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Back The Shoe Queen Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. “And may I say, those shoes are adorable.”
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. ( I )
  7. ( one )
  8. ( two )
  9. ( three )
  10. ( four )
  11. ( five )
  12. ( six )
  13. ( seven )
  14. ( eight )
  15. ( nine )
  16. ( ten )
  17. ( II )
  18. ( eleven )
  19. ( twelve )
  20. ( thirteen )
  21. ( fourteen )
  22. ( fifteen )
  23. ( III )
  24. ( sixteen )
  25. ( seventeen )
  26. ( eighteen )
  27. ( nineteen )
  28. ( IV )
  29. ( twenty )
  30. ( twenty-one )
  31. ( twenty-two )
  32. ( twenty-three )
  33. ( twenty-four )
  34. ( V )
  35. ( twenty-five )
  36. ( twenty-six )
  37. ( twenty-seven )
  38. ( twenty-eight )
  39. ( twenty-nine )
  40. VI
  41. ( thirty )
  42. ( thirty-one )
  43. ( thirty-two )
  44. ( thirty-three )
  45. ( thirty-four )
  46. ( VII )
  47. ( thirty-five )
  48. ( thirty-six )
  49. ( thirty-seven )
  50. ( thirty-eight )
  51. ( thirty-nine )
  52. ( forty )
  53. ( forty-one )
  54. ( forty-two )
  55. ( VIII )
  56. ( forty-three )
  57. ( forty-four )
  58. ( forty-five )
  59. ( forty-six )
  60. ( forty-seven )
  61. ( forty-eight )
  62. ( forty-nine )
  63. ( fifty )
  64. ( fifty-one )
  65. Acknowledgments
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. Questions for Discussion

“I mean, what kind of woman goes out without her husband until four in the morning?”

“I’m truly sorry, Robert.”

And now it was Robert who came to her. Pushing her gently back on the bed and clambering up to straddle her. His mouth on her neck—the bristling mustache. His sighs in her ears. A fumbling with the dressing gown and his hand coming up under her nightie, between her legs. She started to cry silently, not wanting him to know she was crying, as he pressed down on her.

Let it happen, she told herself. Just let it happen. Soon it’ll be over, and he’ll go away again, and you can sleep.

His weight seemed to press all the breath out of her body. And then he was inside her so that she couldn’t hide from him. His mouth was all over her face. The bed began its knocking. Knockety-knock. It was always this way with Robert. And yet tonight it was different too. More mechanical, perhaps. Less tender. Worse. But maybe it was her that was different.

“Frightened,” Genevieve whispered to herself, when Robert had finally gone back to his room. “Really frightened.” She lay curled on her side, gripping the sheets, unable to fall asleep.

( twenty-three )

ON THE DAY OF the school photographs, The Honourable Genevieve Samuel woke up to find she had a spot on her chin.

“What does it matter?” Irene Nicholas was sitting on the next bed. “It’s just a stupid photograph.”

“That’s not the point.” Genevieve dabbed cologne on the spot and winced. “Oh, look, I’ve made it worse now.”

“What is the point?” But then Irene gave a knowing smile. “Ah, I see. It’s about that boy, isn’t it?”

“What boy?”

“You know what boy. The photographer’s son. Alexander, isn’t it? Honestly, Jenny, he’s so common.”

Genevieve set her hand mirror down and gave up on the spot. “He has the most beautiful brown eyes.”

“So do puppies,” said Irene. “And cows.”

The stage was set up in the same way as the previous year. A high-backed wooden chair was positioned in front of a black velvet curtain. Mr. Giles was fiddling with the camera on its tripod while his seventeen-year-old son adjusted the heavy lights, which starkly lit the chair.

“Miss…Samuel? The Honourable Miss Genevieve Samuel?” Mr. Giles read the name from his list without looking at her.

“Yes, that’s me.”

Alexander was looking at her, though. Alexander with the beautiful eyes.

“Sit down on the chair, please,” said Mr. Giles.

Genevieve climbed up onto the stage and sat, aware as she did so of the spot throbbing. Perhaps if she tilted her head just a little—like this—perhaps Alexander wouldn’t be able to see it.