"The Corset Diaries" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAlister Katie)

“Paraphernalia?” I asked, my mind more on keeping my stomach in order than with what he was saying. “What sort of paraphernalia?”

He spread his hands wide. “Anything you can think of that wouldn’t have been available to the Victorians— mobile phones, Biros, electric razors, hair dryers, that sort of thing.”

“Oh. I have a journal and a couple of pictures, but that’s it other than my clothes.”

“A journal?”

“It’s leather bound. I don’t think it would stand out in any way.”

He rubbed his jaw for a second, then nodded. “Just be sure you use the pens we provide. In fact, I think the idea of keeping a journal is an excellent one. Many ladies of the time did, I’m told. And as for the other things, we’ve engaged a variety of companies to supply items that you’d use everyday—sundries, toiletries, accessories—your entire wardrobe, of course, will be provided, including shoes and underthings. That goes for the stationery, dinner service, crystal, silver, wine, various supplies for the servants, as well and oh, did you read up on the masquerade ball? Wardrobe is creating a special authentic costume for you to wear to the ball. You can see that with so much effort being made to create as authentic a setting as possible, it’s vitally important that you do your part in acting the part.”

I gave him a brave smile, brave because I was suddenly struck with how unsuitable I was for this role— not only because of my weight, but because I simply was not raised by duchess standards. How would I eat with servants watching me? Then again, I doubted if Max the architect was brought up in a ducal household, “I’ll do my best.”

“I have every confidence you will.” He tipped his head to the side for a moment, looking at me just as Pierce and Evan had earlier. “You’ll quite enjoy yourself, you know. You’ll be the mistress of the house. You won’t have a care in the world except picking out what frock to wear and whether to go riding in the morning or in the afternoon. We have a lady’s maid for you, naturally, a wonderful woman who is very experienced in the period. All you have to do is enjoy yourself and live a life most of the world would sell their souls to experience.”

My stomach did a half gainer at that thought.

“Now, on the schedule for this evening is a brief audition—just an interview that we do on film for archival purposes—then I expect the good ladies in wardrobe would like you in for a second fitting, and then we’re off in the morning, very early I’m afraid, but we wish to start filming with breakfast. Our film crew will go out to Cheshire later tonight, but they will primarily be filming the servants first thing in the morning, so we’ll have time to smuggle you into the house and get you dressed before you make your first appearance.” Roger looked up from a stack of papers as someone opened the door. “Oh, Sam, Max, what excellent timing. Come in, I want you both to meet our lifesaver. Tessa Riordan, this is Sam Everett, our head cameraman, and Max Edgerton, who’ll be taking on the role of his grace, the Duke of Bridgewater. You’ll be working very closely with Sam, Tessa, since he’ll shoot all the principle photography, and, of course, you’ll get to know Max very well during the next month.”

Two men entered the room, the first a thin, wiry guy with carroty hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Behind him, a dark shadow flickered in the hallway, then Sam moved aside to allow the dishy man in the photo to enter. My stomach jumped and did a front somersault with a half twist as I got a good look at him—he was even more handsome in person than he was in a stiff, posed picture. His eyes were what most caught my attention. They weren’t just light as the picture showed; they were a clear, crystal blue, a blue topaz blue, a summer sky in early morning blue, framed with sooty black lashes so thick I wondered if he had to comb them each morning to keep them from getting tangled.

Those beautiful eyes, a bit wary as they studied me, suddenly warmed as he stuck out his hand, saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tessa. I can’t tell you how thankful I am to know you’ve agreed to take on the role. I hope you are free for dinner tonight. I’d like to talk about the project with you.”

I opened my mouth to say hello, nice to be here, hope you like large women, would you like to have sex after dinner, but all that came out was olives. And three martinis. And the potted meat and black bread and . . . well, basically everything I’d eaten in the last five hours. It all came up, barfed ignominiously onto the plush carpet, a bit of it splashing up onto Max’s neat brown loafers.

Pierce closed his eyes in horror and slapped a hand to his forehead as I stood hunched over, one hand clutching the back of the leather chair, the other hand twisted into the front of my thin gauze dress to keep it from dangling into the mess. I released the chair long enough to take the handful of tissues that Roger thrust from behind me, mopping my mouth as I straightened up.

Max looked from his soiled shoes up to my flushed, sweaty, tears-of-mortification-shining-in-my-eyes face and withdrew his hand. “I take it that’s a no to dinner?”










Wednesday

September 1

2:50 A.M., Greenwich Mean Time

Bathtub, Room 722, Hyde Park Hilton