Free The Hidden Years by Penny Jordan Page A

was
waiting and if she refused she would offend Rosie and probably everyone
else as well. They were, after all, trying to be helpful.
    As she put the dress on and fastened the buttons down the
front she realised how much plumper Rosie must be. The dress, which on
Rosie hugged the waist, hung loosely on her, and the V-neckline was
surely much more revealing on her than it was when it strained across
Rosie's plump breasts.
    She tried not to feel relieved as she reached for the
buttons. 'It's kind of you, Rosie, but it doesn't look anywhere near as
good on me as it does on you,' she said tactfully.
    Although she was loath to admit it she was actually
longing to get back to Lady Jeveson's cast-offs. At least in them she
felt she was decently dressed. She had been horror stricken to realise
that through the thin fabric of Rosie's dress it was actually possible
to see not only the outline of her nipples, but also the dark shadowing
of their surrounding areola.
    'No, keep it on,' Rosie protested, 'all it needs is a
belt. You've got a red one, haven't you, Jean…? Bring it
here and let's see how it looks…'
    Jean Adams was a tall thin girl, with dark hair and dense
brown eyes. The belt in question was made of bright red shiny plastic
and had been a present from an admiring GI.
    Lizzie felt her fingers recoil from contact with the sharp
shiny stuff in distaste. The only belts she was familiar with were soft
leather, often worn, with the stitching gone in places, and always in
dull browns and greys.
    'Give it 'ere, Jean,' Rosie instructed, obviously enjoying
her role as transformer-in-chief. 'Now breathe in, Lizzie, while I get
it fastened… My goodness, you are thin, aren't you? Even
Jean can't get it fastened on that first notch, can you, Jean? No, you
can't look at yourself yet,' Rosie told her firmly as she tried to step
to one side so that she could see her reflection in the dormitory's one
spotted mirror.
    'What you need now is a bit of colour in your face. Some
nice bright red lipstick and a bit of rouge…'
    'And some blacking on her lashes,' someone suggested.
'What size shoes does she take?'
    'Threes,' Lizzie said weakly.
    'So small… well, it will have to be Mary's
white courts, then… You take a four, don't you, Mary? We'll
have to stuff the toes. Where's he meeting you, love, outside?'
    Lizzie shook her head. 'On the back lane to the hospital.'
    'She's not walking all down there, not in my white
courts,' Mary objected indignantly.
    'No, well, she'll have to wear her own shoes and then
change just before she meets him. Leave her own hidden—she
can pick them up in the morning.'
    Lizzie wanted to object that it wasn't necessary for Mary
to make such a sacrifice. Aunt Vi had always told her that a lady never
wore white shoes, but it was difficult to speak with Rosie determinedly
outlining her mouth with what felt like sticky paste, and someone else
spitting on a cake of mascara ready to attend to her eyelashes.
    It was a good half-hour before they were satisfied with
their efforts and ready to let her look in the mirror.
    When she did, the image confronting her was so totally
unfamiliar that she could only stare at it in confused disbelief. She
looked so much older, so much more worldly, so… so common, a
sharp inner voice derided, but with the circle of expectant faces
watching her she could only swallow down her dismay and weakly thank
them.
    'Just you remember,' Rosie warned her, all motherly
concern, 'if he tries it on, you make him wait. Show him that you
expect to be treated with a bit of respect. They're all the
same… All after one thing… and they'll tell you
anything to get it…'
    She wanted to protest that they were wrong, that Kit was
different… but her feelings were too new… too
precious to be shared with anyone else.
    Someone, she rather thought it was Mary, provided her with
a white cardigan to wear over the dress, which mercifully buttoned up
to the throat, and then she was being escorted