That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,5

in fact had never had one. Her dear father had had very little idea about a young lady’s needs, and her mother, alas, had died when Cicely had been a young child. And since her father’s death, Cicely had discovered that his unworldliness had resulted in a mountain of debts, so that she had been unable to hire one. As a result, by dint of choosing the most suitable clothes, she had grown proficient in the art of dressing and undressing herself.

She slipped on a clean pair of lace-trimmed knickers. After them came her bosom amplifier. She loved the pretty camisole with its row upon row of tiny frills sewn across the front and as she fastened it, her body began to take on a fashionable shape. She followed it with her lace-trimmed petticoat and glanced at the whalebone corset at the back of her wardrobe, but without assistance it was impossible for her to put on.

Looking through her clothes, she pondered what to wear. After some thought she decided on a white blouse with a lace corsage and a lilac skirt. She put on the blouse and then slipped into the skirt, smoothing its long, flowing lines over her hips and tweaking the short train which trailed behind it.

Having dressed herself, she arranged her damp hair and, looking in the mirror, was not dissatisfied. Knowing their poverty, she had bought a few good clothes and, with care, they would last her for years.

She heard a sound outside and caught sight of Alice walking down the drive. Within minutes Alice, a childhood friend who came and went as though she were one of the family, entered her bedroom.

‘Such news,’ said Alice without preamble, throwing herself down on the bed. ‘You’ll never guess – goodness, Cicely, what happened to your clothes?’ she asked, seeing the muddy clothes in the corner.

‘I had an accident. I fell off my bicycle.’

‘That’s not like you,’ said Alice.

‘It wasn’t my fault.’ Cicely’s desire to confide in her friend overcame her pride. ‘I was coming down the hill by the forge and I’d just turned the corner when I saw a motor car right in front of me. I had to swerve to avoid a crash, and I ended up in the duck pond.’ It was too much. The memory of the accident, now that she was dry and fresh and safely back at the Lodge, was so ridiculous that she had to laugh.

‘Oh, Cicely, how awful!’ laughed Alice. ‘You must have looked a sorry sight!’

‘I was drenched. There was water everywhere. And pond weed. It was sticking out of my hair. And when I rescued my hat and put it on –’

‘Don’t tell me. The water poured down your face! Oh, Cicely! How dreadful. I wish I’d been there!’

‘I’m glad you weren’t! It was bad enough that that man –’ she stopped short.

‘Man?’ Alice looked at her enquiringly and then broke out laughing again. ‘You don’t mean to say that someone saw you like that?’

Cicely pulled a face. ‘The driver of the car.’

‘How awful!’ laughed Alice, torn between amusement and horror. ‘What did he say?’

‘He didn’t say anything. He laughed at me!’

‘What a cad.’

‘I know, and you may believe I told him so, in no uncertain terms. “Had you been a gentleman you would now be apologizing for causing an accident and doing everything in your power to make amends, but as you are obviously nothing of the kind I will have to help myself.”‘

Her mouth twitched.

‘Oh, Cicely, you didn’t!’ Alice collapsed into laughter again.

‘I did.’

‘You mean, you didn’t laugh?’ asked Alice, pulling herself together.

‘Of course not – although at one point I was tempted. But I was too cross.’

Alice’s face was sympathetic. ‘You poor dear. Did anyone else see you – apart from the monster, that is?’

Cicely had a brief vision of the owner of the Daimler: dark hair, athletic build, long legs and an infuriatingly mocking smile. A monster? No, he hadn’t been a monster. Unaccountably, the strange sensation she had experienced when he had put his arms round her, the tingling feeling, which had made her body feel strangely alive, came back to her. She shook herself in an effort to drive it away.

No, he hadn’t been a monster, she thought again. More was the pity. Because if he had been a monster, his laughter would have been so much easier to bear.

‘No one else, thank goodness,’ she said, answering Alice’s question. ‘I was sure I would bump into someone in the village,