Chapter 27 Geraldine
Geraldine
Geraldine didn’t particularly interest herself in the latest fashions.
For one thing, she was old enough to have seen them all before.
For another, although she wouldn’t say so out loud, she prided herself in her unorthodox appearance.
She would be most disappointed in herself if she wished to purchase anything that might appeal to the other guests at the resort.
But Marjorie had looked so eager to attend the fashion show that Geraldine didn’t have the heart to refuse to accompany her.
The younger woman was so desperately homesick for her children that anything that brought the slightest bit of enthusiasm to the surface was worth encouraging.
Besides, Geraldine thought that Marjorie might benefit greatly from some fashion advice.
Yet again, she was dressed in an entirely unsuitable ensemble.
Her figure would benefit from more severe cuts and tailored details than the flounces and ruffles she seemed to favor.
Geraldine knew a bit about visual sleight of hand from all her years spent at the easel.
Anyhow, what was foreshortening if not a bit of trickery?
And if there was someone she wished to see tricked, it was Marjorie’s odious husband.
Besides, she was sure Marjorie had a generous clothing allowance even if she had very few other freedoms. Her husband and mother-in-law would not allow her to appear shabbily clad even if she wore things that were entirely unflattering.
Just the notion of Marjorie’s husband receiving a bill for the amounts a private collection from Elizabeth Arden would surely command raised Geraldine’s spirits.
The fashion show had been announced the evening before, and Marjorie had broached the subject over dinner.
But it wasn’t until luncheon, and Marjorie’s unfortunate choice of outfit, that Geraldine had made up her mind.
She had thought that Miss Arden would be there herself to provide the presentation but was somewhat disappointed to discover it was being led by an underling.
Not that the woman did not command the room with brisk efficiency and a genuine sense of enthusiasm.
It was somewhat surprising to find that the event was being hosted in the resort’s bowling alley.
It seemed an odd choice, but upon viewing the space, Geraldine had to admit that it served its purpose well.
A runway had been improvised down the length of one of the bowling lanes by unfurling a wool carpet runner along its center.
Seats were clustered around the sides and the end of the room, leaving plenty of room for chairs on either side of the improvised catwalk.
Marjorie waved to her from a chair positioned front and center and indicated she had saved her a place.
Once again Geraldine felt her heart squeeze at Marjorie’s childish delight.
It seemed the event was a popular one, as the spaces filled up quickly and the voices swirling all around the room echoed Marjorie’s appetite for the occasion.
Before long, the presenter clapped her hands together, and from somewhere out of sight, music began to play.
A door at the far end of the room flung open, and out onto the carpet strode a line of lithesome young beauties.
Three of the girls, she instantly recognized as technicians from the spa.
In fact, one of them had been instrumental in helping lower her into the Ardena Wax Bath the day before.
Despite how different they looked in Miss Arden’s beautiful designs rather than their clinician’s white coats, Geraldine would have known them anywhere.
With her artist’s eyes, she made a practice of noticing her surroundings and their inhabitants to a degree most others did not employ.
But there were women and girls Geraldine did not recognize modeling the fashions too.
So many of the staff toiled away out of sight that it was no surprise they should not seem familiar to her.
What was surprising was the way her hands itched for a charcoal pencil and her sketchbook.
There was something about the way the fabrics rustled and the models moved that reminded her of the year she’d spent at art school.
Live models were part of many of her classes, and she had been quite adept at figure drawing.
Not that she had continued with it—at least, not professionally, since her career as a landscape artist had taken off.
She snapped open the clasp of her evening bag and extracted a small notebook and pen tucked near the bottom.
After bending back the notebook’s cover and propping it up on her handbag, she began brief sketches of the models as they strode along the catwalk.
As the silks and satins and taffeta gowns swirled past, she worked quickly, filled with a sense of inspiration she had not felt since her husband’s death.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Marjorie straining forward, her face aglow with pleasure at the spectacle before her.
The younger woman’s features were completely transformed by her interest in the spectacle.
Geraldine shifted slightly in her seat and made several quick renderings of her new friend without being noticed.
By the time the third showing of gowns had been completed and the catwalk portion of the event was over, Geraldine was surprised at how much she had produced.
Page after page of the notebook was filled with images that captured the lively spirit of the event.
The presenter clapped her hands once more, and the music faded away.
“Ladies, I hope you have enjoyed the evening thus far. We would now like to offer each of you the opportunity to approach the models and the samples of fashions you’ve seen worn here tonight.
We have a variety of colorways and accessories for you to peruse as well.
This is an exclusive preview of the collection, never before seen by the public.
Miss Arden fervently hopes that you will all be as delighted by it as she is.
Please feel free to ask any questions. I am happy to assist.”
Marjorie laid a hand on Geraldine’s wrist. “I had no idea that you ever turned your hand towards figure drawing.” She squinted and leaned over the open page of Geraldine’s notebook.
“You know, if you ever wanted to populate your landscapes with figures like these, I am sure your audience would be enchanted. These are so lively and compelling.”
Geraldine looked down as though seeing the sketches through Marjorie’s eyes rather than her own.
When she worked, she had no real sense of the effect of the strokes she laid down on the paper.
They just felt correct to her somehow, and she never evaluated them in real time.
It was only after she’d put down her implement and took several steps back from any work that she had a sense of how it had turned out.
She had to agree with Marjorie: There was something inspiring about the images before her.
“I shall have to give your suggestion some thought,” she said. She stuffed her notebook into her handbag and snapped it shut.
Marjorie smiled, then turned her gaze to a clothing rail on the opposite side of the room. “Would you mind if I take a few moments to look over the gowns?” she asked Geraldine.
“I would be upset if you didn’t,” Geraldine said. “Why don’t you see what you think of that red cocktail dress with the black-lace overlay?”
Geraldine’s mind wandered as soon as Marjorie left her side.
In her mind’s eye, she could see three figures whirling in gem-colored gowns, the lake glinting in the background.
She was eager to get to her easel. But first she had to intervene with Marjorie, who had unfortunately begun running her hand over a butter-yellow dress covered in far too many flounces.