Free Altered Images by Maxine Barry Page B

rehearsals.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Frederica dumped her packages on to the bed and sighed. She couldn’t believe she’d just blown two months’ allowance on a single outfit. She went to the bathroom at the end of the corridor, and further indulged herself by adding the expensive bath oil her father had bought for her birthday. When she was finished she smelt of freesias and utterly feminine. Back in her room, a glance at her watch told her it was still way too early to get ready, so she pulled out her books.
    As well as the Final Degree Show, every Fine Art student had to submit an Extended Essay in Hilary Term of their last year, but after an hour she gave it up—studying was just too difficult when your concentration had gone out of the window. All she could think about was that tonight she was going out with him. It still seemed too incredible to be real.
    She got her hairbrush and sat down in front of a small mirror, thinking about her first date with the sophisticated, wealthy, devastating male called Lorcan Greene. What on earth did she think she was doing? Just why had she accepted his dinner invitation? Come to that, why had he given it? When she thought of all the women he must have known, worldly-wise, beautiful and sophisticated, she felt distinctly gauche by comparison.
    She met her dark brown eyes in the mirror and stuck her tongue out at her reflection. With the summer under way, her freckles were making their presence known, and with her hair loose like this, she looked about fourteen. Perhaps she should just plait it into two pigtails and have done with it.
    But there was no point in trying to belittle this evening in her own mind, she knew. For the plain and simple fact was . . . she was excited. On tenterhooks. Wildly, massively, happy at the thought of seeing him again.
    She turned on her stool and lifted her hair off the back of her neck, piling it up on her head, then let it cascade over her shoulders and down her back. Better or worse?
    She thought of Lorcan—that elegant height he carried off so easily. That cool, blonde, handsomeness that was so much a part of him. That aura of power and knowledge. A man like that deserved a woman who was prepared to make the effort for him. And then she felt angry. Damn it, why should she primp and preen in front of a mirror? He was only a man after all. But she so wanted to look good!
    Grimly, she reached for the expensive cosmetic case her mother had given her, and which she seldom used. First she put on a moisturising cream, then a very fine coating of powder. Next she added the barest touch of glittering golden eyeshadow, and a clever mascara that was guaranteed not to clot, rub off, or be sticky. And when she looked at the result, she had to admit it was quite startling. Her deep, velvety-black eyes had always been one of her most striking features, but highlighted with gold, and framed by such thick dark lashes, they looked positively amazing. Pleased with her experiments so far, she added a dark bronze lipstick, took most of it off again, then added lip gloss. The result was to highlight her deep cupid’s bow, and give her mouth a moist, mysterious look. Frederica stared at her freckles. Should she conceal them after all? She shook her head crossly. Enough was enough!
    Hair. She forced her mind back to the auburn tresses. Up or down? She settled for a softer chignon, that let little tendrils and wisps curl over her forehead, cheeks and neck. Then she walked over to a carrier bag and extracted a length of black velvet ribbon, which she wound artfully around her hair, tying it in a bow on the back of her neck, and letting the long, V-cut ends trail to a point just at the nape of her neck. Black strappy sandals that criss-crossed her ankles and fastened with a buckle at the back were teamed with a flimsy black skirt. It was surprisingly full, and floated to just below her knees. Tiny gold bells had been cunningly added to the scalloped hem. They