‘This way please, Your Highness.’ The older of the pair turned to him with a gracious smile. ‘Monsieur.’
But her attention was clearly on her client as she led them to another room fitted with comfortable sofas, plush carpet and a raised podium surrounded by mirrors.
A third staff member arrived bearing a bottle of vintage champagne and a pair of tulip glasses.
The princess said, ‘Thank you, but not for me.’
Fotis also declined a drink, and the offered canapés. He strolled the perimeter of the room, taking in the large, adjoining dressing room, entering just far enough to be sure there was no separate access to the space.
‘No.’ The single word sliced through the low murmur of voices like a blade through butter. ‘Absolutely not.’
He swung around, senses on alert because, while his charge hadn’t raised her voice, her implacable tone jarred. He stalked closer, curious.
‘But, ma’am,’ the older woman said, ‘it’s been arranged. The work has been done.’
‘I’m sorry there’s been confusion, but I intend to wear the dress I ordered last month. I wasn’t consulted about a change.’
‘Ah, in that case, let me show you.’ The saleswoman’s expression eased into a smile as she clicked her fingers and a minion hurried off. ‘I’m sure, when you see it, you’ll approve.’
The underling returned with a red dress draped over her arm. She cradled it as gently as a mother with a newborn child and the other attendants smiled enthusiastically.
‘Voilà!With Your Highness’s colouring and figure it will look spectacular.’
But Her Highness’s expression wasn’t enthusiastic. Fotis saw a ripple of emotion across her face, a frown on her brow and something stark in her eyes. A second later she smoothed her features. But there was tension in the set of her jaw and stiff shoulders. Anger?
Two attendants held the dress up between them. Even he could see it was stunning. On the right body it would stop traffic.
‘As you see, that shade with your colouring—’
‘No.’ This time the princess’s voice was the merest whisper, but it stopped the woman in mid flow. ‘I won’t wear it.’
‘But Monsieur Gaudreau specifically requested it. It’s been an honour to work on such an iconic piece. It will be the centrepiece of the whole…’
The princess turned her back on the mannequin and Fotis saw the other woman’s smile disintegrate. ‘I’ll wear the dress I ordered. I assume it was completed?’
The other woman licked her lips, frowning. ‘Of course, Your Highness. But this would mean so much, not just to Monsieur Gaudreau but to everyone who—’
‘I’m sorry, madame. But it won’t do.’ She didn’t sound sorry and Fotis saw the other attendants frown at each other, eyes wide with horror. ‘I’ll try on the dress I ordered.’ When no one responded she added, ‘Or I could wear an outfit I brought from Cardona.’
That caused a stir. Within seconds the red dress had disappeared, replaced by one in blue. The jubilant mood of minutes ago was replaced with awkward wariness.
Without glancing his way Princess Rosamund disappeared into the dressing room with several attendants.
What had just happened? Fotis was no expert on women’s fashion. The red dress was stunning and it was clear from the reaction of the staff that her rejection of it was deeply shocking. He knew the significance of tonight’s opening gala to the retrospective of Juliette Bernard’s films. Especially for Antoine Gaudreau, an old man who’d worked with Bernard and was revered by many as something approaching a national icon.
Fotis’ mouth twisted. Clearly her high and mightiness didn’t take kindly to having their plans altered by anyone but her.
She’d reacted to the new dress as if they’d tried to foist a canvas sack on her, instead of a beautiful creation that would make her look a million dollars. Her refusal had to be sheer pique at having her plans thwarted. What other explanation could there be?
He’d known Princess Rosamund was selfish. Now he added callous to his list.
She’d ignored the staff’s eagerness and the fact they’d clearly worked hard to produce the red dress. The fact it meant a lot to an old man at the very end of his career, and by the sound of it, many others, meant nothing to her.
She didn’t care about others’ feelings. Clearly she didn’t subscribe to the idea that privilege came with responsibility to others.
Distaste soured his mouth and he reached for one of the canapés.
He’d been in her company less than twenty-four hours and couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
