Last Summer in Louisbourg by Clare Mowat Read Free Book Online

make-up. Downstairs, to the left. And tell Charlene to make it snappy. We’re behind schedule.”
    The make-up artist worked in a cramped room with one small window, a room normally used for storing fortress furniture. Tables and chairs had been shoved against a wall to make space for a couple of bright lights, a big mirror, a wheeled cart full of make-up, and a bulky reclining chair. In it was the actor who played the governor, still in white tights and velvet jacket. A cotton cape was draped around his shoulders. Charlene, a plump woman in a pink smock, was leaning over his face and brushing powder over his closed eyelids. Andrea had never seen a man’s face covered in make-up before.
    Charlene had chocolate-coloured skin and a halo of thick black hair. She glanced at Andrea and Justine and said, “Oh, Lordy, don’t tell me there’s two of you. I thought there was only one more.”
    The governor opened his powdered eyelids and looked over at them. “Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, oozing the artificial charm trained actors seem able to project even first thing in the morning.
    â€œLean back,” ordered Charlene and brushed mascara on his eyelashes. Then she flicked off the make-up cape and announced, “You’re done. Who’s next?”
    â€œYou go first,” said Andrea, nudging Justine.
    â€œNo, you,” protested Justine.
    â€œI want to watch how she does it,” Andrea insisted.
    Justine wiggled herself into the big chair. Charlene wrapped the make-up cape around her shoulders, then she stood back and took a long, analytical look at Justine’s face before getting to work applying creams and powders in a subdued rainbow of pastel shades. Justine began to look older and considerably more glamorous. Charlene put the final touches to her work of art with a swoosh of mascara and a dab of bright lipstick. She stepped back to inspect her creation and nodded approvingly.
    â€œWhat about your hair?” she enquired.
    â€œWhat about it?” asked Justine. She was admiring her brand-new image in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and patted it into shape.
    â€œOh, now I remember,” said Charlene. “You two are going to wear some kind of hats, right?”
    â€œOur bonnets,” replied Andrea, pulling hers out of her pocket. “It’s because we’ve got lice!”
    â€œLice!” cried Charlene. “You better not.”
    Andrea was next. After Charlene had worked her magic Andrea took a long look at herself in the mirror, wondering if she could pass for eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Would her friends be able to recognize her when the film was shown? She hoped her name would be listed in the cast. Justine finally dragged her away from her daydreams, worried that they were going to be late.
    â€œMah eyes are buggin’ outta mah head,” declared Calvin approvingly as he viewed the girls from halfway up the stepladder. “Li’l dahlins,” he sang out, as if it was a fragment of some song he knew.
    Andrea tried not to smile in case it left lines in her make-up. No guy had ever called her “darling” before.
    At the other end of the drawing room the governor, whose real-life name was Brock Rutherford, sat uncomfortably on the little curved chair that his true love usually occupied. He was wearing glasses and reading a copy of the
Halifax Chronicle-Herald
. His screen fiancée, whose real name was Deborah Cluett, was again dressed in the divine gown and the towering white wig. She was standing by an open window with her elbows on the sill—smoking a cigarette!
    â€œEww. Disgusting,” muttered Andrea.
    Justine nodded and then said, “That Calvin guy has a funny accent.”
    â€œHe’s from the States,” Andrea explained.
    â€œWay down yonder y’awl,” mimicked Justine, trying to imitate him without much success.
    â€œDo you think he’s cute?”