Roxy's Story (The Forbidden 2) - Page 58

“Oh.” I reached up to wipe it clear. “I guess I was in too much of a rush.”

“Don’t do that. You’ll only smear it more.”

She opened the purse she had hanging off her chair and handed me an ivory case that opened to a small mirror. I saw what she meant, and using a tissue she handed to me, I wiped away the excess lipstick. I thought she must have microscopes for eyes to have picked up on this so quickly. I looked at the case when I closed it.

“Beautiful.”

“It was a gift from a member of the president’s cabinet,” she said, taking it back. She nodded toward the seat on her right, and I sat. “If there is one thing I never want you to rush, it’s preparing your appearance. Every Brittany girl takes pride in how she looks, not only to the person she is accompanying but also to herself. That’s why I bring in experts in makeup, coiffure, and style. What good is all that if you don’t take great care? Always be sure to leave yourself enough time. If you appeared before one of our clients who was paying top dollar and looked like that . . .”

“It won’t happen again,” I said.

Maybe to come to my rescue, Randy hurried out with a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket. He set it down quickly. I saw that it had been opened.

“There was no need to test you on that again,” Mrs. Brittany said when she saw me looking at it. Randy pulled out the cork and poured us each a glass. “You can bring our salads, Randy,” she told him.

He glanced at me, smiled, and hurried back to the kitchen.

“How far away is the kitchen?” I asked her.

“Now you’re worried about Randy working too hard? What’s happened to the self-centered young girl who arrived?”

“Maybe I’ve become a bit bored with her,” I replied. “She was just one-note.” I saw in the way her eyes sparkled that she liked my response.

“You continue to get high praise from members of my team,” she said. “But don’t think that’s convinced me yet. As was just demonstrated, you have a long way to go.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Most girls your age these days want instant gratification.”

“I’m not most girls my age these days,” I fired back. If I had been brought here to be slowly cooked over the hot coals in her eyes, she had a surprise coming.

She nodded, clearly seeing the fire in my eyes, too. “Okay. Let’s put that all aside for now. Tell me more about your family, why things became so difficult for you and for them, and what you expect will happen with them in the near future, as regards you, I mean,” she said, relaxing.

Randy brought out our salads. I waited for him to serve and leave before I began to describe my parents and what life had been like for me growing up in the house my father ruled like a commanding general. I gave her as much detail as I could, but I didn’t blame everything on him. I confessed to as many of my indiscretions as I could recall, elaborating on some of the bigger incidents at school.

“I’m surprised you weren’t sent off to some behavior-modification camp,” she said.

“So am I, although that was probably coming if I remained there any longer. I think my father thought it was too late even for that, however. If I stepped out of myself,” I said, “and took a good look, I don’t think I’d want me around, either.”

As I spoke, I knew she was listening keenly but also watching how I ate my salad and talked without food in my mouth. Nigel Whitehouse, as if he knew what to prepare me for tonight, had made a big deal of the way people conversed at lunch and dinner tables. He referred to it as “the delicacies of gracious living.”

“It will give you the aura of sophistication that the men you will be with appreciate, look for, and actually demand. It’s part of what justifies their cost, comprenez, my dear?”

“Mais oui,” I told him.

A week ago, I might have come close to spitting in the face of someone who told me I looked gross the way I ate or sat, but it was as if another window on the world had been opened for me, and when I looked through it, I saw what lay in wait for someone who had more than just a modicum of class. When I had first arrived, I was skeptical and indifferent about the value of all this cultural training, but that skepticism was dying away. I wanted to do well now. I wanted more.

I saw from the expression on Mrs. Brittany’s face that I was passing this particular test. She concentrated now on what I was saying and not so much how I was saying it. She really wanted to know more about me, and I knew she wouldn’t take interest in anyone she thought would not succeed with her. When I was finished with my description of what my life had been like, she signaled for Randy to take our dishes.

“Give us ten minutes before bringing out the entrée, Randy,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and winked at me. I gathered this was not a bad sign. I wasn’t going to be read my rights and sent off.

She was silent for a moment, and then she leaned forward and spoke in the softest tone I had heard her use. “Normally, I am averse to involving myself, my company, and my associates with young women who come from such troubled backgrounds as yours. Frankly, if it wasn’t for Bob’s insistence, I wouldn’t have agreed to your coming here at all. I don’t like to start with someone who carries so much baggage. It takes too long to unload it, and I’m never confident that some of it won’t rear its ugly head later on when I most need that not to happen.

“However,” she continued, leaning back, “I also rely heavily on my own instincts. I believe, and so far you have shown, that you have the wherewithal to improve yourself, make the necessary changes, throw off the baggage, and blossom. I do not intend to blow up your ego with these remarks. In fact, most young women, even many I have in my employ, have difficulty handling compliments. One can get too confident, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

“I like the way you have treated Sheena, and not only because she is my granddaughter. It has shown me something important about your character, something that supports my own instincts about you. I don’t think you’re as selfish and spoiled as you believe you are, but that’s something you will learn for yourself in time.

Tags: V.C. Andrews The Forbidden Horror
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