“Looks like you can’t wear that horrible dress anyway.” Ursula is gleeful. “So we might as well get on with my plan.”

I wriggle out of my dress and put on the white shirt and the trousers. Considering that Klaus and I are very different shapes the fit isn’t so bad. “They’re a little big,” I say, pulling at the loose waistband. Ursula threads a thin belt through the loops on the trousers, pulling it tight and cinching them at my waist. The effect is to make them fall, straight and wide and not a million miles away from the loose-fitting trousers that I’ve been wearing around the villa for the last few weeks.

She also hands me a black waistcoat, tucking and pinning it at the sides so that it hugs my body. Then, she stands in front of me, frowning in concentration as she ties a black bow tie around my neck.

I accept this patiently, but I’m certain that I’m going to look an absolute quiz. When Ursula finally turns me around to look in the mirror, I realize this isn’t the case – but I also wonder if I dare to wear it.

There’s nothing really improper about the suit, I suppose – it’s not that far away from how I’ve been dressing this summer. But somehow it looks a little improper on me. I look … womanly. I’m so used to folding myself in, trying to make myself look smaller at my parents’ parties. This outfit won’t let me hide. This outfit doesn’t make me small.

I certainly don’t look like the pretty, willowy figures in the fashion magazines that Mother still keeps in the house, but I like the way I feel in this suit, like a grown-up, as if the clothes I have been wearing for years were a costume, forcing me into a part I didn’t want to play. The trousers are loose, light, the silk shirt a whisper on my skin. I can move. I can breathe.

“Well,” Ursula says finally, with a dry chuckle. “That’s certainly an improvement.”

“You don’t think it’s too much?” I ask, twisting from side to side in the mirror.

“Oh, I think it’s just right,” Ursula says, circling me with a critical gleam in her eyes. “Or it will be, as long as you don’t start curling yourself over like a – a sad shrimp.”

“A sad shrimp?” I repeat, smiling.

“Yes. That is what you were like when you came here,” Ursula says firmly. “Stop doubting yourself. It’s boring. The outfit is perfect and you will wear it and Ben’s eyes will fall out of his head. You look delicious.”

“Delicious,” I repeat, feeling a tingle as the compliment registers. “All right.”

I start to pull my hair into a braid.

“Oh no you don’t!” Ursula lifts a finger. “Leave your hair down.”