“And you, sir,” she told the salesman earnestly.
“No, my dear, thank you,” he replied. “I never grow tired of hearing a
pianoforte played well.”
She let her husband lead her from the showroom, back down the street under
vast rows of multicolored awnings. They walked past the display windows of a
toy shop, from which dolls and teddy bears regarded the street with black button
eyes. A greengrocer teased the frozen inhabitants with a pyramid of oranges imported from Spain. A bookseller displayed the latest collection of poetry against a backdrop of rather dusty black velvet. At last, they arrived at a garment
shop.
“Now then, my dear, I believe you said you were lacking in clothing?”
Christopher said, indicating the display window with a wave of his hand.
“Yes, terribly, but we've spent enough.”
He smiled indulgently. “Love, my father owns a cotton mill,” he reminded her. “I'm his second in command. We're hardly lacking in funds. I've been saving
for years.”
“Why?” she asked. "I cannot remember a single time my father has opted to
save money."
“Common trait of the middle class,” he replied. “I don't believe in wasting all
my money on dissipated living. I knew I would want a wife and a family someday, so I set money aside each year in preparation, which means that now I
can afford a few new things for you. Besides, our company supplies this woman
with fabric, and in exchange, she gives us a discount. Good thing, since you need
all new undergarments as well as dresses for various occasions. Do you ride?”
The thought of the large animals made her shudder. “No. I prefer my own two feet."
He seemed not to notice. “All right. You won't need a riding habit then. Ah,
here's the modiste.” He turned towards a dark-haired woman with a sharp nose.
“Madame Olivier, my wife is in need of a complete wardrobe. Please outfit her
with everything. Love, do you mind if I step out? Women's clothing shops suffocate me. I'll be back to collect you soon.”
Katerina swallowed hard, her face growing hot, but she bravely consented.
“Very well, Christopher.”
He turned to leave, but said over his shoulder, “Remember, no corsets. You
don't need them, and I like you to be able to breathe.” He swept out, leaving his
bride blushing in the stuffily close environment of the shop, in the care of a stranger who quickly had her stripped down to her borrowed undergarments,
tutting over her lack of womanly endowments. Katerina kept silent but dared to
admit to herself that her husband had found no cause to complain.
“Oh, mon Dieu!” the woman exclaimed from behind her.
Katerina sighed. “Je sais. Ils sont horribles, n'est-ce pas ? S'il vous plait, madame, aidez-moi avec des vêtements qui peuvent les…cacher.” (*They are
horrible, aren’t they? Please, ma’am, help me with some clothing that can hide
them.)
“Yes, you're right.” Mme Olivier switched to English. “I apologize. I was…
startled. Of course, we can. It's fortunate that… they don't come up any higher,
or it would be hard to find you anything fashionable to wear. Also fortunate that
the style these days is only a little open in the back. But was your husband serious? No corset?”
