Debutantes: In Love (18 page)

‘Rose, dear,’ he said, without looking around, ‘could you pop into the morning room and remind your aunt that the girls have the final fitting of their ball gowns today?’

‘
Salaam, sahib
,’ said Rose, touching her folded hands to her brow and then dancing off. Elaine would have all the magazines in the morning room and that would give her more fun than trying to tease the imperturbable Sir John.

Jack waited until she had closed the door behind her and then, after putting a last tick opposite the words ‘floral decorations’, he came down from his steps and looked closely at Daisy.

‘How are you and Charles getting on?’ he asked with his usual directness.

Daisy smiled to herself at the question. She and Charles were almost like a modern married couple now, going off to work every day. And success was coming her way, with Sir Guy selling her film about the chickens almost as soon as she had completed it. She raised an eyebrow at Jack, trying to move just one of them in that way Joan did so expertly.

‘Well. Very well.’ She tried to convey that it was none of his business, but he ignored that.

‘Not getting too serious, are you? You see . . .’

But then he was interrupted. Tellford was at the door with a list of champagne providers, and while they began an earnest conversation Daisy escaped, saying hastily that she had to remind Poppy about the appointment with the dressmaker. She didn’t want to hear what Jack had to say. He wasn’t too keen on Charles, she thought. Elaine had confided in her that Jack had given up the idea of getting him a job at the Foreign Office since Charles was not willing to work his way up but seemed to want to start at the top.

‘If he has pots of money, why should he bother being a message boy for some big shot?’ said Poppy when Daisy told her. She seemed to think that Charles was quite right not to do something that would bore him. Neither she nor Baz would ever dream of doing something that bored them.

Daisy tried to tell herself that this made sense, but she was worried that Charles might be depending on being a success in the film world.

Poppy and Baz both had great musical talent, but Charles . . .

‘He’ll never make a star,’ Sir Guy had said to Daisy a few days earlier. ‘He might get a few walk-on parts, or crowd scenes, but he’s never going to make a living out of it. I’m afraid that he’s like your sister – just can’t act. Is he thinking of going back to India? He might be better off doing something back there. He must have picked up some skills over the last few years. Perhaps not the Indian Police, but something in the commercial line . . . Has he any thoughts about what he’s going to do? ’

‘Not that I know of,’ said Daisy. She pretended to sound indifferent, but she felt rather troubled. Charles had no interest in India, no interest in producing films either; he wanted to be in front of the camera, not behind it. Sir Guy was waiting for her to say something, to agree with him, to decide to drop this film about the rajah and the girl, but she bit her lip and said nothing. How could she drop it without talking to Charles first?

I must speak to him, she thought. It’s not fair on Sir Guy to use any more of his resources on this film. He had faith in the other short film that she was gradually putting together, about the Bright Young People, but none in the Indian film. Something had to be said, and she was the one who had to say it.

And now, when she had a couple of hours before the dressmaker appointment, was the time to do it.

Quickly she grabbed her coat from the hallstand and slipped out of the front door, closing it very softly behind her and crossing the road.

‘I’m not sure if he’s up yet, my lady,’ said the housemaid who opened the door. ‘Lady Cynthia is out. Will you wait in the morning room?’

Daisy was pleased that Lady Cynthia was not there. She was a strange woman; had been effusively friendly for a while, but now seemed to be rather cold and distant. She sat down without taking off her coat. The room was cold, quite unlike the house across the road, where she continually felt too hot. Although it was almost eleven o’clock the fire had not been lit. She glanced at the invitations on the mantelpiece – Charles seemed very popular; there were lots of invitations for him – including one to a ‘Bottle & Bath’ party from Annette, which made Daisy open her eyes rather widely.

It was while she was gazing at the card that Charles opened the door and came in, looking very spruce and well groomed.

‘I wondered if you would like a walk,’ she said. She could hear the words coming out rather abruptly, but she didn’t care. She needed to be alone with him. There always seemed to be people around them. ‘Let’s go down by the river,’ she suggested.

‘Yes, let’s,’ he said eagerly, and she was touched to see how much he wanted to please her.

On the way down they chatted about the ball and Daisy told him about Sir John’s Military Manoeuvres Board. That did not make him laugh, as she had intended, and he looked at her rather uncomfortably.

‘Did he tell you that I didn’t want that job that he found me?’ he said after a minute. ‘You see—’

‘You don’t need to explain it to me,’ she interrupted him quickly.

‘I knew you’d understand.’ He looked down at her with glowing eyes. ‘You see, I want to put everything into supporting you, making films with you and helping you in every way that I can.’

He looked so wonderfully handsome as he said that. Daisy looked up at him, wondering what he meant. It sounded almost as though he was seeing a future for them as a couple – but perhaps he just meant a professional alliance. And then he gave a quick look around, bent over and kissed her. ‘I can’t resist you when you look like that,’ he said softly. ‘You know, you have the loveliest eyes. I used to dream of blue eyes like yours when I was out in India and homesick for England.’ He looked around and steered her towards a bench sheltered behind a large bush of orange blossom. When they sat down, he put an arm around her and pulled her close to him and she put her head down on his shoulder.

She couldn’t, she thought, talk now about abandoning the film. After all, she told herself, neither Charles nor Violet were being paid for their work – they had both been told that any payment would come as a percentage once the film was sold. Fred had already done all the work on the backdrops so now it was really only a matter of her own time and small amounts of processing materials. Sir Guy wouldn’t press her.

While Charles was murmuring into her ear dreams about their own studio and about the films that they would make in the future, she could not possibly come back down to earth and be sensible. After all, she tried to tell herself, Elaine had said that he was rich, so he didn’t need to make a living.

And the smell from the orange blossom was intoxicating.

Chapter Nineteen

Thursday 8 May 1924

Anything could happen to a person wearing a dress like this, thought Daisy as she gazed into the full-length mirror in her room. This electric light was wonderful, she thought. Its warm, even glow lit up the girl who faced her from the sparkling glass. A short girl, though looking divinely slim in the well-cut dress, a girl with large blue eyes, a smooth, shining cap of blonde hair that hung around a porcelain-pale face, lips delicately pink; a girl clothed in a gown made from silver lamé, spangled with tiny diamonds, fitted closely to her figure in the front, barely reaching to her knees and billowing out behind into ankle-length gleaming folds.

‘What do you think?’ Daisy met her mother’s eyes in the mirror and was glad that Maud had gone to do Poppy’s hair and that they were alone for the moment. Tears ran down Elaine’s cheeks.

‘My darling, you look wonderful. The most beautiful girl in the world.’ She laughed shakily. ‘I want to squeeze you in my arms, but I daren’t touch such perfection. Now I must fly. Jack will wonder what’s happening to me. He does so want everything to be perfect tonight.’

And then she was gone. Daisy took one last look at herself and then went into Poppy’s bedroom. Poppy was still in a wrapper. Maud was just undoing an elaborate hairstyle where Poppy’s long hair had been braided and tucked under to give it the appearance of a fashionable bob.

‘I’ve decided to wear it loose – Baz likes it better down,’ Poppy explained as Daisy came in. ‘Is Jack jumping up and down waiting for me?’ she went on. ‘You look lovely, doesn’t she, Maud?’

‘Elaine has only just gone to get dressed,’ said Daisy. She watched as Maud brushed out the long red hair and decided that Poppy was right. Short hair might be more fashionable, but Poppy’s rippling dark red mane was so striking that it was a shame to hide it. Maud tied it loosely with a piece of silk while she slipped the dress over Poppy’s head, freed the hair, adjusted the dress and then stood back to see the effect.

Poppy’s gown was of gold lamé, embroidered all over with dozens of tiny green chrysoberyls, the cat’s eye jewel – one of the nine jewels of India. It was short and made quite simply, figure-fitting and without frills. The sumptuous simplicity suited Poppy and highlighted the beauty of her hair. And the headband of gold lamé, embroidered with more chrysoberyls, made her amber eyes glow.

‘You’re beautiful!’ They said it in unison and then both laughed. Maud slipped out of the room to fetch Rose and soon returned with her, looking exquisite in a coral-pink dress and with her long blonde hair floating out behind her.

‘Girls! We’re off. The taxi is here. It’s waiting for you!’ Jack had an unusually tense note in his voice.

‘Wish Morgan was taking us,’ grumbled Poppy. ‘Why does Jack have to monopolize him?’

‘He’s only being kind,’ said Daisy swiftly. ‘He thinks we’ll have more room for our frocks in a taxi. That’s what he said.’

Jack, she thought, couldn’t wait to get to the Ritz and make sure that every one of his meticulous arrangements was going with a swing.

‘We’d better go,’ she said. ‘We need to be there first so that we can receive the guests. It’s our party, after all.’

Sir John and Elaine were already in position by the time they arrived. Rose, who had been warned to stay in the background, went off to see the press room and they took their places beside the couple, he in his superb uniform and Elaine wearing a glorious gown of black velvet trimmed with gold embroidery. The cloak, which formed part of the gown, fell behind her, and at the back of her slender neck a large, stiffened collar of the dark velvet rose up to form a frame to her blonde hair, her pale skin and her blue eyes. She looked tiny but dignified beside her distinguished husband.

‘Poppy next to me, I think; and Daisy next to Elaine.’ He looked along the line and nodded with satisfaction. It was a good arrangement, thought Daisy. Ever since she had found out that she was not Poppy’s twin, not her sister, she had been slightly self-conscious about the lack of resemblance between them. Standing side by side, they looked odd – one tall redhead; one small blonde.

Now with Poppy beside Sir John and she beside Elaine, they looked interesting.

‘First taxis drawing up now, Your Excellency.’ The manager approached Sir John, casting a last professional look around the ballroom.

Everything was splendid, thought Daisy. The Indian backdrops, painted by Fred, had been attached to the Ritz’s own screens and the spaces between had potted palms placed at wide intervals, allowing those who sat on the gilt chairs to have a clear view of the ballroom. The ceiling was hung with chandeliers whose warm light enhanced the gold paint on the stately columns and the mouldings along the wall. The Ritz’s own orchestra played gentle music – the jazz band would come at nine o’clock. She straightened up to greet the first guests: His Excellency, the High Commissioner, Sir Atul Chandra Chatterjee and his British-born wife, from the Indian Embassy in London.

Charles came late and Daisy was glad about that. It would have been agony to have to stand in line with Elaine and Jack greeting the guests while he, in his well-mannered way, danced with other girls. Poppy, of course, had no such worries. The jazz-band boys, Baz, Simon, Edwin and George, despised music that wasn’t jazz, so they lurked among the potted palms just behind where Poppy stood on the end of the receiving row and made low-voiced jokes that only she could hear. Daisy envied her sister. She was so relaxed, so confident in Baz’s affection. Would things ever be like that between her and Charles? The thought had just crossed her mind when suddenly she saw him. He was alone but he came forward with great confidence, bowed gracefully to Elaine, shook Sir John by the hand and then looked at Daisy.

‘Dare I ask for a dance?’ His dark eyes were so warm in the bright light from the chandeliers overhead and his well-shaped eyebrows formed two such perfect arcs that for a moment she wished that she had her camera in her hand.

‘Yes, you girls run along; your aunt and I will receive the rest of the guests.’ Elaine whispered something into her husband’s ear and he gave Daisy and Poppy a paternal nod of approval while sending a keen-eyed look down the hallway that opened out of the ballroom. All the important guests – the people from the Indian Embassy and from the Foreign Office – had already arrived.