They talked for a few more minutes after that, and she left the apartment immediately after, bundled up against the cold. She wanted to find something appropriate to wear to her father’s funeral. They had buried her mother quietly with a private service that only she and her mother’s law partner had attended. This time, she wanted to do her father proud, even if no one in the crowd knew who she was, and she was a secret from everyone who knew him. She was his daughter to her core, and she was going to look it, and represent herself and her mother.
She took a cab to Bergdorf, and began a serious search for something appropriate to wear. She knew all the designers well, and who was most likely to have what she needed, and by six o’clock she had found all of it. She was going to be the most quietly elegant woman at the funeral, lost among thousands of strangers and members of the public. She found a beautiful black wool Balenciaga coat from their couture collection, reminiscent of the clothes Audrey Hepburn had worn, and Jacqueline Kennedy. She hadn’t brought anything appropriate with her, and didn’t own anything quite that grown up, but this was going to be one of the most adult events in her life, and she wanted him to be proud of her, wherever he was now. She found a simple black wool Dior dress to go under it. She was going to wear opaque black stockings so the gauze bandages on her legs didn’t show, and very high-heeled black suede Manolo Blahnik pumps, and a plain black alligator handbag her mother would have loved. And a pair of short black kid gloves.
The last piece she needed she knew would be more difficult, but she didn’t want to go bareheaded with a large square of gauze on her cheek as the first thing one noticed about her. She wasn’t going to wear a surgical mask again. And after trying on every black hat in the store, she found the perfect one by Gucci. It was black felt with a very large brim and a small crown, that fit her perfectly. The brim was large but not ridiculously so. It was very glamorous in a quiet way, and you had to be as tall as she was to pull it off. She tilted it just slightly, as she would have for a cover shoot. It gave it an extra something, and by tilting it infinitesimally, it almost concealed the bandage on her face, though not entirely, just enough, and drew attention to the left side of her face. The injured right side was slightly in shadow, and somewhat concealed by the hat, and made her look elegant and mysterious. It was perfect with the coat and what she’d bought. It all fit perfectly, and she tried it on again when she got home, and was satisfied. She knew what suited her and how to wear it. She would be noticeable in the best possible way, as an elegant young woman, impeccably and appropriately dressed for the occasion. She sensed that both of her parents would have been proud of her if they could see her, and she hoped they could. She looked like a model again, worthy of the cover of Vogue.
She spent the next three days thinking of him, and went to a nearby church to light a candle for him. On Friday, she dressed carefully. She wore a minimum of eye makeup, perfectly applied and barely noticeable, and dressed in what she’d bought. She put the hat on with great care, at just the right angle, and the mirror told her that she had arrived at the right effect, when she left with the car and driver she had hired for the occasion. She arrived an hour before the service, to be sure she would find a seat in the church. People were quietly lined up to pay their respects. Many had gone to the rosary the night before, but she didn’t. She found a seat more easily than she’d expected to. With one glance at her, one of the ushers, chosen from his senatorial staff, led her to a pew about a dozen rows behind the family. She looked like someone important who belonged there, and she sat praying quietly, her eyes drifting to the mahogany casket covered with a blanket of lily of the valley and white phalaenopsis orchids. The church was filled to bursting, and she stood with everyone else when the family filed in, with her half-brother, Charles, in the lead alone, his three teenage sons behind him, and Véronique’s half-sisters behind them, one with her husband and twin sons, and the other with her husband and a boy and a girl. Their husbands were both bankers, and all of them wore black suits, and the women in black dresses with plain black coats over them. But none had the striking look of Bill’s youngest child, in her exquisite hat and coat. They all appeared sober and very sad.
The sermon and eulogy were predictably impressive and respectful. Three of his senatorial colleagues spoke about how important Bill Hayes had been to the country and to them. Charles spoke on behalf of the family, with a moving eulogy to honor his father. Véronique couldn’t help noticing that Bill’s oldest daughter looked strikingly like her. They had the same tall, slim bodies and similar faces, only Adele was blond. Elizabeth was shorter, and looked more like her mother and had dark hair. Adele had worn a small black fur hat, and Elizabeth was wearing a black lace mantilla that had been her mother’s and she had worn to her funeral the previous year. This was a heavy double loss for all of them, just as it was for Véronique in different circumstances. But the loss of both parents was a hard blow. And all of Bill Hayes’s children had lost their mother in the past year too.