Amy felt her shoulders sink, her whole body consumed by the force of her emotions.
‘Now that, that I can understand,’ said Georgia quietly.
She looked at Amy for a long time.
‘All right,’ she said, wiping her lips with her napkin and placing it at the side of her plate. ‘First lesson: leave the napkin where you found it.’ She stood up.
‘Where are we going?’
‘If you’re going to play the part of a lady, then we need to start where every good actor starts.’
‘Where’s that?’
Georgia’s eyes twinkled.
‘With the shoes.’
Alfonse dropped them on Madison Avenue. Amy pulled her thin coat around herself. The wind was tugging at her skirt – she hadn’t been exaggerating when she had told Georgia that New York could be one of the coldest places on earth. When the wind blew past Liberty Island, across the Hudson Bay and up through the concrete canyons of downtown, it only seemed to get colder on the way.
‘Brrrr!’ she said, stamping her feet. ‘Are we going far?’
Georgia smiled. ‘Far? But my dear, we’re already there.’
Amy looked up at the building in front of them, a huge limestone pile almost grand enough to rival the Frick. She glanced at the small type either side of the arched doorway.
‘Ralph Lauren?’
‘My New York friends assure me that this is the most elegant store in the world.’
‘But I can’t go in there,’ said Amy.
‘Why ever not?’
‘Well, for one thing, I can’t afford anything they sell.’
‘You’re a woman, Amy,’ said Georgia. ‘I’m sure that’s never stopped you before.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m worried about,’ she replied, immediately picturing some snooty sales assistant railroading her into buying a pair of five-hundred-dollar shoes she’d spend the next two years paying off. But what was really stopping her was the fact that she had often yearned to go inside shops like this but had always kept on walking, feeling too insecure, thinking that someone would spot her and shout, ‘Impostor!’
Georgia linked her arm through Amy’s. ‘Come on, before we both freeze,’ she said.
Still Amy resisted.
Georgia held up one finger.
‘You’ve been on the stage; think of this as the same thing, all right? You’re playing a role. Remember that no one in any shop knows who you are, they have no idea of your back-ground and they can’t magically see inside your bank account. Look as if you were born to be there, that you can afford to buy the whole store, and they will treat you accordingly. I promise.’
Amy nodded and stepped inside.
Even remembering Georgia’s words, she found it hard not to let her mouth drop open. This wasn’t like any old shop; it was like walking on to a movie set. A sweep of elegant staircase dominated the lobby. Crystals dripped from giant chandeliers. An upstairs room decorated like a billionaire’s wife’s boudoir with thick oyster-coloured carpets and pastel-hued silk camisoles hanging off rails was in fact the lingerie department. Another room was decorated like a de luxe drawing room, panelled on all walls by racks of beautiful clothes.
‘Look at the price of these,’ whispered Amy from the side of her mouth, holding up the label on a pair of knickers. Georgia put her hand over it.
‘Never look at the price,’ she said.
‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘No, my dear. First look at the garment, feel the quality, assess whether it will last for years. Finally ask yourself – and answer honestly – “Is it right?”’