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Lady Celia might have recoiled from the look he gave her, but the woman in question did not flinch or even appear to notice. Certainly she did not fidget in her seat or look the least bit uncomfortable.
    ‘The fact of the matter is, Lady Celia,’ said Rose entering the conversation at last, ‘the clothes that were made for Lady Lavinia will not fit you, and there is no time to make new ones to your measurements. We will have to find another model.’
    ‘But –’ wailed the proprietor.
    ‘Madame Renard will of course desire your presence at the fashion event. Perhaps you could launch the event and endorse one or two of the outfits that you consider particularly becoming?’
    ‘Becoming on someone else? And what, pray, am I to wear?’ demanded Lady Celia. ‘Surely you are not suggesting I wear one of my own gowns?’ She turned and gave the designer a sweet smile, ‘I fear they will overshadow your designs, monsieur. You see, my clothes come straight from the Paris fashion houses. Haute couture at its very best.’
    ‘No, of course not,’ said Rose quickly before Monsieur Girard could reply. ‘I was going to –’
    ‘You are surely not suggesting that Lady Celia wear one of our factory made garments?’ cried Madame Renard.
    ‘No, that’s to say I was wondering whether Lady Celia might consider wearing one of the semi-made tailored outfits that you are introducing to the shop, Madame.’
    ‘Goodness, whatever are semi-made outfits?’ enquired Lady Celia.
    ‘But of course!’ exclaimed the proprietor. ‘Lady Celia, they are expertly cut garments from manufacturers who tailor only the very finest retail outfits. These garments they have the same great attention to detail and workmanship that you would find with couture dresses, is that not so?’
    Madame Renard had paused to glance at Monsieur Girard for confirmation, but it was Rose who answered: ‘Oh, yes.’ The designer himself looked inclined to disagree, but said nothing.
    ‘All the difficult stitching, pleating and tucking is skilfully done by the manufacturer,’ the proprietor went on. ‘The dresses, they are virtually complete. The only seams that are left undone are those which will allow us to make your personal adjustments to ensure a precise fit. Enfin! A way out of our dilemma.’
    ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to wear something made out of one of those awful cheap materials like rayon,’ complained Lady Celia.
    ‘ Non . Not at all,’ Madame Renard said quickly. ‘These garments, they are made from only the very finest materials like silk flat crepe.’
    ‘And my gowns, the ones that I have designed, who is to wear them?’ demanded Monsieur Girard. ‘Is this to be a fashion event only of the factory made and semi-made garments? Perhaps I should go to another boutique who will appreciate my gowns.’
    ‘No, please, monsieur, do not do that,’ cried Madame Renard in a voice that threatened any moment to become shrill. ‘Oh, Rose, who can we get to model monsieur’s gowns? Oh, if only you were a little more slender you could do the job very well yourself. If only –’
    ‘Sylvia,’ said Rose. ‘Sylvia can be your mannequin, Monsieur Girard.’

Chapter Four
    ‘Sylvia?’ Madame Renard looked taken aback as if she had been struck by lightning. ‘Sylvia? That girl? Are you out of your mind, Rose?’
    ‘Sylvia? Who’s she?’ demanded Lady Celia sharply, obviously intrigued by the proprietor’s reaction. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
    ‘Sylvia Beckett,’ began Madame Renard, making a face and looking for all the world as if she had just eaten something rather unpleasant.
    ‘Sylvia Beckett?’ enquired Lady Celia raising her eyebrows. ‘Sylvia Beckett?’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Don’t tell me she is one of your shop assistants? Not one of the girls out there, surely.’
    ‘ Oui . Really, Rose . Quelle idée . How can you suggest such a thing?’ said the proprietor recovering her composure. ‘The