Directors came and went; Contessa Nicoletta was for ever.
Rocco and I jogged back to our courtyard. By the time I let us in, Signora Carriera had returned. My heart fell when I saw the piles of fabric she had brought with her. Taking work home was an evil habit and with me upstairs she had started to assume I was a willing pair of hands. Rocco had no such fears: he bounded to his owner with puppyish enthusiasm, leaping around her and licking her fingers. A willowy lady with blonde highlighted hair, the signora was doing an excellent job of disguising the fact that she was in her early sixties. She wore her glasses on a diamanté chain around her neck. They were bumping against her chest now as she shook out a wonderful piece of emerald green velvet.
‘How was your walk?’ she asked. I assumed she was addressing me though she was paying more attention to Rocco.
‘Good, thanks. We saw Contessa Nicoletta going to church. She says she’ll call by soon about her costume order.’
Signora Carriera ran a distracted hand through her hair. ‘Ay-yay-yay, how will we cope?’ Her lips curved in a little smile as she thought of the profits. ‘But cope we will. Would you like to have supper with me? I’m expecting special guests so I’ve cheated, naturally, and brought in a lasagne from the restaurant across the street.’
I rather fancied the idea of having someone other than the cat to talk to. ‘Yes please. Who’s coming?’
‘The director from the film company and his head of costume. They phoned just after you left.’ She snipped off a loose thread on a gold tissue petticoat.
I thought of the last few masks I was still to complete, the dresses with seams only tacked and not properly sewn. ‘But we’re not ready!’
She shrugged in a ‘what can one do?’ gesture. ‘I know, but they want to see what we’ve done so far. They realize we cannot deliver the final pieces until Saturday. Filming starts on Sunday so there is not much time for changes if they don’t like my approach.’
I was already regretting agreeing to attend. If there were multiple alterations, guess who would be asked to do them while my boss dealt with her usual customers?
‘That’s all I have time to do now.’ Signora Carriera put her little scissors away. ‘Why don’t you go and change into one of your dresses—the purple wrap, I think.’ The signora assessed me with her professional look. ‘Yes, that brings out the best in your colouring. Dramatic, like your features.’
I choked on a laugh. ‘I have a best to bring out?’
‘Oh stop that, Crystal!’ she said smartly. ‘I don’t know where you got this idea that you are ugly.’
From the mirror? I thought.
‘It is most ridiculous! I have heard enough of it. You are one of those girls whose faces are arresting, not merely pretty. Hundreds of women can do pretty; few can do stunning.’
My jaw dropped. Then again, a cattle prod could do stunning.
Having begun on this theme, Signora Carriera was on a roll. ‘Look at the top model agencies, they do not go for what the world calls beautiful; they choose faces that you remember and who can wear the clothes rather than let the clothes wear them. That, bella , is you.’
Well, wow. Just wow. After a couple of rotten weeks, I suddenly felt a hundred feet tall—in a good way. ‘Thanks. I’ll go get changed then.’
And with the encouraging smell of baking lasagne to spur me on, I took time to dress for dinner. After all, I was going to meet two guests used to rubbing shoulders with the most sophisticated people in the world. I did not want to let Venice or myself down. I peered at my face in the mirror as I applied mascara, trying to see what Signora Carriera had described. Drama? Hmm. I still looked like me, dark brows, funny-coloured eyes, rioting hair, but if I pretended I was beautiful like she said, maybe I’d begin to be the person she saw rather than the one I did? Worth a try. I added a necklace I had made from