Debutantes: In Love (28 page)

Rose, was, of course, too young for all the invitations that poured into the house at Grosvenor Square so she was alone with her father for a lot of the time while Daisy and Poppy, happily chaperoned by Elaine, were enjoying themselves at balls in the evenings, as well as luncheon parties and afternoon tea at the Ritz during the day.

‘I’ll put the luggage in the guard’s van,’ said Morgan in her ear as Daisy dug out Rose’s health certificate from her handbag and presented it to the teacher. In a minute he was off, efficiently organizing a harassed-looking porter and making sure that all Rose’s cases and her tuck box were piled neatly on top of her trunk.

‘Bags I the window seat,’ shouted Rose, swinging her overnight bag dangerously near the bowler hat of a gentleman who was bending down to give his daughter a farewell kiss.

‘C’mon, Charlotte, Ellen, Wilhelmina, Ann! C’mon, everybody! Bye, Daisy, Bye Morgan. Do make sure when I die of sorrow that my bones are carried home and buried in English soil, won’t you?’

And then she was gone, filling the carriage that she had chosen with a group of her best friends. Daisy could see how the girls were all laughing and leaning forward and could imagine the tale of some invented wild orgy with which Rose was entertaining them.

‘She’ll be better off back in school,’ said Morgan as the guard blew his whistle and the train snorted and then slowly puffed out of the station.

‘I know,’ said Daisy. She realized that he had seen the tears gathering in her eyes and she wiped them with a laugh. ‘I’ll miss her though. It’s funny how she was talking about English soil,’ she continued. ‘I was just thinking last night about Beech Manor Grove. I miss it, you know. I know it’s damp and cold, but I miss the woods around the house, I miss my pony and the dogs.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I even miss collecting the eggs from the hens.’ And of course the breathtaking beauty of the house set among the woods and the lake, she thought.

‘How did the visit to the lawyer go?’ asked Morgan as together they strolled back through the barrier.

‘Not good.’ Daisy shook her head. She said no more until they reached the Humber. She felt that she could not trust her voice.

‘I suppose I’ve been thinking of Beech Grove Manor since the visit to the lawyer,’ she said once he got in beside her. She looked across at him. He had cranked up the car, but he left the engine running and made no move to set off. His eyes were on her and he had an understanding expression on his face.

‘Bad as that, is it?’ he asked.

‘The lawyer says that he has breached a court order and laid himself liable to a prison sentence for contempt of court. The best that can happen to him will be that he will get a heavy fine, and of course, according to the lawyer, he has to pay Denis Derrington back the money that he got from the sale of Binton Wood.’

Morgan gave a long, low whistle. ‘Has he still got the money?’ he enquired.

Daisy shook her head. She felt tears well up in her eyes.

‘He gave it to Elaine to pay for our coming-out dresses and party,’ she said. ‘He won’t consider taking it back. He yelled when she tried to offer it. He told her that she was trying to rob him of a last remaining shred of pride, so Jack . . .’ Jack, she thought as she choked back her sobs, had not really understood, but he was sensitive enough to comprehend that Michael Derrington was a man balanced on the edge of sanity. He had made a decisive signal to Elaine and she had immediately changed the subject.

‘You see, he was told quite clearly by the judge that he could sell nothing without the consent of his heir, but he went ahead and did it – all for the sake of this season.’ Her voice was now choked and tears poured down her cheeks, but she had ceased to care. It was comforting to be able to let go, to be able to stop pretending that everything was well.

Morgan touched her hand with his and then withdrew it. She wound down the window and put her head out, gulping in some fumes as she did so. For a moment she remembered with a feeling of nostalgia the fresh smell of the beech woods of her home, and then she closed the window again and said as steadily as she could, ‘There really is only one option, and that is to accept the offer that Denis Derrington has made that Beech Grove Manor House is handed over to him. He will repair the damage and renovate the house while my father continues to receive the rents from the farms. And of course, when he dies, Denis will inherit all so it makes good sense for him to prevent any further damage to the house – the roof is in a very bad state,’ she added, though she knew that Morgan knew all about that. He had often climbed up on the roof to replace lost slates, but he had once told her that the whole thing needed to be stripped and the timbers renewed.

‘Of course, he will make things even worse if he doesn’t turn up at the hearing on the twenty-sixth,’ she added.

‘Well, that’s still a while away,’ said Morgan encouragingly. ‘A lot can change in a week. I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll try to get him to come out for a spin in the car – down to Greenwich or something like that. Take his mind off things. I’ll just turn up and pretend that I thought he ordered the car. A bit of air will do him good.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Daisy, trying to sound cheerful. ‘We’d better go now, Morgan. I want to spend this afternoon with him as we are going to Joan’s coming-out dance tonight. You know, Morgan, I feel very guilty that we have pushed him into this,’ she added impulsively as the car slid out into the traffic of Victoria Street. ‘Every time I look at my presentation dress, hanging up there in my dressing room, I just wonder whether this dress has cost him his reason.’

‘Don’t think like that.’ Morgan’s voice was almost rough. ‘You had a right to have what others of your kind have. You had a right to look for your own happiness. If you want to blame anything, blame the war. That’s what wrecked the Earl – not the cost of a dress and a few parties. Now stop thinking like that and concentrate on the party tonight. Going to be very splendid, I hear.’

‘Yes, it’s all top-secret, but Joan assures me that it is going to be the most stunning event of the season.’ Daisy tried to smile, but she couldn’t help thinking that she might not enjoy the evening. Of course, when the invitations went out she and Charles had been a couple, but now . . . She just hoped that, given the circumstances, he would send an excuse.

‘I should get plenty of material for my new film,
Bright Young People
, at least; it’s coming on really well. Joan suggested that I bring my camera tonight – and made me promise faithfully that I would never, ever film her right profile or her left knee.’ She laughed at the memory of Joan’s detailed instructions.

‘And of course you will be there, won’t you?’ She turned to Morgan with a sudden feeling of pleasure.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Saturday 17 May 1924

Joan’s coming-out party had been more than a year in the planning. Everything, she had told her mother firmly, had to be different. It would be the sort of party that people were going to go on talking about for years. Dowagers shrieked in horror, fathers threatened, mothers agonized, but the Bright Young People screamed with laughter when the gold-edged cards arrived, inviting everyone to an underwater party by Westminster Bridge.

Elaine had been very enthusiastic and excited about this party and had insisted on buying the girls new outfits for it. Daisy had a dress in deep, rich ocean blue, adorned with a matching fluffy boa, fringed like exotic artificial seaweed. Poppy chose a very short scarlet dress sewn all over with tiny, cup-like coral shapes. They dressed and admired each other and showed off their outfits to Maud while Elaine got ready, but they both felt heavy-hearted that their father had once more sunk back into a dark depression of despair.

Only Morgan was in the hall when they came down the stairs. He looked up, startled, and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the impact of Poppy’s explosion of colour. She made a face at him before going into the library, where Jack and Elaine were having a conversation with some friend.

‘You look gorgeous,’ whispered Morgan to Daisy, his eyes on the still-open door. ‘Looking forward to it, are you?’

‘Not really,’ said Daisy. ‘They’re more Poppy’s friends than mine.’

‘Well, I’ll be there, and I’m more
your
friend than anyone else’s.’ His voice was still a hushed whisper and he looked around hurriedly as the sound of voices saying goodbyes showed that the others would be coming out at any moment.

‘I’ll come and sit by the drums,’ she promised, and felt cheered by the light of pleasure in his eyes and the warmth in his voice. Joan was going to have jazz played right through her party, but she had engaged another jazz band as well, so that Poppy and Baz could have their fair share of the dancing. Would Morgan dance too? Daisy wondered.

A long line of taxis was dropping off young people at the quayside when they arrived at Westminster Bridge. Daisy leaned out of the window of the car, pointing her camera at them and wishing suddenly that someone would invent colour photography so that she could do justice to the bright dresses as the girls teetered across the gangplank to the boat in their impossibly high heels.

When they got inside the riverboat she wished it even more. Lady Dorothy had engaged the services of the stage designer from Drury Lane Theatre and the effect was magical. The ceiling of the large saloon downstairs was hung with bunches of coral in blue, red, pink, green and gold. Trails of exotic seaweed draped the windows and light glowed through shades of green and blue glass. The floor itself had been painted dark blue and sprinkled with glitter, and Daisy saw with amusement how Poppy, unselfconscious as always, bent down and rubbed her finger on the sparkling surface to see whether any would come off. But then she forgot the floor, forgot to film, as she gasped in amazement at the sight at the far end of the room. A floor-to-ceiling pale blue translucent voile curtain hung a few feet away from the end wall. Behind it, but clearly to be seen, were dozens of tiny blue balloons flecked with silver. They rose continuously, looking like bubbles beneath the sea.

‘Jolly clever, isn’t it? Filled with hydrogen gas, of course.’ The voice from behind her was wonderful. Quite deep and very musical. Automatically Daisy swung around and found herself staring into the very beautiful eyes of Charles de Montfort.

‘Oh! Charles!’ she gasped, and was instantly mortified at her reaction. She had planned to greet him in a polite but distant manner, and now she was standing gaping into his face. He was with a girl that she did not know and his arm was around her waist. He glanced at Daisy and instantly turned away.

‘Come and see the lobsters, dearest,’ he said to his companion. ‘They are just too, too killing.’

Daisy did not move. She felt a sudden stab of humiliation. Why had she not cut him, rather than allowing him to cut her? She felt her cheeks colour and was glad that the light was so dim. She gazed after Charles pushing his way through a crowd, who were, she supposed, looking at the lobsters. The music was starting – not Baz’s band, she thought, hearing a piano instead of a drum.

And then there was a sudden exclamation of pain and a well-known voice – a voice that she had known since she was twelve years old – saying indifferently, ‘Sorry, old chap, did I tread on your foot?’

Charles’s voice, sounding uncertain, replied, ‘Don’t worry, old chap. No harm done.’

And then Morgan was beside her, looking very smart in his evening dress.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Daisy nodded. ‘Only my pride was hurt,’ she said. She looked around. Everyone was pairing up and beginning to move to the music. ‘Dance with me, Morgan,’ she said pleadingly. ‘I don’t know anyone here, and I don’t want to just stand there filming. It’s too early in the evening anyway. They’ll all be looking at me.’

For a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but then he nodded. Without a word, he took the camera from her hands, went across to the bandstand and placed it on his drummer’s stool and then came back holding out his hand. ‘Let’s do some jitterbugging then,’ he said.

He danced well, marking the beat firmly, thought Daisy, and then smiled to herself as she overheard one of their neighbours from Kent say in penetratingly loud tones to Lady Dorothy, ‘Who’s that fine-looking young fella dancing with little Daisy?’

‘I say, St Clair, save the next dance for me?’ called out Joan, twirling around in the arms of languid young man. ‘I’m the hostess, you know. If anyone displeases me, I have some stalwart sailors here who will immediately throw them into the river.’

Morgan smiled but made no reply. There was a glint in his eye and Daisy laughed. It would be a brave man who would try to throw him into the river. Even under the smooth cloth of his well-cut jacket it was easy to see the impressive swell of his strong arms.

‘Our band is going to be playing the next few tunes,’ he said to her, ‘but after that . . .’ He broke off and twirled her around but did not finish the sentence. She wondered whether he had been going to ask her to dance again, but he said no more and the pace was fast and furious and they were breathless and laughing by the time that dance finished. He spoke then, but it was only to remark in an amused fashion, ‘I notice that Mr Charles de Montfort did not dance this last number. I wonder, could he have a problem with his foot?’