Page 112 of Ruby Red (The Ruby Red Trilogy 1)

“There, now I will go up and tell them you are ready. Stay here, and don’t touch that ’at! It is perfect.”

“Yes, Madame Rossini,” I said dutifully. As soon as she had left the room I tapped in Lesley’s mobile number, fingers flying, and texted her one of those hat pictures. She called back fourteen seconds later. Thank goodness, the reception here in Madame Rossini’s sewing room was good.

“I’m on the bus,” Lesley shouted into my ear. “But I have my notebook and pen all ready. Only you’ll have to speak up!”

Talking at top speed, I told Lesley all about what had happened, trying to explain where I was and what my mum had said. Although I was talking in rather a confused way, Lesley seemed to be following me. She was thrilled when I told her I’d brought her back a key from the past. She kept saying, in turn, “Wow, crazy!” and “Do be careful!” When I described Gideon (she wanted to hear all the details), she said, “I don’t think long hair’s so bad. It can look quite sexy. Think of A Knight’s Tale. But don’t forget to check out the ears he’s hiding under there.”

“They don’t make any difference. He’s a conceited jerk, and anyway he’s in love with Charlotte. Did you get that bit about the philosopher’s stone down?”

“Yes, I’ve made notes of it all. As soon as I’m home I’ll go online. This Count Saint-Germain—why does the name seem so familiar to me? Could it be from a film? No, I’m thinking of the Count of Monte Cristo.”

“Suppose he really can read thoughts?”

“Just think of something harmless. Or count backward from a thousand. In steps of eight at a time. Then you won’t be able to think of anything else.”

“I’ll try. Oh, see if you can find out anything about a little boy called Robert White who drowned in a swimming pool eighteen years ago.”

“Okay, I got that,” said Lesley. “Wow, this is weird! We should have gotten you a knife or pepper spray or something.… I know! You can take your mobile with you.”

I tripped my way over to the door in my long, full dress and peered cautiously out into the passage. “What, into the past? Do you think I’ll be able to call you from there?”

“Don’t be silly! But you can take photos—they’d be a help to us. Oh, and I’d just love to see one of your Gideon! With his ears showing, if possible. Ears tell you a lot about a person. Especially the earlobes.”

I could hear footsteps. I quietly closed the door. “Here we go. I’ll be in touch later, Lesley!”

“Just be careful,” said Lesley yet again, but then I closed my phone and slipped it into my décolletage. The little space under my breasts was just the right size for a mobile. I wondered what ladies in the old days used to keep in there. Little bottles of poison? Miniature revolvers? Love letters?

The first thing that went through my head when Gideon came into the room was, why doesn’t he have to wear a hat? The second thing was, how can anyone look good in a red moiré waistcoat, dark green trousers that cut off at the knee, and striped silk stockings? If I thought anything else, it was probably, I hope to goodness no one can guess what I’m thinking right now.

The green eyes passed swiftly over me. “Nice hat.”

Damn him.

“Lovely,” said Mr. George, coming into the room behind him. “Madame Rossini, you’ve worked wonders.”

“Yes, I know,” said Madame Rossini. She had stayed out in the corridor. The sewing room wasn’t big enough for all of us. My skirt took up half the space on its own.

Gideon had tied his hair at the back of his neck, and I saw my chance to get my own back. “Nice velvet bow,” I said with all the sarcasm I could summon up. “Mrs. Counter, our geography teacher, always wears exactly the same thing.”

Instead of looking angrily at me, Gideon grinned. “Oh, the bow is nothing special. You should see me in a wig.”

Strictly speaking, I already had.

“Monsieur Gideon, I ’ad put out zose lemon-yellow breeches for you, not ze dark ones.” When Madame Rossini was annoyed her accent was stronger, and she forgot how to say an h or th now and then.

Gideon turned to Madame Rossini. “Yellow breeches with a red waistcoat and a brown coat with gold buttons? I thought it was just too many bright colors.”

“Men of ze Rococo period liked colors.” Madame Rossini looked at him severely. “And I am ze expert here, not you!”

“Yes, Madame Rossini,” said Gideon politely. “I’ll listen to you next time.”

I looked at his ears. They didn’t stick out at all, and there was nothing else odd about them. Of course I didn’t really care.

“Where are ze yellow chamois leather gloves?”

“Oh, I thought if I wasn’t going to wear the breeches, I’d better steer clear of the gloves as well.”

“Of course!” Madame Rossini huffed. “With respect to your sense of fashion, young man, we’re not talking good taste here, we’re talking authenticity. And I took care to pick colors that would suit your complexion, you ungrateful boy.”

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