Mrs. Susan Clayderman was sitting by the window, reading a letter from faraway America.
It was signed by Bruce Edson, but Mrs. Susan knew it was actually from Emma. Only Emma could write with such beautiful handwriting.
The letter was sincere, asking Susan to take care of Catherine, Emma's daughter, for about six months, a year, or even longer.
Susan remembered Emma well.
In her memory, Emma had been a girl who dreamed of becoming a ballet dancer. It was Mrs. Susan who had funded her studies at the Royal Ballet School.
Nearly fifty years old, Mrs. Susan was Bruce's sister, but during World War II she had become Mrs. Clayderman.
Her home was a villa on the outskirts of London. Her husband, Clayderman, had also been a British aristocrat.
The house was destroyed during World War II, and her husband and daughter both lost their lives in the conflict.
However, the family fortune did not decline. On the contrary, thanks to Mrs. Susan's diligent efforts, it gradually recovered. Although her business was not large, in an era when the British aristocracy had long since declined, her family was still quite well-off—even luxurious.
Since World War II, Mrs. Susan had sensed a decline in public morals. The streets were full of young girls chasing fashion, dressed so casually—something unimaginable in the past!
To the old upper-class aristocracy, today's girls were truly worse than those of earlier generations.
After reading the letter, Mrs. Susan frowned.
If she understood it correctly, Catherine seemed to have gotten herself into serious trouble, which was why her parents were sending her here to study. However, the wording was vague, and Mrs. Susan couldn't quite grasp the situation.
"Has Kate gone astray?"
Susan had only been to the United States once, in 1950, when she met Catherine, who was two years old at the time. To her, Catherine had been a sweet, well-mannered child.
But judging by the tone of the letter, the girl now seemed to be wayward and causing major trouble.
Susan was deeply worried. She felt responsible, since her brother had entrusted Catherine to her.
At the very least, she wanted Catherine to leave as a reliable young woman.
According to the letter, the girl would arrive soon.
That afternoon, Catherine arrived, escorted by two bodyguards.
"Oh, Kate!"
Catherine was undeniably beautiful.
However, her outfit made Susan frown.
She was wearing cashmere stockings and a very short skirt, which Susan found shocking. Still, she was happy to see her long-lost niece.
"Hello, Aunt," Catherine greeted her with a smile.
"Find a place to sit. I'll have the maid prepare some black tea. It's time for afternoon tea."
"All right."
Catherine knew that afternoon tea was a common custom in many parts of Europe and America, though her own family had abandoned the tradition long ago.
"My goodness, Kate! What happened to your hands?" Susan exclaimed in surprise, staring at the calluses on Catherine's palms.
"Just a bit of work," Catherine said with a smile.
In fact, her bodyguard had brought along a pile of tools. Still, Catherine mostly spent her time reading books on directing. Wasteland made her feel confident, but she knew she still had much to learn.
Catherine settled into the sofa.
The air in Britain felt more oppressive than in the United States.
Europe, caught in the grip of the Cold War, was under far greater pressure than America.
After all, the United States and the Soviet Union were separated by an ocean, while the Soviet Union and Europe were connected by land. European countries had no effective defense against Soviet tank warfare tactics.
Since arriving in Britain, Catherine had felt a constant sense of oppression.
Although there were still fashionable young people on the streets, the atmosphere was far less vibrant than in the United States.
Gender discrimination had always existed in America, though not as severe as in China.
In Britain, however, the gap between men and women was even wider.
People desperately needed a "release."
Otherwise, the miniskirt would never have been invented by the British.
Catherine sat on the sofa, spreading her legs slightly for comfort.
But Susan frowned.
"Kate."
Catherine followed her aunt's gaze and realized she was staring at her inner thighs. She smiled awkwardly and quickly closed her legs.
"Kate, your parents have entrusted you to me, and I must take responsibility for you," Mrs. Susan said seriously.
Catherine nodded just as solemnly.
However, neither Catherine nor Mrs. Susan knew that a misunderstanding had already formed between them—between two people from very different worlds.
Catherine had come only for a vacation, while Mrs. Susan intended to correct the various bad habits of a delinquent girl.
After afternoon tea, Catherine went to the room Mrs. Susan had prepared for her and began unpacking with the help of the maids.
"Kate, I've hired a personal maid to attend to your needs. She'll be here later."
"Thank you, Aunt, but I don't need one," Catherine politely declined. To Mrs. Susan, however, something felt off.
"I'll take that bag!"
Catherine suddenly noticed the maids preparing to open one of her small trunks.
She jumped to her feet.
The contents of that trunk were things she had brought specifically to keep her parents from finding them. If they were discovered here, it would be a disaster.
Unfortunately, things did not go as planned. Catherine rushed over and bumped into the trunk, and then—
Mr. Horn fell out.
At that moment, the air seemed to freeze.
Catherine reacted quickly, picking it up and forcing an awkward smile.
She didn't actually use it very often, but she had brought it along to keep her parents from finding it while they were cleaning her room.
Who would have thought she'd only realize it was still at home right before leaving?
Mrs. Susan's face turned pale. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
In the end, she remained silent until the maids finished tidying up and left the room.
"Oh no…"
Catherine scratched her head.
She was wondering how she would explain everything over dinner.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
"Miss Edson?"
"Yes, please come in."
Several maids entered, each carrying a measuring tape.
"Madam has decided to have a dress made for you and would like to take your measurements."
Catherine nodded. She had left in a hurry and hadn't brought much clothing, and with her aunt being so kind, she couldn't bring herself to refuse.
Besides, perhaps this was meant to smooth over the earlier awkwardness.
Si quieres, también puedo suavizar aún más el tono, hacerlo más literario, o adaptarlo a novela publicada en inglés.