“The Schiaparelli?”
“I will take it. You must pack it carefully.”
“Yes,” the woman said hesitantly. “Does madam have her luggage here?”
“I have no luggage. You will have to provide it.”
“But…but, madam, we do not sell luggage in this shop.”
Aria found the woman quite tiresome. “Then you must obtain some. And I want the clothes packed carefully, with tissue paper.” As far as Aria could tell, Americans were so odd, it was no telling what they would do with one’s clothes.
The woman was backing from the dressing room. She whispered something to Mavis, who ran out of the shop. She turned to J.T. “This will take a while. There are alterations.”
J.T. stood. “We don’t have time. I have to report for duty in Key West in a few hours. What size does she wear?”
“Six. She is a perfect six but sometimes the dresses are not perfect,” the woman said diplomatically.
“Then give her one of every size six you have in the shop.”
Her eyes widened. “But that will cost a great deal. And the clothing coupons—”
J.T. took the roll of money from his pocket. They were hundred-dollar bills. He began counting off bills. “Perhaps you can say that all your size sixes were damaged and they had to be discarded. Believe me, Uncle Sam won’t mind giving up a few pieces of clothing for what this lady will bring him in return.”
The woman’s eyes were on the money. “There are shoes.”
J.T. kept unrolling layers of bills.
“And gloves. And hosiery. And, of course, underwear. We also carry a line of costume jewelry.”
J.T. stopped counting. “Princess,” he yelled, startling Bill awake so that he nearly fell off the chair, “you want jewelry?”
“I’ll need emeralds, and a few rubies, but only if they’re deep red. And of course diamonds and pearls.”
J.T. winked at the saleswoman. “I don’t think she’ll wear glass and gold paint, do you?”
“We do have a pair of diamond earrings.”
J.T. unrolled a few more hundreds. “She’ll take them. Give her whatever you have in her size.”
At that moment Mavis appeared at the door. Behind her was a sleepy-looking man with a hand truck piled high with matching blue canvas luggage trimmed in white leather. “Where you want it?” he asked sullenly.
J.T. stepped back as the saleswoman took over.
“Beautiful, madam,” the saleswoman said moments later to Aria in the dressing room. “You are utterly lovely.”
Aria studied herself in the mirror. All her life she had been on display and how to look good was something she had learned at an early age. Yes, the clothes were beautiful, very little fabric used because of the war, of course, but they were cut well and they draped and clung to her body in a very pleasant way. But from her neck up she thought she looked very different from these Americans. Her long hair was scraped back and untidily wrapped into a knot and her face was pale and colorless.
“Your handsome young man is growing impatient,” the saleswoman said, some apology in her voice.
“He is neither mine nor do I find him particularly handsome,” Aria said, twisting to look at the seams in her stockings. “Are you sure American women wear dresses this short?” The clerk didn’t answer so Aria looked at her and saw her staring.
“Not handsome?” the woman said at last.
It occurred to Aria that she had never actually looked at Lieutenant Montgomery. She opened the curtain to the dressing room and peered out.
He was sprawled across a small antique reproduction chair—and not a very good one at that—his legs stretched out across the floor so that Mavis had to walk around him, his hands deep in his pockets. He was broad-shouldered, flat-bellied, with long and surprisingly heavy legs. He had dark hair that waved back from his face, blue eyes under thick lashes, a straight thin nose, and perfectly cut lips above a slightly cleft chin.
Aria returned to the dressing room. “I believe this hat will do.”