The Dress Read Online Free PDF Page B

the vein of sadness which, despite his great success, still ran through the core of Francis Fitzpatrick.
    Frank did not seek out an introduction, he would not have presumed, but Victor’s wife, Norah, must have noticed him staring because before he knew what was happening, he was being introduced after all.
    â€˜This is Joy Rogerson,’ Norah said.
    Frank took the pale, delicate hand in his and tried his best to retain his composure. But as he looked into the girl’s deep, sad eyes, Frank knew that, despite the great distance he had travelled, despite the efforts he had made to chase away the vulnerable boy and become the strong, capable man that he was today, Frank Fitzpatrick had utterly lost himself.

4
    Joy Rogerson knew what a privileged position her family held in the world and yet, even as a small child, she’d always felt somewhat estranged from it.
    The Rogersons were an old Protestant family. Joy was their only child and had grown up always feeling nervous of people and uncertain of her place in the world. Her father was distant, always off somewhere doing business, and her mother, Ruth Rogerson, was a plain woman who relied upon jewellery to create her glamour. Her everyday style (always haute couture, only Paris) was markedly severe, seeming to draw attention to her plainness rather than camouflage it. At every black-tie occasion out would come the Tiffany diamonds or the antique pearls and the whole room would be agog. Men would flirt with her, women would envy her and, for that night, Ruth Rogerson would sparkle. Before she left the house on these evenings she would call her young daughter in to see her. Joy could smell the Chanel No. 5 and one or two early cocktails. Her mother always held out her hands and asked, ‘Am I beautiful, Joy?’
    â€˜Yes, Mother,’ Joy would say, automatically, not really knowing or understanding what beauty was, unaware that she had it herself in abundance.
    Ruth would let out a tight bitter laugh and say, ‘No, I am not beautiful, Joy, but the diamonds are, and when the eye is dazzled, the heart cannot always see. Beauty and wealth are a woman’s only assets, Joy. Remember that and be smart with them.’
    When her parents left, Joy would run to the window to watch them get into the car, her father waiting, while the chauffeur lifted her mother’s long fur cape and tucked it in beside her. Joy came to understand that adult life was an endless round of chauffeured car rides and perfumed parties.
    Joy had always been astonishingly beautiful. When she was out with her nanny, even strangers would stop and say, ‘What a lovely child.’ By the time she came out as a debutante the whole of their social set agreed that Joy Rogerson was the most beautiful girl in New York. Joy came to understand that beauty was her destiny, her gift, yet she could not see it in herself. All she saw, all she had ever seen when she looked in a mirror, was her own fear, the reflection of her large eyes pleading back at her like a beggar looking for money from a stranger. Although she knew it was her greatest, in fact aside from money, her only asset, Joy Rogerson hated her own face.
    On the night of New Year’s Eve, 1950, Joy was twenty-one and just back from the season in London. After an unremarkable academic career and a stint in a Swiss finishing school, Joy had come into her own during her season in Europe. Ruth had trusted Joy with a substantial clothing allowance and Joy had discovered she had a passion and penchant for commissioning stylish clothes. She was even listed in the London Times society pages as one of the best-dressed debutantes in London that year. This gave her confidence its first boost.
    The second boost came from the champagne. Joy had her first drink, a glass of pink sparkling champagne, at her coming out party in The Savoy of London. The moment she felt the bubbles whizz down her throat and fizz through her bloodstream Joy felt