The Prodigal Daughter by Jeffrey Archer Page B

come yourself?” she
added. It was the first time Zaphia had seen Miss Tredgold blush.
    “No, thank you,
no, I couldn’t possibly.” She hesitated. “I have letters, yes, letters to
attend to, and I’ve set aside this afternoon to pen them.”
    That afternoon,
Zaphia was waiting by the main school gate dressed in a pink suit in place of
the usual Miss Tredgold in sensible navy.
    Florentyna
thought her mother looked extremely smart.
    She, wanted to
run all the way to the Drake Hotel, where the fashion show was being held, and
when she actually aff ived she found it hard to remain still even thou ‘ gh her
seat was in the front row. She could have touched the haughty models as they
picked their way gracefully down the brilliantly lit catwalk.
    As the pleated
skirts swirled and dipped, tight-waisted jackets were taken off to reveal
elegantly bare shoulders, and sophisticated ladies in floating yards of pale
organza topped with silk hats drifted silently to unknown assignations behind a
red velvet curtain. Florentyna sat entranced. When the last model had turned a
full circle, signaling that the show had ended, a press photographet asked
Zaphia if he could take her picture. “Mama,” said Florentyna urgently as he was
setting up his tripod, “you must wear your hat further forward if you want to
be thought chic.”
    Mother obeyed
child for the first time.
    When Miss
Tredgold tucked Florentyna into bed that night she asked if she had enjoyed the
experience.
    “Oh, yes,” said
Florentyna. “I had no idea clothes could make you look so good.”
    Miss Tredgold
smiled, a little wistfully.
    “And did you
realize that they raised over eight thousand dollars for the Chicago Symphony
Orchestra? Even Papa would have been impressed by that.”
    “Indeed he
would,” said Miss Tredgold, “and one day you will have
to decide how to use your wealth for the benefit of other people. It is not
always easy being born with money.”
    The next day,
Miss Tredgold pointed out to Florentyna a picture of her mother in Women’s Wear
Daily under the caption, “Baroness Rosnovski enters the fashion scene in
Chicago.”
    “When can I go
to a fashion show again?” asked Florentyna.
    “Not until you
have been through Charlemagne and the Council of Trent,” said Miss Tredgold.
    “I wonder what Charlemagne
wore when he was crowned Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire,” said Florentyna.
    That night,
closed into her room, with only the light of a flashlight to go by, she let
down the hem of her school skirt and took two inches in at the waist.
    Florentyna was
now in her last term of Middle School, and Abel hoped ihe might win the coveted
Upper School Scholarship. Florentyna was aware that her father could afford to
send her to Upper School if she failed to win a scholarship, but she had plans
for the money her father would save each year if she was awarded free tuition.
She had studied hard that year, but she had no way of knowing how well she had
done when the final examination came to an end, as there were 122 Illinois
children who had entered for the examination, but only four scholarships were
to be awarded. Florentyna had been warned by Miss Tredgold that she would not
learn the result for at least a month.
    “Patience is a
virtue,” Miss Tredgold reminded her, and added with mock horror that she would
return to England on the next boat if Florentyna did not come in in the first
three places.
    “Don’t N .- silly, Miss Tredgold, I shall be first,” Florentyna
replied confidently, but as the days of the month went by she began to regret
her bragging and confided to Eleanor during a long walk that she might have
written cosine when she had meant sine in one of the questions, and created an
impossible triangle. “Purhaps I shall come in second,” she ventured over
breakfast one morning.
    “Then I shall
move to the employ of the parents of the child who comes first,” said Miss
Tredgold imperturbably.
    Abel smiled as
he looked up