time in Provence and a couple of house dresses they had found in the Salvation Army shop in Totnes, one of which had come with a matching oven glove. But nothing as fancy-sounding as an Ascot frock or a cocktail dress.
‘I think we had better go shopping,’ said Estella decisively.