Page 134
“I wish I could go home,” she said miserably. “Just for a visit. I miss it.”
“Of course you do,” said Alexandra.
“It’s silly, but I wish I could see the fashion show my sister is putting on.”
Alexandra’s lips fell into a thin line. “When is that?”
“Next Tuesday,” she said.
Alexandra nodded, and then announced, “We need tea. If you’ll be all right for just a moment, I’ll go to the NAAFI and find us some and something sweet to go with it.”
She gave a watery laugh. “That would be lovely.”
“Unpack your things and then put on your most comfortable clothes and climb into bed. The other girls are all watching the film tonight, so no one should disturb you. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” said Alexandra.
Izzie did as she was told, pulling on a jumper and a pair of socks even though it was practically the middle of June because she needed the comfort of warmth. In her bunk, she pulled her sketchbook to her and began to draw, losing herself in the soothing rasp of pencil on paper.
She didn’t know how long Alexandra had been gone when there was a noise at the door and she looked up to see her friend walk through, bearing two cups of tea, two chocolate bars sticking out of her tunic’s breast pocket.
“Here you are,” said Alexandra.
Izzie accepted her cup and sweet gratefully.
“I’m sorry I took a little longer than I expected, but I had to send some telegrams and then there was a telephone call,” said Alexandra as she sat on the edge of Izzie’s bunk.
“Telegrams? Telephone call?”
Alexandra grinned. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Good,” said Alexandra. “Then here’s what we’re going to do…”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The room might have looked like pandemonium, but there was order if only one knew where to look. Sylvia, clipboard in one hand and pencil firmly gripped in the other, was ticking things off, making sure everything was in its rightful place, because in ten short minutes her fashion show would start.
“Lance Corporal White,” she called out to a girl who was struggling to reach around her back and zip up the chocolate-brown wool dress Mrs. Moss had made. “You’d better let me help you with that.”
The young woman gave her a grateful smile and turned to show Sylvia her back. Setting down her things, she zipped the young woman up and said, “There you are. Now, do you know who you’re meant to walk after?”
The young woman, who Sylvia had learned that morning was usually in the mechanic shop working on transport vehicles in her capacity in the Auxiliary Territorial Service, nodded.
“Good. Then good luck and enjoy the show.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sylvia saw Lady Winman approach. The countess, who was wearing the dress she’d ordered from Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions, was sporting the little satisfied smile that Sylvia had learned over the past weeks was the equivalent of a whoop of joy.
“How is it looking out front?” she asked.
“Standing room only,” said Lady Winman triumphantly. “And it isn’t just Alistair’s connections either. I don’t recognize half the members of the press who are all packed in.”
“But the Vogue people are in the best seats?” she asked anxiously.
“Right next to Edward Molyneux.”
“Edward Molyneux?” she gasped. Molyneux had made the navy silk gown she’d worn on her last evening out with Hugo, Claire, and Rupert. It would forever have memories of her husband, and she wasn’t certain she would be able to bring herself to wear it again, but she couldn’t deny that it was utterly gorgeous.
“Apparently he has a keen interest in promoting British fashion,” said Lady Winman, pulling Sylvia’s attention back to matters at hand. “I think Audrey Withers invited him.”
