Transvestia

in the door I wished I'd asked Maurice to come up for a night cap and toyed with the idea of calling him over the radio and asking him to come back. I decided against it and twenty minutes later, bathed, powdered, a box of chocolates at my elbow and the "Tatler" propped against my knees, I was in bed. Very soon the inane junkettings of The Establishment palled and I laid aside the glossy magazine and fell asleep.

When I awoke it was broad daylight and Dawn was sleeping quietly in the other bed. She didn't wake as I padded around in negligee and slippers prepar- ing myself for the new day. I could hear Mary our daily girl preparing breakfast in the kitchen and alongside my place in the breakfast-nook when I went in was an envelope addressed to me in Dawn's dramatic scrawl. I didn't get an immediate chance to open it as Mary started to discuss with me some domestic triviality which seemed to her all important. In fact I didn't get around to opening it until I was out of the apartment and on my way to my daily round at the advertising agency where I handle the perfume and cosmetics accounts. The lift was a long time coming up to the tenth floor.

Inside the envelope were two dressmakers' bills which had a note attached; it said "Last night was fabulous ask Ella to please pay these horrors for me today, darling" (Ella Murray is my personal as- sistant).

The lift arrived and as I stepped inside; the lift-boy shrilled his usual "Nice morning, sir." I stuffed the letter in my jacket pocket, straightened my tie in the mirror and we went down to another day of pretence.