Read Online Fire After Dark by Sadie Matthews - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sadie Matthews
Ads: Link
substantial at the same time, with a subtle shine.
‘You’ve got to get it,’ breathes the assistant, hovering at my shoulder. ‘I mean it, it suits you soooo perfectly.’ She smiles at my reflection. ‘Is it for a special occasion?’
‘For a party,’ I lie recklessly. ‘Tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ Her eyes widen. She senses some kind of interesting story of why a girl would be shopping for a party dress on the very day of the event. ‘Are you having a makeover day?’
I stare at myself. The dress is so pretty. I feel amazing in it, sexy and sophisticated. What’s bringing it down is my bare face, undone hair and lack of shoes. A makeover day? How much would something like that cost?
I’ve always been a prudent person, careful with my money. I’m not exactly a splurger and I’ve never shopped for recreation. In fact, unlike most of my fellow students, I came out of university with no debt on top of the usual student loans, and my savings still in a healthy state.
Why not live a little? asks a voice inside my head. Why not be reckless for once?
‘I suppose I could,’ I say slowly.
The assistant claps her hands with glee. This kind of thing is clearly right up her street. ‘Ooh, let me help you. First, you’ve got to get the dress, and I’m not just saying that. You look beautiful in it. You can leave it here and I’ll look after it. You know we’ve everything you could possibly need in this place – beauty spas, treatments—’
‘Let’s not go too far,’ I say hastily.
‘—the hair salon, the nail bar.’ Her eyes are shining at the thought of moulding my imperfect body into something worthy of the dress. Then her expression becomes concerned. ‘But they might all be booked up. I’ll make some calls for you, I’m sure I can pull some strings.’
Before I can stop her, she’s hurried to the sales desk and picked up the telephone. I semaphore that I don’t want any beauty treatments but she waves me away and books a facial. ‘You’ll love it,’ she says confidently as she dials another number, ‘and I was thinking your skin is fabulous but it’s looking a bit dry. Do you use night cream? You should, I know a lovely lush one that will really restore inner moisture and replenish sub-epidermal hydration.’ Before I can say anything, she’s connected to the salon and is making me a cut and blow-dry appointment, her gaze flicking over my hair as she says, ‘I do think a few highlights would help, actually, Tessa, if there’s time.’
By the time she’s off the phone, I’ve got several appointments, the first of which is only a few minutes off.
My assistant is clearly in her element and having a whale of a time. She gets someone to cover her till while she takes me down the lower ground floor and the treatment rooms. It’s all so good-natured that I’m carried along on the wave of enthusiasm, and when I’m handed over to Rhoda in the beauty centre, I’ve surrendered all control over my day. Before long, I’m lying on a bed with Rhoda massaging my face, spreading some kind of clay mixture on it, putting cool discs on my eyes and leaving me to bake for a while. It’s a wonderfully relaxing experience, the kind of thing I’ve always assumed is meant for other people and not for me, but as the gentle fingers begin to wipe away the mask and anoint me with unguents and creams, I think: Why not me? Why shouldn’t I have this?
‘All done,’ Rhoda says, handing me a sheaf of complimentary product testers. ‘And you look great.’
I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror as I pay – it’s not exactly on the house, even if I have had some strings pulled for me – and I do seem to be glowing. Or is it my imagination? Who cares? The whole experience was amazing.
‘You’re expected on the top floor,’ Rhoda informs me. ‘For your hair.’
A short lift ride and before I know it, I’m ensconced in a high chair, a black nylon cape clipped around my neck and a pile of the
‘You’ve got to get it,’ breathes the assistant, hovering at my shoulder. ‘I mean it, it suits you soooo perfectly.’ She smiles at my reflection. ‘Is it for a special occasion?’
‘For a party,’ I lie recklessly. ‘Tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ Her eyes widen. She senses some kind of interesting story of why a girl would be shopping for a party dress on the very day of the event. ‘Are you having a makeover day?’
I stare at myself. The dress is so pretty. I feel amazing in it, sexy and sophisticated. What’s bringing it down is my bare face, undone hair and lack of shoes. A makeover day? How much would something like that cost?
I’ve always been a prudent person, careful with my money. I’m not exactly a splurger and I’ve never shopped for recreation. In fact, unlike most of my fellow students, I came out of university with no debt on top of the usual student loans, and my savings still in a healthy state.
Why not live a little? asks a voice inside my head. Why not be reckless for once?
‘I suppose I could,’ I say slowly.
The assistant claps her hands with glee. This kind of thing is clearly right up her street. ‘Ooh, let me help you. First, you’ve got to get the dress, and I’m not just saying that. You look beautiful in it. You can leave it here and I’ll look after it. You know we’ve everything you could possibly need in this place – beauty spas, treatments—’
‘Let’s not go too far,’ I say hastily.
‘—the hair salon, the nail bar.’ Her eyes are shining at the thought of moulding my imperfect body into something worthy of the dress. Then her expression becomes concerned. ‘But they might all be booked up. I’ll make some calls for you, I’m sure I can pull some strings.’
Before I can stop her, she’s hurried to the sales desk and picked up the telephone. I semaphore that I don’t want any beauty treatments but she waves me away and books a facial. ‘You’ll love it,’ she says confidently as she dials another number, ‘and I was thinking your skin is fabulous but it’s looking a bit dry. Do you use night cream? You should, I know a lovely lush one that will really restore inner moisture and replenish sub-epidermal hydration.’ Before I can say anything, she’s connected to the salon and is making me a cut and blow-dry appointment, her gaze flicking over my hair as she says, ‘I do think a few highlights would help, actually, Tessa, if there’s time.’
By the time she’s off the phone, I’ve got several appointments, the first of which is only a few minutes off.
My assistant is clearly in her element and having a whale of a time. She gets someone to cover her till while she takes me down the lower ground floor and the treatment rooms. It’s all so good-natured that I’m carried along on the wave of enthusiasm, and when I’m handed over to Rhoda in the beauty centre, I’ve surrendered all control over my day. Before long, I’m lying on a bed with Rhoda massaging my face, spreading some kind of clay mixture on it, putting cool discs on my eyes and leaving me to bake for a while. It’s a wonderfully relaxing experience, the kind of thing I’ve always assumed is meant for other people and not for me, but as the gentle fingers begin to wipe away the mask and anoint me with unguents and creams, I think: Why not me? Why shouldn’t I have this?
‘All done,’ Rhoda says, handing me a sheaf of complimentary product testers. ‘And you look great.’
I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror as I pay – it’s not exactly on the house, even if I have had some strings pulled for me – and I do seem to be glowing. Or is it my imagination? Who cares? The whole experience was amazing.
‘You’re expected on the top floor,’ Rhoda informs me. ‘For your hair.’
A short lift ride and before I know it, I’m ensconced in a high chair, a black nylon cape clipped around my neck and a pile of the
Similar Books
