“They’re amazing.”
“And perfectly preserved. You’d never know they were ninety years old,” Jean added. “A lot of them are by the top French designers of the day, like Lanvin, and Vionnet. What a treasure trove,” Jean said as they both went through the rails, picking out and admiring the fabulous dresses. “At auction they’d go for a fortune. I just can’t wait to try them on you and see if they fit. From your measurements, they definitely should. It seems the original owner of all these was almost identical in shape and size to you.”
“But will I be allowed to wear them, even if they do fit?” asked Rebecca.
“Who knows? The housekeeper sounded very doubtful and said she’d have to ask Lord Astbury. But the first thing to do is to try themon you and take it from there. Now”—Jean pulled a dress off the rail—“how about this one for your first scene with James Waugh tomorrow?”
Ten minutes later, Rebecca was staring at herself in the mirror. Not since her Juilliard days had she worn period costume; her parts in Hollywood had always been those of young modern women, more often in jeans and T-shirts than not. The Lanvin dress she was standing in was made from silk, overlaid with chiffon and embroidered with delicate hand-sewn beading. The handkerchief hemline floated gently around her ankles as she moved.
“Right, even if I have to go down on my knees and beg, I’m going to persuade Lord Astbury to let me hire some of these from him,” said Jean firmly. “Let’s try the next one on.”
After Rebecca had paraded in a fabulous array of gowns, each one fitting her perfectly, Jean grinned at her. “Okay, I think you’re done. I’ll speak to the housekeeper as soon as I can. Darling, you’re going to look like a dream,” she commented as she helped Rebecca remove the last gown. “And once Hair and Makeup have sorted you out, you’ll be a real 1920s beauty!” She gave Rebecca a conspiratorial wink. “They’re just down the corridor on the right.”
“I think I need a GPS in this house,” Rebecca said, smiling, as she headed to the door. “I keep getting lost.”
She left Wardrobe and walked down the corridor until she found Hair and Makeup. Sitting down in a chair in front of the mirror, one of the hairstylists took a shiny tendril of Rebecca’s thick, dark locks in her hands.
“How are you feeling about having it cut and dyed tomorrow?” she asked.
This had been a bone of contention with her agent, Victor, when the contract had come through; the stipulation was that Rebecca’s long hair needed to be cut into a 1920s bob and dyed blond to match the color of the actress playing her mother.
“Okay, I suppose.” Rebecca shrugged. “It’ll grow back, won’t it?”
“Of course it will. And when the shoot is over, we can easily dye it back to your original color. It’s good to see you’re not being precious about it,” the hairstylist said approvingly. “So many actresses are. Besides, you might find you like the style; you have the perfect elfin features to go with a bob.”
“And maybe nobody will recognize me anymore as a blonde either,” mused Rebecca.
“Sadly, I don’t think that’s going to help you,” interjected the makeup artist, coming over to take a seat opposite Rebecca. “That face of yours will always give you away. So, what is Jack Heyward like in person? He’s such a god on the screen. Does he look like that first thing in the morning?” she teased.
Rebecca thought about it. “He does look kind of cute in the morning.”
“I bet he does.” The girl grinned. “I’m sure you can’t believe you’re actually going to marry him.”
“You know what? You’re right, I can’t believe it. I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow for the chop!” Smiling to cover the irony of her words, Rebecca stood up and gave them both a wave before she left the room. She checked her watch and saw that it was only three o’clock, which meant
“And perfectly preserved. You’d never know they were ninety years old,” Jean added. “A lot of them are by the top French designers of the day, like Lanvin, and Vionnet. What a treasure trove,” Jean said as they both went through the rails, picking out and admiring the fabulous dresses. “At auction they’d go for a fortune. I just can’t wait to try them on you and see if they fit. From your measurements, they definitely should. It seems the original owner of all these was almost identical in shape and size to you.”
“But will I be allowed to wear them, even if they do fit?” asked Rebecca.
“Who knows? The housekeeper sounded very doubtful and said she’d have to ask Lord Astbury. But the first thing to do is to try themon you and take it from there. Now”—Jean pulled a dress off the rail—“how about this one for your first scene with James Waugh tomorrow?”
Ten minutes later, Rebecca was staring at herself in the mirror. Not since her Juilliard days had she worn period costume; her parts in Hollywood had always been those of young modern women, more often in jeans and T-shirts than not. The Lanvin dress she was standing in was made from silk, overlaid with chiffon and embroidered with delicate hand-sewn beading. The handkerchief hemline floated gently around her ankles as she moved.
“Right, even if I have to go down on my knees and beg, I’m going to persuade Lord Astbury to let me hire some of these from him,” said Jean firmly. “Let’s try the next one on.”
After Rebecca had paraded in a fabulous array of gowns, each one fitting her perfectly, Jean grinned at her. “Okay, I think you’re done. I’ll speak to the housekeeper as soon as I can. Darling, you’re going to look like a dream,” she commented as she helped Rebecca remove the last gown. “And once Hair and Makeup have sorted you out, you’ll be a real 1920s beauty!” She gave Rebecca a conspiratorial wink. “They’re just down the corridor on the right.”
“I think I need a GPS in this house,” Rebecca said, smiling, as she headed to the door. “I keep getting lost.”
She left Wardrobe and walked down the corridor until she found Hair and Makeup. Sitting down in a chair in front of the mirror, one of the hairstylists took a shiny tendril of Rebecca’s thick, dark locks in her hands.
“How are you feeling about having it cut and dyed tomorrow?” she asked.
This had been a bone of contention with her agent, Victor, when the contract had come through; the stipulation was that Rebecca’s long hair needed to be cut into a 1920s bob and dyed blond to match the color of the actress playing her mother.
“Okay, I suppose.” Rebecca shrugged. “It’ll grow back, won’t it?”
“Of course it will. And when the shoot is over, we can easily dye it back to your original color. It’s good to see you’re not being precious about it,” the hairstylist said approvingly. “So many actresses are. Besides, you might find you like the style; you have the perfect elfin features to go with a bob.”
“And maybe nobody will recognize me anymore as a blonde either,” mused Rebecca.
“Sadly, I don’t think that’s going to help you,” interjected the makeup artist, coming over to take a seat opposite Rebecca. “That face of yours will always give you away. So, what is Jack Heyward like in person? He’s such a god on the screen. Does he look like that first thing in the morning?” she teased.
Rebecca thought about it. “He does look kind of cute in the morning.”
“I bet he does.” The girl grinned. “I’m sure you can’t believe you’re actually going to marry him.”
“You know what? You’re right, I can’t believe it. I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow for the chop!” Smiling to cover the irony of her words, Rebecca stood up and gave them both a wave before she left the room. She checked her watch and saw that it was only three o’clock, which meant
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