<div class="floatleft"><div align="center">(https://i0.wp.com/style.pk/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/yasmeen-ghauri-biography-and-photos-18.jpg)<br/></div><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Berlin Sans FB;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"> Taffy Silk<br/>‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾  </span></span></div></div><br/>The girl who lets us in seems underdressed for the weather. I try not to blink at the greeting to Miss J - there's a story there, and probably a bad one. Unless Miss J has taken to hanging around with barely dressed toys, at which point I shall be miffed!<br/><br/>Miss J also noted the irresponsible dress code on display, and I'm happy to be led in by her, a bit tightly for any 'normal' behaviour which bodes a bit more.<br/><br/>I curtsey to Dianne even though she mentions our previous meeting.<br/><br/>"Good afternoon, Miss du Monde."<br/><br/>I hang back a little, feet together, and twisting a bit - my best frivolous servant mode. It is interesting that she sought us out - not in a good way.<br/><br/>"Red isn't my colour, miss, so I've been told anyway. And yes, miss, Miss Jaclyn rates you very highly from what I gather, as complimentary as I can remember her being of any associates."<br/><br/>I wonder why we're here. I look around the room - which is fabulous - while mulling over the almost studied 'cool lookover and assessment' protocol du Monde started with. Megalomaniac Villains 101, I think.