yet.’ Michelle picked up a hairbrush and studied it with over-absorbed interest. ‘Yet—who knows? By the time the weekend is at an end …’ She shrugged again, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Lacey stared at her bewildered. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Oh, it’s quite simple, ma chère. A large-scale investment by a man of Andreakis’ status would restore confidence in Vernon–Carey. Without it, there could well be a catastrophe—quite soon.’
Lacey gripped the edge of the dressing table. ‘Things are that bad?’ she managed, her green eyes enormous in her pale face.
‘They are that bad,’ Michelle corroborated tautly. ‘And, believe me, there are no lengths to which I will not go to ensure that your father gets that investment from Andreakis. That is why, ma chère, you are going to wear that dress tonight, because you are going to help me—you are going to be an asset to your father for the first time in your life instead of a liability.’
Lacey flinched a little, but her stepmother went on unheeding. ‘This is why you are being dressed as an attractive woman, instead of a child. A man like Andreakis does not want to dine in the company of a gawky schoolgirl. You once hoped to occupy a concert platform, and for that you would have needed an ability to act, to project your personality as well as your music. Tonight your father needs that performance from you. He wants you to relax Andreakis, to charm him if you can.’
Lacey closed her eyes for a moment. Now was not the time to confess that she and Troy Andreakis had already encountered and failed to charm each other. Would the transformation from gawky schoolgirl to sophisticate be sufficiently complete to render her unrecognisable? She doubted it, and knew that she was going to need every scrap of social grace that had been imparted to her at the convent to get through the evening without disaster.
‘If it’s what Daddy wants,’ she said wearily, at last.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say precisely that.’ Michelle’s voice was ironic. ‘But he appreciates the necessity at least, and he is depending on you.’ Her eyes skimmed Lacey’s wilting figure appraisingly. ‘Barbara has done her work well. Make sure you do the same. Now please hurry. The others will be arriving soon.’
As she turned to go, she indicated the glass on the dressing table. ‘Pour toi. For you—a dry Martini,’ she said.
‘But I only drink fruit juice,’ Lacey protested.
Michelle smiled a little. ‘Call it Dutch courage. You may need it.’ And she was gone on a cloud of Balmain perfume.
Lacey tasted the drink gingerly, grimacing slightly at the taste, but it had a warming effect which served to chase away some of the unpleasant butterflies which appeared to have taken up residence in her abdomen.
When she was finally ready, she stood and stared at herself in the full-length mirror, resisting an impulse to cover the upper part of her body with her hands. It was true, she thought detachedly—she did not have to be ashamed of her figure. The stark black of the material made her white skin look almost translucent and gave her slender curves a frank enticement. She just prayed that her untried poise would be able to cope with the promise of almost total revelation that the gown exuded.
But in spite of its provocation, and the sophistication of her shadowed eyes, glowing mouth and softly piled hair, Lacey felt desperately inadequate. Unwillingly she forced her mind back to that earlier encounter, visualising the ruthlessness of his dark face. Not a man who would suffer fools gladly, she surmised, and one for whom a woman would need more than a glossy façade to arouse his interest. What could she find to say that would engage the attention of a man like Andreakis?
With a little groan, she tried to think of what little she knew about him—mostly gleaned from rare newspaper stories, and generally illustrating his loathing of personal publicity. But there had been a story recently—something to do with litigation over a trusteeship involving his young sister— which he had won, she recalled with a slight curl of her lip. She could remember there had been pictures of his beautiful villa on the Ionian island of Theros, taken presumably with a long-range lens out of respect for his dislike of the Press. She could recall gossipy items, too, about beautiful women who had been his guests on Theros for varying periods of time.
A little shiver ran through her body. She felt like a novice swimmer who suddenly finds the water too deep, and too cold.
She gave a shaky little sigh and turned reluctantly towards the door. Better to make her entrance downstairs as inconspicuous as possible than linger, and have Michelle coming in search of her.
As she came slowly down the wide, polished staircase to the hall, Mrs Osborne was just admitting a latecomer. As he shugged off his overcoat and handed it to the housekeeper, Lacey realised it was Alan Trevor and in spite of herself she felt a wave of self-conscious colour rising in her face and had to crush an impulse to turn and run back to her room.
When she spoke, she was amazed to hear how normal, even prim, she sounded. ‘Good evening, Alan.’
He swung round. ‘Er—hello, Lacey. Am I the last? I had to stay behind because the vet was coming to look at Domino. She’s due to foal any time, but he doesn’t think there’ll be anything doing tonight.’
‘Well, I’m glad you were able to make it.’ She moved forward from the foot of the stairs, aware that his eyes were taking in the transformation in her appearance with evident puzzlement. ‘Is something the matter?’ She looked up at him innocently.
‘No—oh, no. It’s just …’ He stared down at her, frowning a little. ‘Hell, Lacey, what have you done to yourself?’
‘Don’t you approve?’
‘No—yes. I don’t know.’ He pushed his hair back impatiently. ‘What’s more important, will your parents approve? I mean, have they seen that dress?’
‘Of course.’ Lacey twirled round slowly, letting the filmy skirt float out and settle back against her slender legs. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Oh, it’s fine—what there is of it,’ he said, heavily sarcastic. ‘And black. I’ve never seen you in black before.’
‘And you don’t like it?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. It just takes a bit of getting used to.’ His eyes went over her again. They held censure and something less easy to define. ‘You just look so—different.’
‘Well, I can’t always wear jeans and gymslips,’ she said defensively. ‘I have to grow up some time.’
‘We all have to do that,’ he muttered. ‘Come on. We’d better go in.’ He offered her his arm with a strange formality.
‘Oh, Alan!’ She ignored the gesture, slipping her hand into his with all the confidence of long familiarity. ‘I haven’t changed that much, believe me. I’m the same person I always was.’
‘Are you, Lacey?’ He gave her fingers a quick squeeze. ‘I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.’
She was glad she did not have to enter the drawing room by herself. Even though her appearance did not cause the sensation she had feared, she was conscious of a number of curious glances, particularly from guests who had known her since childhood. There was admiration mixed with the curiosity
