The Lost Sapphire by Belinda Murrell Page A

‘Poor peasants in rags and Bolshevik revolutionaries in uniform?’
    Violet shook her head. ‘No, I was thinking something far more exotic. You know, Cossack dancing and gypsy violins, and the grand old balls of Imperial Russia.’
    Audrey sat up straight and nodded her approval. ‘Now that sounds more glamorous. You were absolutely right, Imogen – I can already see that Violet will be a huge help. Welcome to our Russian Ball committee, cherie .’
    Violet couldn’t help but feel a thrill of pleasure. The Russian Ball would be a fun project to fill the days now that she couldn’t go to school. She imagined the Town Hall glittering with golden candles and filled with dancers in their evening dresses. She listened as the girls around her discussed music, costumes, refreshments, caterers and posters, while Imogen took notes and Audrey allocated jobs.
    â€˜So we need to decide on a Russian-themed dinner menu,’ Audrey said. ‘And Violet needs to come back with decoration ideas to suit our theme, plus a plan to make it happen.’
    Violet nodded, her mind buzzing with possibilities.
    Just then the doorbell rang. Audrey stood up, twitching her grey silk skirts. ‘It sounds like the gentlemen are starting to arrive. We are going to have lunch in the garden under the trees, followed by a few games of tennis.’
    The other ladies began to follow the footman out into the garden. As Violet stood, Audrey noticed that she was still wearing her navy-blue serge school uniform.
    Audrey took Violet by the arm and whispered, ‘Why don’t you come upstairs and let me find you something tochange into. I’m sure you don’t want to wear your awful school uniform on your first day of freedom.’
    Violet grimaced. ‘They are definitely not designed to be flattering, are they?’
    â€˜Perfect for playing hockey and memorising Latin verbs, but not very stylish for a garden party,’ Imogen agreed. ‘I’m sure Audrey will have something much more fashionable.’
    Violet and Imogen followed Audrey upstairs into her bedroom. Audrey pushed the electric bell to summon a maidservant. ‘I have a couple of frocks you might like to wear,’ she explained. ‘Marthe can help you.’
    Audrey explained to Marthe what she wanted, and the maid showed Violet next door into the dressing room. Marthe pulled two dresses out of the wardrobe. The first was a pale-green dress, loose and softly draped to mid-calf. Marthe loosened Violet’s hair, coaxing it into long, heavy ringlets, with the front segments twisted up behind, and threaded a pale-green silk ribbon across the top of her head twice to make a headband.
    Violet walked back into Audrey’s bedroom to show the girls. ‘What a beautiful dress,’ she said, admiring her grown-up and surprisingly elegant reflection in the long mirror. ‘I don’t have anything half as pretty as this.’
    â€˜It brings out the green of your eyes,’ said Audrey. ‘I thought it would look divine on you.’
    â€˜Thanks awfully, Audrey. It’s so kind of you to lend me something lovely to wear.’
    â€˜It’s no trouble at all.’ Audrey picked up Violet’s heavy hair. ‘You have beautiful hair – have you ever thought of bobbing it?’
    Violet looked dubious.
    â€˜Daddy would have an absolute fit,’ Imogen said. ‘No offence intended, Audrey, but Daddy doesn’t approve of the flapper style. He can’t understand why the young women of today insist on, as he puts it, dressing like children.’
    Audrey waved her hand dismissively. ‘I chopped all my hair off during the war. It was the only way to deal with the lice.’
    â€˜Lice?’ asked Violet, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
    â€˜Audrey was an ambulance driver in France during the Great War,’ Imogen explained. ‘She was over there for two years.’
    Violet felt a hollow