Chapter 4

Of course, our extended trip couldn’t escape the media. One of the French President’s planes, carrying the EU Commission President and a team of diplomats was unlikely to fly under the radar. There were crowds at many of the airports when we landed, especially once we cleared the Indian Ocean.

Elaine and I sent postcards to our parents from various places, not telling them what we were doing, but they would have figured it out if they saw the news. We sent one to our publisher, from Canberra, thanking him for his speedy service in getting the book into publication. We thought that the ‘Best Seller’ tag was purely advertising until we got to Auckland, where the book seller had a sign in the window, apologising for not having a copy of it.

He sent me an email, telling me that he was organising a signing tour in England, timed for the beginning of the summer holidays, as he was mindful of our course importance to us. We put that on the back burner until we had completed our round the world tour. Eventually, we landed back at the military base we had left, all those weeks before. As we taxied towards the hangars, the President stood and told us how proud she was of everyone on the trip, and that we had been able to get the territories we had visited to agree to work with the EU, rather than against it. The other countries had heard her out and agreed to discuss the situation rationally, which was all she hoped for. Other diplomats were doing similar trips to their countries.

There were helicopters waiting to ferry us back to the office, with the countryside looking much greener than it was when we left. Madeline told us that we had a couple of weeks off, so to go home with Juliette at the end of the day. We saw Juliette, who hugged us both, and told her we would be with her that afternoon. Then we tidied up the office and looked at all the messages that had accumulated on our desk screen, answering those that needed it.

On the drive home, Juliette remarked on our obvious suntans, and also the fact that we both seemed more adult. She knew where we had been, and had read the book, noting the foreword by the President. She also said that there was a few letters for us to look at when we got home. It was common knowledge of where we had visited, so we talked about some of the places we had seen, and the people we had met, without divulging any of the work we had done.

Once Juliette had known we were coming home, she had booked a table at the local restaurant for dinner that night. As we were getting ready, I looked at the post. One was an invitation for the opening night of our play, at the University, on the following Saturday, with a number to ring if we were coming. I called the number and spoke to the secretary, saying that we were able to attend, and asked for four tickets.

Another letter was from our publisher. In it, there was a list of engagements for Elaine Terrey and Patricia Shelley to sign their books in big bookstores across the country. It seemed that the success of this book had boosted the sales of our earlier works. He had underlined Patricia Shelley. I showed it to Ellie, wondering what he could mean by the underline.

“Mad. You can be so slow sometimes. You used a female name with your early books, not expecting to be seen in public. Now, we have a best seller and the public expect to see two women writers of romantic adventures. You can’t just turn up and tell them that you’ve been lying to them all this time. You either don’t show at all, or you do it as Patricia. You’re a good size, and you do have an elfin sort of face. It’s time that you played the sort of role that you’re so good at creating, a successful woman.”

“You can’t be serious, Ellie! I don’t know the first thing about being a woman. I would look, and act, stupid. It’ll never work!”

“We have a few months to make it work, Mad. I want you by my side when we meet the readers, if you have to do that wearing a dress then so be it! Look, there are no photos of us on the book covers, and the publisher has basically ordered us to show up as women. It’s now time for you to embrace the nickname your brother gave you, and which we have been using for months. You told me that it stood for Extra Feminine, Totally Puny, Odorous Sibling. We can manufacture the first third, you need to own the second, and the third is easy if you start using my lotions. When we’re at the University, we’ll have a talk to the director of our play and ask him what he thinks. I won’t think any less of you if you try, in fact, it will make me prouder to be your wife.”

The dinner was good, and the talk was about the places and people we had been to and seen. The book was brought up, and we told Juliette what the publisher wanted us to do. She was, at first, sad that we would be going back to England, but we told her that a lot would depend on how the Commission work went. We were sure that the hard part was over, but the President may want us around for the work to come.

“We were fortunate to be in the right place at the right time, Juliette. We know that if the original paper we wrote fell on deaf ears, we would have just been going into Antwerp, instead of working in Brussels. Let’s wait and see what the year brings.”

“Yes, but him wanting you to pretend you’re a girl! That’s laughable!”

“We’re not laughing, Auntie. He’s right. The readers expect two women writers, and we’re going to give them two women writers. We have the University Drama Club to help. We’ll see what they can do for us here, so that Patricia can emerge before we go to England for the tour. Madeline told us that we will be able to take our annual leave from the Commission, and then it will depend on what Essex says. They may let us finish the course here.”

As we ate, my mind started thinking about a plot for another book, following on with the concepts of ‘Wave’. I was thinking about a building project using the new plans that had been developed for living with the change. I wondered about the main character being a man in charge of the project, with the female being a rural hold-out who hates any desecration of her countryside. They find a central path with the project as well as love after much friction, moving into the first house to be finished.

Over the next few days, I made notes and talked it over with Ellie. It was put on hold on the weekend when we went into Brussels on Saturday morning to get something to wear at the play, seeing that we were the writers. Before lunch, we had a session at a salon that Juliette knew, with the girls getting a make-over to suit the dresses they had bought, and me having my hair trimmed and styled to give it more body. When I looked in the mirror, I thought that I looked a bit like Oscar Wilde.

We drove to the theatre in the afternoon. The invitation had stipulated an afternoon tea with the Chancellor and the play director. Jules and I were resplendent in new suits, and the girls were radiant in cocktail dresses. When I looked at them, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how stupid I would look like in one.

The afternoon tea was a lot bigger than I was expecting. The Chancellor was there with her husband, the director was there with his wife. There was also Madame Duval and Madame President with their husbands. There was another couple at the table, a theatre director from Amsterdam and her husband, a scene designer. We found out that the Chancellor had invited them to see the play, considering the plot and the writers.

‘Don’t Water the Tulips’ was simple, but the relationships within the cast was complicated. As it was in the Belgian Dutch language, and because of where we were, along with the unfolding situation, the concept came easily. The first scene takes place in a council chamber, where the vote is being taken to improve the local dyke. The council doesn’t want to spend the money, saying that their engineers had told them that the dyke was good for another twenty years or more.

There is a small group of protesters who revolt as the debate carries on, with the female actor shouting about ensuring that the tulip fields are saved from an impending flood. The scene ends with the protesters being escorted from the chamber and the mayor declaring that common sense has prevailed. The second act has the actress brooding while at an outside café table. She is approached by a young man, who had been in the chamber but had said nothing. He asks her if he could talk to her, and she reluctantly lets him sit. It turns out that he is part of the engineering group that had given the report to the council, but that he didn’t agree with it. He could do nothing to sway his employers, as he needs the job. They talk about the problem, and then each other, with the scene ending in them agreeing to make a stand.

The second half is also in two scenes, the first with the couple and other protesters making plans to put together a crowd funding campaign to pay for an independent survey and report, with that campaign taking off to ‘Save the Tulips!’ The final scene is back in the council chamber, where a special meeting has been called. The council are adamant that their decision stands, and the protesters ask that their report be heard, at the very least.

The report highlights the discrepancies of the original report, with the new one expecting that the dyke would be breached within five years. When the mayor exclaims that it wouldn’t happen, figures worked out by respected engineers are quoted. The final statement that the presenter gives is the amount of low-lying land that would be lost, and then offers up a map of the new coastline, pointing out that eighty percent of the higher ground was owned by the mayor and several of the councillors, with an estimation of how much more the new waterside property would be worth. There was a representative from the government present, who immediately shuts the council down. The lovers kiss, he gives her a tulip, and he declares that all they need now is to start raising the dyke, but that it was now a possibility.

Over the course of the afternoon tea, I put forward our dilemma to the table. The director from Amsterdam was already flustered that she was sitting with the Commission President, now doubled when she found out that the two of us were the authors of a runaway best selling book. There was a lot of discussion about what we should do, but the final decision was that I needed to present as Patricia, to keep credibility, and to nail it to make sure that it continued.

We were given a guided tour of the arts section of the campus, and dropped in on the cast as they were preparing themselves for the performance. To them, we were just a couple of overseas students on a placement year. After that, there was a formal dinner, with our numbers swelled by members of the University board and some other local dignitaries. We were then taken to the theatre, which was starting to fill with patrons and a few from the media. We were all sat in the front row, and you could tell that the media had picked up on the fact that Madame President was there.

The play had been well rehearsed, and the student actors were very good in their parts. At the half-time break, the Amsterdam director said that she wanted to perform it there, and Madame President said that the Commission would help fund it, considering the link with the current situation.

At the end of the play, and after a couple of curtain calls, the Chancellor pulled us with her as she went up on stage. When the applause had died down, the thanked the cast and director for the performance, and then introduced Ellie and me as the writers of the script and stage directions.

“These two wonderful writers have been with us here, in Antwerp, for nearly a year. In that time, they have been working within the EU headquarters in Brussels, writing speeches for my friend, the Commission President. What they have done has fully fulfilled their obligations to their course, and they will be sent back to England, safe in the knowledge that their future is assured. I give you Clarence Higgins, who has some notoriety as being the person a lot of us ladies know and love as Clare Higgins, a writer of romantic stories.”

There was some applause at that and a lot of smiles from the ladies in the audience.

“I know that it should be ladies first, but Elaine Terrey should need no introduction. She is an author of books under her own name, but is better known, today, as one half of the writing duo that brought us the latest best-selling book, ‘The Last Wave’. Unfortunately, the other half of the team could not be with us tonight, but we look forward to meeting Patricia Shelley later in the year.”

There was more applause and then there was the after-show party. We were besieged by readers wanting to ask us questions about our ideas, our plans and our personal lives. Madeline had been in the audience and helped us deal with the media, staying clear of our work with the Commission. She told us that we now had orders to work with the director to coach me in the ways of womanhood, and that was our main aim until we went back to England. We would be contacted by email, should we be needed. When we left to drive home, the two of us had to be woken up when we arrived.

After the play had finished its run, we contacted the director. He sent back a list of measurements that Ellie needed to take of my body, with a chart of the local sizes. We had a few days to go and get some clothes, as well as a set of basic cosmetics. He had sent a list of places to go and would organise the rest.

We went into Brussels, to a shop that he had recommended. It was one that catered to theatrical people, including drag acts. With the measurements, they came up with an underwear set that gave me boobs, enhanced my butt, thinned my waist, and hid my penis but still allowed me to use the toilet, as long as I sat. We took three sets, a white, black, and red one. When I had tried them on, I was surprised at the look it gave me, and wondered if the idea would work.

After that, we bought the least showy of the dresses, one that I could wear in the street, as well as a pair of the lowest heels they had, only two inch. When I was fully dressed, I looked in the mirror and I saw myself as Patricia for the first time. I looked awkward and something was missing. It was my very plain face perched on top of a woman’s body. The odd thing was, the hair style that made me look like Oscar Wilde, now made me look like an older Shirley Temple.

The shop had recommended a salon that they worked with. It wasn’t far away, and Ellie decided we would drop my bags in the car and walk, to get me to learn walking in heels. We took it slow, arm in arm, as she whispered instructions on how I should hold myself to conform to her strides. I never felt so exposed to the world before. It was the most frightening hundred yards I had ever walked, but we made it to the salon without someone calling out bad names. The previous shop had phoned ahead, so we were expected.

I was expected to take the dress off and wear a smock, while they reworked my hair to be more of a feminine style. As I watched it being transformed, in the mirror, I realised that my brother must have seen something in me, all those years ago, that had never crossed my mind. It made me sit there and wonder if he had been more sensitive to things than I had thought. The fact that he couldn’t keep girlfriends was another factor. Perhaps we may be able to have a serious discussion without him dashing off.

By the time the girl had finished, I didn’t look like Shirley any longer, more like Taylor Swift in a short wig. From that chair, I was taken to another room and laid on a table as I was waxed again, this time on my arms and legs. They told me that I would need to get my body done if I was expected to wear a bikini. I asked them to do it now, so undressed fully to let them do their worst. After that, I was dressed in the underwear and back in the other chair. I was starting to get with the flow, as the process was all to make me look good, something that I had never thought about. Come to think about it, there was a lot that I was learning that had never crossed my mind.

The girl looking after me was holding colour strips against my face, as if to check a paint tone. She then went away, coming back with a tray of cosmetics, which she set on the side, before working on my face with waxing strips. So told me that she needed to choose my palette before I was all pink from the waxing, as my face would be a more normal colour the next day. I could follow the logic, so went along with it. I needed to close my eyes so she could work on the lids, only to open them with a start as something stung my earlobe, followed by another the other side.

When I looked in the mirror again, I saw what looked like a pretty girl, with gold studs in her ears, kissable lips and big eyes. It took a little longer for them to work on my fingers and toenails, after which, Ellie was back with some more shopping bags.

“Wow, Pat, you look wonderful! I’ve been to get some basics for you, in places where you might still get embarrassed.”

She had been to a lingerie shop and got me some nighties, slips, stockings and other items. She also had a shoulder bag, already containing feminine items which I should never need, and a pack of tissues. It was then added to with all the cosmetics that had been used on me, along with a sheet of directions about caring for my ears. The cost was, I thought, a bit high, but how much does a new woman cost these days?

We put the bags in the car, and then walked into the main shopping street, window shopping and then going into dress shops. Looking the way I did, I started to feel less of a freak, but wondered about some of the looks I got from men. We bought items that we could both wear, being exactly the same size now, and it became a bit of a game to choose things to make her look good, which, somehow, made me look good as well.

We were sitting in a café, having a light lunch, when she rang Madeline. The reason for the call was that my ID tag was now out of date, seeing that I looked nothing like the photo. When she had listened for a while, she put the phone in her bag.

“We have an appointment at the Commission, tomorrow. You have to take your diplomatic passport and your ID. Madeline is going to organise a replacement.”

I then made a call to the director, organising sessions with him the following week. He told me to come in, fully dressed, as my lessons would be in movement and deportment, with some time with a voice coach. I put the phone back in my bag, joining all the other things and my wallet.

“Ellie, dear, if this bag is to pass muster, I need a purse and one of those folders for my cards.”

Our next stop was at a leather shop to fix that oversight. I was starting to feel my feet hurting, so our last stop was a shoe shop, where we got some better fitting shoes, a pair of boots, and a couple of pairs of heels which I was sure would hurt even more. It had been an expensive day, but Ellie kept telling me that we were likely to be quite rich as the books sold, and that to present as Patricia Shelley, the investment was money well spent.

The arrival of Juliette when she had finished work was quite funny. She didn’t laugh out loud, but she did smile. It was only when she hugged me and whispered that I was pretty that I realised that she was happy to see me this way. Jules also gave me a hug and we had dinner as we usually did, with general discussion. That night, I found out about cleansing and moisturising, and sleeping in a nightie with glued-on boobs.

The next day, we went into the Commission, where Madeline was waiting for us in the security room. She took my ID and passport, and I was photographed. We waited until she came back with a new ID for me, with my new picture and in the name of Patricia Olivia Shelley. With that, we went up to the offices and had a meeting with Madame Duval. I still felt awkward, but nobody pointed any of my mistakes out, except the one time I sat down with my legs wide, which caused Ellie to point at me and cross her fingers.

We went into our office and caught up with emails, then went home again. I was spending all day as Patricia, and it was starting to feel almost normal. The biggest problem that I was having was putting on tights with long nails and not destroying them. The other thing was not poking myself in the eyes when I attempted to use the make-up.

The next week we went to the University, where I was given lessons to finely hone my movements, my talking with using gestures, my walking in various heels, and some time with a speech coach to feminise my talk, in both sound and content. At the end of the week, I could move, and talk, like Patricia, which made it a bit odd when the Chancellor called us to her office to give us our yearly assessments, with mine as Clarence Higgins.

We had both been given high marks, with her saying that we had more than earned them with the work we had done. She complimented me on how well I had embraced my new look and looked forward to us coming back to Antwerp as part of a signing tour. I had been signing as Patricia on scrap paper, to get used to writing with the nails getting in the way, so we both signed her copy of the book for her, the first of the hundreds to come.

Back home, it was time to call our parents and tell them that we would be back in England, and that we had a slightly different look about us. That was going to be fun!

Marianne Gregory © 2024