The Cinderella Moment Read online

Angel frowned. Did Lily really not get it? Did she truly not understand what she was asking? “You make it sound so easy,” she said. “But I know there’d be consequences. Maman might even lose her job.”

  “As if I’d ever let that happen,” cried Lily. But even as she said it, Angel saw the flash of doubt in her face and knew she was thinking of Margot.

  A chill ran down her spine at the thought of what Margot might do once Lily’s ploy was discovered. From Lily’s account of the Margot behind the mask, it would be just like her to exact revenge in some sweet, insidious way.

  But Lily seemed oblivious to the risks. “Trust me, Angel. I know my plan will work. I’ve got it all worked out.”

  Angel felt an unfamiliar anger. “I’m sure you have,” she snapped. “And I’ll bet it’s a great plan for you because I’ll be the one taking all the risks.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true,” said Angel, and before she could stop herself she spoke the thought that had been simmering in the back of her mind for weeks: “You’re spoiled, Lily, and so used to getting everything you want that sometimes you don’t think about others.”

  Lily looked hurt, but Angel didn’t care. “I won’t do it, Lily. For once in your life, you can’t have what you want.”

  Lily stood in silence, as a tear slid down her cheek. Angel knew she’d upset her, but she wasn’t going to apologize. Not yet, anyway.

  Eventually Lily spoke. “But Angel,” she said, holding out her hand, pinky finger extended. “Friends?”

  Angel shook her head as she opened the door. “Goodnight, Lily.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was two days before Angel saw Lily again. She missed her, but she was immersed in her sewing and happy to spend the hours alone in her room working on her ball gown. Sundays were when she missed Papa most. Those were the days she and Simone had always visited him and Angel often yearned for their quiet conversations and his way of making her feel like she could do anything. She'd always take her latest sketches to show him and he would carefully examine each one and listen to her ideas and encourage her to pursue her dreams.

  Now, when Angel sewed she thought of Papa and those quiet afternoons and each stitch would feel like a tiny reminder of his belief in her.

  ***

  Late on Sunday night there was a knock on Angel’s door.

  She opened it to find Lily kneeling in the doorway.

  “Peace offerings,” said Lily, holding up a fat paper bag.

  “Get up,” said Angel, trying to look stern.

  “Not until you've forgiven me.”

  Angel put down her needle. “Forgiven you for what?”

  Lily hung her head. “I was hateful and I’m sorry.” She peeked up at Angel through her lashes.

  “Do you mean it?” demanded Angel.

  Lily smiled. “Definitely. You were right, I am a bit spoiled sometimes and not all my plans work out.”

  “I'm sorry, too. I didn’t mean all those things I said.”

  “I know. That’s why I brought you these.” Lily stood up and held out the paper bag.

  “You know my weakness,” said Angel, taking a chocolate.

  “Well, I had to do something to make up. You are my best friend.” Lily hesitated and then said, “Which is why I have to warn you that I haven’t given up on my plan.”

  Angel choked on the chocolate. Lily banged her on the back. “You know, you really shouldn’t get so worked up.”

  Angel glared at her with streaming eyes.

  From the moment they’d met, Lily had pushed, cajoled and persuaded Angel into joining her in countless crazy schemes. Admittedly, some of them had been fun—but not this one. This was an insane idea that meant only one thing—trouble.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” begged Lily. “You just need to think about two weeks in Paris seeing fashion shows and going to the Louvre.”

  “Which sounds great, so long as you leave out the bit about me pretending to be you,” said Angel, picking up her needle. “You can talk all you want, but you’ll never convince me to go to Paris in your place.”

  Lily just smiled.

  ***

  For the next week she came down to Angel’s room every evening, outlined her plan and explained how awesome it would be for them both. Angel sewed and listened, but wouldn’t change her mind.

  On Wednesday night she went to see Our Town and was awestruck by Lily’s performance. She lit up the stage and Angel almost felt guilty for denying her the chance to go to the London Drama Academy.

  Almost.

  The school year finished and Angel retreated to her room to sew. She sewed all day and into the night and only went to bed when her eyes grew too tired. She wouldn’t risk a single stitch being anything less than her best.

  Ten days later her ball gown was almost complete. She’d finished tambour beading the delicate stylized angel on the bodice and all she had left to sew were the last bits of silver gauze.

  ***

  Angel glanced at her watch and walked faster. She’d run out of silver thread and been forced to rush downtown to buy more. She did a quick mental calculation. Another few hours sewing ought to do it. The courier was coming in the morning and he’d guaranteed to get her entry to Vidal’s before the Friday deadline.

  Angel gave a little skip of excitement.

  Tomorrow her designs would be winging their way to Paris. She tried to imagine them hanging on a rack at Vidal’s and wondered whether Clarissa’s entry would be there too. If they both made the finals she’d get to see the black-and-silver cocktail dress as well as Clarissa’s ball gown. Angel’s heart beat faster at the thought and she quickened her step.

  “Angel! Wait up.”

  Angel turned to see Lily dodge a large white delivery van as she ran across the road to join her.

  “Look, Lily, it’s Harrington’s again,” said Angel, nodding towards the van. “Do you think Margot’s ordered more clothes?”

  Lily didn’t reply.

  “You okay?” asked Angel.

  “Oh, Angel.” Lily’s mouth quivered. “It’s not too late. I leave for Paris on Saturday so you can still take my place, please, Angel!”

  Angel’s heart sank. She’d thought Lily had accepted her decision not to embark on her mad plan. Obviously she was wrong. Struggling to know what to say, Angel was momentarily diverted by the sight of the Harrington’s man carrying several large boxes into the house.

  At last she said, “I’m sorry, Lily. I know it’s hard to give up the London Academy, but I can’t do it.” Lily’s shoulders slumped and Angel’s heart went out to her. “I can’t go to Paris for you, but maybe there’s something we haven’t thought of—some other way to beat Margot. Let’s talk about it at home.”

  As they entered the foyer, they found Simone carrying two of several large white boxes towards the stairs.

  “I’ll do that, Maman,” said Angel.

  “Let me take those, Simone,” said Lily.

  “Thank you,” panted Simone.

  Angel frowned. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Simone smiled tiredly. “Just my wretched indigestion again.”

  “Oh, Maman—” began Angel, but Simone interrupted.

  “It is all right, chérie. I have a cup of peppermint tea waiting for me in the kitchen.”

  “Go have your tea,” said Lily. “We’ll put these in Margot’s room.”

  “Clarissa’s room,” corrected Simone. “These are for Clarissa.”

  “Okay.”

  Picking up the remaining boxes, they ran upstairs to Clarissa’s room and dropped the boxes on her bed. Angel ran her fingers lightly across the Handmade by Harrington’s logo on the lid and wished she could look inside.

  “I wonder what the evil diva has ordered from Harrington’s this time,” said Lily, as Angel headed for the door.

  Angel considered the boxes, “Maybe she’s had some of her designs made up for Miki Merua. Didn’t you say she’d shown
him some of her sketches and he’d asked her to bring in some samples?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t believe her.”

  “Well, maybe she was telling the truth for once.”

  “Let’s find out,” said Lily mischievously, grabbing the nearest box.

  “I don’t think you should do that,” began Angel, but Lily had already pulled off the lid and was parting the swathes of pink tissue paper.

  A moment later she held up a green-and-white silk dress. “Gorgeous—” Lily stopped as Angel uttered a strangled cry and leapt forward. She grabbed the dress, flipped it around and sank onto the bed.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s mine!” croaked Angel. “My design, in a Harrington’s box.”

  “No way! How can that be?” demanded Lily. “You’ve never … ”

  Suddenly Angel grabbed the nearest box and tore off the lid. Lily stared as tissue paper flew through the air. Moments later Angel held up a striking red cocktail sheath.

  Before Lily could speak, Angel was ripping a third box apart. She pulled a navy-blue suit with fine white trim from its nest of paper, threw it on the bed, and wrenched the lid off the next box. Thrusting both hands into the papery depths, she lifted up a hot-pink frilled bathing suit.

  White and trembling, Angel turned to the last box.

  It was by far the largest of the five and the lid was tight. Angel tugged at it, her nails raking the edges, until it gave way. She parted the tissue paper and lifted out the contents.

  Lily gasped. Angel was holding up a stunning midnight-blue velvet ball gown with filigreed silver straps and a small silver angel delicately embroidered on the bodice. Tenderly caressing the velvet was a layered half-skirt of sparkling silver gauze pieces which floated to the floor.

  Angel clasped the gown to her breast and sank slowly onto the bed amidst a sea of pink tissue paper.

  “My designs,” she whispered. “They’re all my designs.”

  Lily stared helplessly at the agony on Angel’s face. “I don’t understand,” she faltered. “Are you saying that Clarissa has had Harrington’s make your designs?”

  Angel nodded.

  “How dare she!” cried Lily. “I knew she was bad, but I didn’t know she was a thief.”

  “She’s worse than that,” said Angel, and the color rose in her cheeks. “Think about it. Why would Clarissa have Harrington’s make my designs?”

  “Because they’re the best?”

  “Because they make everything by hand.”

  Lily stared as the light slowly dawned. “She couldn’t—She wouldn’t—”

  “Enter my designs in the Teen Couture?” finished Angel angrily. “It’s exactly what Clarissa would do if she’d messed up her own entry. That Japanese silk wouldn’t take resewing.”

  “But she’d never get away with it,” declared Lily.

  Angel considered. Surely that was true. After all, her own entry was within hours of being ready and if two identical entries arrived in Paris, Clarissa would be found out. Unless she could sabotage Angel’s entry somehow. It sounded ridiculous, but suppose …

  “Suppose Clarissa could delay my Teen Couture entry so that only hers got to Paris before the competition closed—the House of Vidal would only ever see her entry.”

  “But you’d know.”

  Angel shook her head. “Any entry received after five o’clock this Friday isn’t even opened and nothing’s sent back unless you’ve paid the shipping cost. Clarissa could’ve guessed I wouldn’t do that.”

  “She’s evil!” whispered Lily.

  Angel glowered. “And a thief and a cheat! But she’s also clever, because if I heard nothing I’d just assume I hadn’t made the cut.”

  “But didn’t Clarissa have to send original sketches with her entry? I thought your designs were still in your portfolio?”

  Angel nodded slowly and said, “Clarissa must have sneaked downstairs, photographed my final sketches and put them back. Once she had copies she could easily draw what looked like original drawings.”

  “Could she?” asked Lily incredulously.

  Angel thought of the sketches she’d seen in Clarissa’s room. “There’s nothing very original in her drawings, but she’s a brilliant copyist. In fact, she could probably set up as a very successful forger,” she added bitterly. Angel suddenly remembered the sketchbook she’d found under Clarissa’s bed. The flash of red that had seemed so strangely familiar must have been a drawing of Angel’s cocktail sheath. No wonder Clarissa had leapt at her.

  “I can’t get my head around it,” said Lily. “You really think Clarissa’s ambitious enough to enter the Teen Couture with your designs?”

  Angel nodded.

  “It’s incredible,” said Lily, shaking her head.

  “The only thing I don’t get,” said Angel, “is how the heck did Clarissa know I was entering the Teen Couture?”

  Lily paled. “OMG, it was me,” she groaned. “It was Dad’s birthday dinner—Clarissa kept going on about Miki Merua admiring her designs. Apparently he’d told her she should enter the Teen Couture. He said he’d give her a full-time place in his studio if she made the finals.” Lily scowled. “Then she said that if I was lucky, she’d consider designing my prom dress. So I told her not to bother because my best friend was a brilliant fashion designer and if anyone was going to win the Teen Couture, it’d be her.”

  “Oh, Lily,” whispered Angel.

  “I am so sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” The light of battle gleamed in Angel’s eyes. “Because Clarissa’s not going to get away with it.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Lily, frisbeeing a Harrington’s lid across the room.

  “I’m taking these.” Angel reached for the clothes scattered on the bed.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Startled, both girls looked up to find Clarissa standing in the doorway, her face contorted with rage. “How dare you let this—this nobody touch my things, Lily!” she shrieked.

  “Your things!” cried Angel and Lily in unison.

  “You’ve gone too far this time, Angelique! I’m calling Mother.” And before they could stop her, Clarissa was gone.

  Angel ran after her. She caught Clarissa at the top of the stairs and spun her around. “I know what you’re planning, Clarissa, but you won’t get away with it. Those are my designs and I—” Angel's head snapped round.

  Her mother was calling her name, “Angel!” There was a note of panic in Simone’s voice that struck terror in her.

  Looking over the balustrade, Angel’s heart stopped beating. Her mother was leaning against the banister, clutching her side, barely able to stand. Pushing past Clarissa, Angel raced down the stairs and reached the bottom just as Simone collapsed.

  Chapter Nine

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. After a nightmare ride in the ambulance, during which Simone's moans of pain almost convinced Angel her mother was going to die, Angel was directed to a sterile waiting room to wait for news. Lily found her there soon after and spent the next few hours trying to convince Angel that Simone would be all right.

  Eventually a nurse came. “Your mother is resting comfortably,” she told Angel. “She's got some abdominal trouble and will need surgery but a doctor will come and speak to you about that.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “She’s heavily sedated, she won’t know you’re there.”

  “Please, I—”

  “My friend needs to see her mother,” said Lily firmly.

  The nurse frowned.

  “After that I’ll take her home,” promised Lily.

  ***

  Back home, Lily coerced Angel into eating a bowl of soup and made her watch two of their favorite movies before helping her into bed.

  She offered to stay with her, but Angel insisted she was fine and wanted only to sleep. But after Lily had gone she lay awake staring into the darkness and wondering if her mother would be okay.

  All she c
ould think of was Maman lying pale and still in the hospital bed. It had reminded her of Papa in the days before he’d finally slipped away. Angel felt terrified at the thought of losing Maman as well. The surgeon had come to speak to her in the hospital and had said that they would need to operate. Her mother had pancreatitis and Lily had tried to call her father, but she couldn't get through, and eventually the two of them left the hospital.

  It was long past midnight before Angel finally fell asleep, so she woke late the next day. She rushed to the kitchen to ring the hospital and found that Lily had already spoken to the nurse. They hadn't told her much—only that Simone was out of surgery and resting comfortably. Angel burst into tears.

  She wanted to go straight to the hospital, but Lily was firm. “You need breakfast. There’s no point going to see your mom half-starved. Besides, the nurse said to visit after three.”

  Angel hugged her.

  Simone was sleeping when Angel arrived at the hospital. To Lily's disgust, Margot had insisted on taking her shopping for something she could wear to Paris, so she hadn't been able to come.

  Angel couldn't help feeling relieved. She'd been terrified of breaking down again and hadn't wanted to share her worst fears with anyone.

  It was a shock to find her mother looking so pale and fragile. As she sat beside the bed Angel had to fight hard not to cry.

  “I love you, Maman,” she whispered, and wondered what she would do if her mother died.

  She forced the thought from her mind and tried to think of something else.

  She suddenly remembered the Teen Couture. Her entry should have gone to Paris this morning, but the courier must have come and gone away empty-handed. She’d been so worried about Maman she hadn’t even thought about it.

  Was it really only yesterday she’d been so full of hope, imagining her designs at Vidal’s? How quickly everything had changed. It seemed like eons since Maman had collapsed, but Angel could still hear her cries of pain as they’d loaded her into the ambulance.

  She mustn't think about it. She wouldn't.