Название: Scandalous Risks
Автор: Susan Howatch
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежный юмор
isbn: 9780007396412
isbn:
With a sigh I stretched myself luxuriously and decided I was in paradise.
II
My next task was to choose what to wear for Day One of my new life, but all my clothes now seemed so dreary, no more than a drab mass of browns, beiges and moss-greens. Then I remembered the red sweater which I had bought on impulse when I had visited Marks and Spencer’s to replenish my stock of underwear; I had just had a row with my father and was feeling aggressive, but now the scarlet seemed to symbolise not aggression but passion. I selected the sweater and eyed a pair of earth-coloured slacks. Did I dare wear trousers on a Sunday? Yes. I was in the mood to take a scandalous risk. My mother had brainwashed me into thinking slacks were vulgar on any day of the week, but I had long since realised they suited me. I have longish legs and not too much padding around the hips. It was true that I was usually at least seven pounds overweight, but we can’t all be the Duchess of Windsor.
I brushed my horrible hair and clipped it severely behind my ears to curb its tendency to billow around my head in a frizz. Then I slapped on some powder and went wild with the mascara which normally I reserved for evenings. My mother believed only fallen women wore eye make-up during the day, but Mrs Ashworth had confirmed my suspicion that this piece of folklore was out of date. I tried to recall whether Mrs Ashworth herself wore eye make-up but the memory eluded me. Dressing the part of a bishop’s wife, Mrs Ashworth was the kind of clever woman who would spend half an hour making herself up to look as if she was not made up at all.
Did I wear lipstick? No. Lipstick was going out of favour. The ‘look’ consisted of emphasising the eyes and hair. Jewellery? No, quite inappropriate for a Sunday morning in the Hebrides, and anyway I had decided to emulate Mrs Ashworth’s uncluttered simplicity of style. Was I ready? Yes. For anything. Forgetting my liver, which was still feeling a trifle battle-scarred, I sailed downstairs for breakfast just as the clock in the hall chimed nine.
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