Alice began to pack up her supplies, and Cally stood, carefully moving her head to test the weight and stability of the hairstyle. To her surprise, it felt secure and not nearly as heavy as she'd feared when she’d seen the number of pins and hairspray.
‘How does it feel?’
‘Good.’
Alice nodded. ‘The trick is to make sure it’s secure enough to last all day but not so tight that you're in agony. I think we've nailed it.’
‘Thank you. I love it.’
Alice waved off the thanks with a smile. ‘Happy to help. It's not every day one of us Lovelies gets to go to races, is it? We've got to stick together.’
‘Yep, true.’
Alice paused at the door. ‘Hold your head high, smile, and if all else fails, just nod and say “indeed” a lot.’
Cally chuckled as she stood by the door at the top of the stairs and saw Alice off. As she closed the door, she nodded to herself. She would be fine. Whatever the day had in store, she would meet it head-on, armed with a bomb-blast-safe-exquisitely-crafted low bun. And anyway, Henry-Hicks and his lot were soon going to be toast, so part of her didn’t give a hoot anyway. She just had another little bump to navigate along the way.
20
Cally wasn’t anywhere near as nervous as she’d thought she might be. After Alice had gone, she’d popped on the beautiful dress, slipped the shoes on, and stood in front of the mirror. What looked back at her, evenshehad to admit, was on the nice side. In fact, she’d been totally and utterly transformed. It was as if someone had waved a sparkly, twinkling wand over her head and turned her into someone else. Cally de Pfeffer’s fairy godmother had done quite the job. Maybe it was the fact that she was used to looking at herself in the same old uniform she always wore, or maybe it was the fact that she’d scrubbed up well. Either way, even if she said it herself, she looked rather good. More importantly, though, she feltfabulous.Strictly level fabulous,in fact. A very strange feeling for Cally, but, oh, what a nice dress, a hat, and a fabulous updo could do for a girl.
She nodded to herself resolutely as she just about managed to squeeze a mini carton of blackcurrant into her bag; she was going to shove all the doubts of Thomas to the back of her mind and jolly well enjoy herself like every other person on the planet did when they went to events. Stuff putting herself and her background down all the time for a game of soldiers.
An hour or so later, she was sitting in the back of a car next to Logan with butterflies in her stomach and a smile fixed perfectly on her face. She’d used the switch at the back of her throat a few times, but not anywhere near as much as she’d thought. As the car pulled in through a fancy-looking gate, she couldn’t quite believe where she was. Not only was she at the races but in the posh end, no less. It hadn’t taken her much to work out that she was not only in the posh section but the upper elite end for people who had prefixes attached to the front of their names. Not that she cared about that, but still. Perhaps she could add one to hers for a laugh. Lady Cally de Pfeffer didn’t sound too bad. Maybe she’d introduce herself as such. Inside, she chuckled. What a funny old turn-up for the books. Who would have thought she would be sitting in the back of a car in a very fancy outfit, ready to hobnob with the upper echelons of society? She was a very long way from the chatbot window on her laptop.
Logan reached over, put his hand on her leg and squeezed. ‘Okay?’
Cally didn’t like the squeeze. She nodded. She was far from okay where he was concerned. She shoved it under the carpet and stomped on the top. She fully intended to deal with him and the situation once the races were over. ‘Yep. I’m looking forward to it. Exciting.’
‘Good. Me too. You’re going to love it.’
Cally looked out the window where women in beautiful outfits filed this way and that, and men in top hats and tails stood around chatting. She was surprised that instead of her earlier trepidation she actually felt okay as she took on the regalia going on out the window. ‘I love all the pomp.’
Logan touched his hat. ‘Ha. I won’t be saying that when I’ve been lugging this around all day.’
As the car rolled to a stop, Cally took a deep breath, steeling herself. The butterflies in her stomach seemed to havemultiplied tenfold, but she was determined not to let her nerves show. She resolved to have a nice day.
Logan stepped out first, offering his hand to help Cally from the car. As she emerged, the noise, the colour and the full spectacle of the event hit her all at once. The sight was almost overwhelming – a sea of colour, a swishing movement of pomp and extravagance, ladies in elaborate hats and men in morning suits milling about in every direction.
Cally gripped Logan's arm, suddenly feeling very small and out of place. ‘It's, err, quite something, isn't it?’
Logan smiled. ‘Yep, wait until we get inside.’
As they made their way through a gate where even the people at the gates looked fancy, they strolled through what felt to Cally like crowds of people. She felt as if she was in a show, a movie, or a dream, almost as if she were looking down on herself in a role. In the beautiful but very high nude shoes and the swishy dress, and with the hat balanced on her head, she wobbled a bit. A very, very pretty fish out of water. She tried to walk with grace and confidence and her head held high. She may have practised walking in the shoes and the hat going back and forth in the sitting room of her flat, but in situ, it was very different. Each step felt a bit precarious in her high heels as she looked out from under the hat and held onto her bag as if her life depended on it. Man, did she need a blackcurrant.
All around her, a riot of colour and style stretched off into the distance. Hats of every conceivable shape and size bobbed through the crowd, dresses ranged from classic, tailored looks in muted pastels to bold designs in eye-catching prints, and men all around her were topped with hats. Cally took it all in as she picked up snippets of overwhelmingly posh-accented conversation around her. As she stood next to Logan, waiting to go up some stairs to a stand and restaurant area, she tuned into a couple in front of them.
‘Did you hear about Fitzgerald's Folly? They're saying he's the one to watch in the third race.’ The woman in a bright pink dress, with matching hat, shoes, and bag said, her voice dripping with confidence.
‘Oh yes, but I wouldn't discount Thunderbolt. His bloodline is rather impeccable.’
Cally felt a moment of panic. She didn't know the first thing about racing. What if someone asked her opinion? She swallowed and resolved not to worry. It was a horse race at the end of the day. She could get the hang of that, couldn’t she? It couldn’t be that hard.
Logan guided her through the entrance, presenting their badges to a steward. As they stepped into the enclosure, Cally felt as though she'd entered another world entirely. Everything was immaculate: lawns stretched out before them, elegant white marquees dotted the landscape, the sound of champagne corks popping mingled with refined laughter, and there was a gentle clinking of glasses and music playing somewhere in the background.
‘Shall we get a drink?’ Logan asked, already steering them towards one of the bars.
Cally nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She watched as Logan ordered two glasses of champagne with the easy confidence of someone who belonged in the world. As she accepted her glass, she caught sight of her reflection in a nearby mirror and nearly fell over. The woman looking back at her lookedabsolutelystunning. She squinted, not really believing it was her, and moved her head a bit closer and peered for a few seconds. She might befeelinglike a fish out of water on the inside, but on the outside, she stunned. Cally de Pfeffer nodded. Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah. She adored how that made her feel. Talk about beautiful.
