Ann arrived exactly ten minutes late, the most she could bear to delay, and was greeted by a smoothly smiling maître d’hôtel. “Good evening, madam, and welcome to Quaglino’s.”
“Good evening. I’m meeting—”
“Captain Thickett-Milne, yes. He did say he was expecting you. May we take your coat? Wonderful. If you will allow me to show you the way?”
The restaurant was glorious. She tried to take it all in, the flowers and the crisp white linen and sparkling crystal and silver and the even more dazzling jewelry of the guests, and she thought she might have seen Laurence Olivier sitting at one of the tables, but she didn’t dare to turn her head for a second look.
Jeremy stood as she approached, took her hand and kissed it, then waited until she was settled in her chair before sitting down himself. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored suit, and to Ann’s mind was easily the handsomest man in the room.
“I’m sorry I was late,” she said, and resisted the urge to offer a more robust excuse.
“I only just arrived. Shall I pour you some champagne?”
“Yes, please.” She almost reached for her glass, but remembered in time that she was meant to remove her gloves. Her hands were so damp with nerves that it was an effort to tug them off. So much for glamour.
She took a sip of the champagne and was a little taken aback by the taste, which reminded her of too-dark toast, and by the bubbles, which made her want to sneeze. The waiter handed her a menu and, as Carmen had warned, there was nothing she recognized apart from “sole.” Did it mean the same thing in French as in English? She might easily end up with a plate of frog’s legs or snails.
“Do you see anything you fancy?” Jeremy asked.
“Oh, it all looks so delicious. I’m not sure I can decide. What do you recommend?”
“The oysters are splendid here. Don’t know of anyone who’s ever been served a bad one. As for mains, I was thinking of the steak.”
Her frock was so tight that she’d never be able to manage more than a few bites of beefsteak. “I, ah . . . I was thinking of the sole?”
“Excellent choice.” He looked up and their waiter materialized at his elbow, rather as if he’d read Jeremy’s mind. He took their orders and whisked away the menus, and only then did Ann realize there hadn’t been any prices on hers. Better not to know, she decided.
“I believe you said you’d been away?” That seemed like a safe place to start.
“Yes, but only for a week or so. Was quite happy to come back to town, especially since I knew we’d be dining tonight. And now here we are, and you are a vision in that frock. Is it new?”
New to her, at least. “Yes. Do you like it?”
“Very much. The pink is quite pretty against your skin. Even more so when you flush because my compliments make you nervous. They shouldn’t, you know.”
The oysters arrived just then, saving her from thinking up a response. “Been ages since I had the oysters here,” Jeremy said. “They really are terribly good.” He squeezed an odd pair of tongs over his oysters, and she saw that they held a wedge of lemon, and then she noticed the way the edges of the oysters fluttered when they were spritzed with the juice.
She must have made some small sound, for he looked up and smiled. “Don’t you love it? So fresh they’re practically wriggling.”
“I, ah . . . I never realized they were alive,” she said faintly.
“’Course they’re alive. Expect they’d taste awful if they were dead.” He picked up one of the shells and tipped its contents into his mouth. She watched the muscles of his throat contract as he swallowed the oyster, and a faint sheen of perspiration broke out on her brow, and she looked down at the six oysters on her plate and thought she might topple off her chair.
Instead she did exactly as Jeremy had done. She squeezed the little lemon-filled tongs over her oysters, picked up a shell, poured the oyster and its surrounding brine into her mouth, and swallowed before she could think twice.
“Delicious,” she said, and reached for her champagne.
The oyster shells had just been tidied away when Jeremy looked over her shoulder, smiled, and waved a hand in greeting. A couple approached, and he stood and said hello and chatted with them for a few minutes. The man ignored her; the woman, looking down, smiled thinly at Ann but said nothing. She was wearing a gorgeous dress of eau de nil silk with delicate bands of sequins and larger matte paillettes on the bodice. A dress that Ann had embroidered herself only a few months earlier.
“Your gown is lovely,” she said unthinkingly.
Rather than thank her for the compliment, as anyone with manners would have done, the woman simply stared, her smile twisting into an odd little frown, her brow gathering into disdainful pleats. Plucking at her husband’s sleeve, she whispered something in his ear and he, in turn, swiveled his head around to stare at Ann.
“We won’t keep you,” the man said, and he and his wife continued on their way.
“I do apologize,” Jeremy said as he sat down. “George and his wife are the most frightful snobs, which is ridiculous when you consider how his family made their money.”
“How?” she asked, praying that her face wasn’t as red as it felt.
Jeremy leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lavatory brushes. Can you believe it? I’d have taken them to task, but my line of work requires the utmost discretion. You won’t let them ruin our evening, will you?”
“Of course not.”
Any further awkwardness was curtailed by the arrival of their main course. Her sole really was sole, thank goodness, and was tender and delicate, served with little roast potatoes the size of marbles and a buttery sauce that tasted almost but not quite of mint. It was the nicest thing she’d eaten in years, apart from Miriam’s Friday-night chicken, of course.
No one else interrupted them, and an hour later she couldn’t have said what they talked about. He did ask how her day had been, and she simply said it had been fine, for she could hardly tell him that the entire week before had been a mad rush to get the pieces of the princess’s gown finished and ready for making up, or how she’d stayed late every day so as to be certain the center front panels of the skirt were perfect. Perhaps after the wedding she would be able to tell him. Surely he would understand how she had been constrained by her promises to Mr. Hartnell and Miss Duley.
They were just finishing their pudding—profiteroles for Jeremy and chocolate ice cream for her—when the maître d’hôtel approached.
“I do beg your pardon for the interruption, madam. I’ve had a call for Captain Thickett-Milne.” Then he whispered something into Jeremy’s ear before backing away.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked.
“Not at all. It’s only that I’m needed back at work. I had a feeling I’d be called in.”
“We were finishing anyway. I don’t mind.” It did seem odd for him to have received a call at the restaurant, but he did have that top secret job in Whitehall. Perhaps such things happened to men like him all the time.
“You are a brick. We’d best be on our way—I don’t dare keep her waiting.”
“You work for a woman?”
He shook his head, and for a moment she worried she’d angered him, but his fleeting smile put her at ease. “A slip of the tongue. Remember what they say about loose lips.”
He took her arm and led her back through the restaurant, and she wished she’d looked around more when she’d had the chance. She didn’t recognize any of the other diners, but she did see several Hartnell frocks, their wearers draped in furs and jewels, their faces made up like gleaming, perfect masks, and she wished, only for a moment, that she’d let Carmen cover her freckles with something more opaque than a dusting of powder.
The maître d’hôtel had her coat waiting. “I’ll take it,” Jeremy said, and he even did up the buttons for her. When he was finished, he bent his head to kiss her cheek, right by her ear, and his breath was ticklish and
smelled faintly of the chocolate sauce from his profiteroles.
“You’ll be all right to get home?” he asked as they walked out to the pavement and the cab that seemed to be waiting just for her.
“I will.”
“I just realized—we haven’t arranged for another evening, and now there isn’t time. Will you ring me tomorrow? I’ll be home by half six. Do say you will.”
“I will. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“You are most welcome.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek again, and then she got in the cab, and only once it had turned the corner did she ask the driver to drop her off at the nearest Underground station.
THE NEXT MORNING she was still feeling rather dreamy. Miriam had already been in bed when she’d arrived home, so they discussed the meal itself over breakfast—simply remembering the oysters was enough to put Ann off her porridge—and she shared the unsettling experience of meeting someone who was wearing a frock she’d helped to make.
Having sent the princess’s gown, or rather its constituent pieces, next door to the sewing workroom the week before, they were now concentrating on the fifteen-foot train. She and Miriam were positioned at the very end of the frame, directly opposite one another, as that was where the most important elements of the design were focused.
Within five minutes of sitting down she was lost in her work, oblivious to the chatter of the other girls at the frame, and only when Miss Duley came into the workroom at half-past nine did Ann look up.
“Have you been running?” she asked, for Miss Duley’s face was flushed, her hair was slipping out of its neat knot, and she was having difficulty catching her breath.
“Yes,” Miss Duley gasped. “Only found out now.”
Ann rushed over and took the older woman by the arm. “Come here and sit down. Take a deep breath. Good. And another. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“Queen. Afternoon. Here.”
“The queen is coming here for a fitting?” It didn’t make sense. The queen and princesses never came to Bruton Street. Mr. Hartnell and Mam’selle always went to them.
“No. To see the gown. Queen, Princess Elizabeth. Margaret, too. Queen Mary, Duchess of Gloucester.” Poor Miss Duley still couldn’t catch her breath.
“Just to see the gown?” Ann repeated.
“Yes. They want to visit the workrooms. But the state of this place . . . what’ll we do?”
Ann didn’t have to look around to know what was distressing Miss Duley. The workroom was a shambles. It was clean and orderly where it counted, which at that moment was the great, long frame that held the princess’s train, but everywhere else was a disaster.
“Mr. Hartnell will have a fit if he sees it like this,” Miss Duley went on. “And what will the queen say?”
“She won’t see it like this. We’ll tidy it now,” Ann promised. “If we all work together it’ll be done in no time.”
“Where’ll we put everything?” Miss Duley waved a hand at the stacks of empty tambour frames, messily folded lengths of fabric, overflowing boxes of trim, and unraveling spools of ribbon that had colonized the fringes of the workroom.
“We’ll hide it.”
“I know,” Miriam said. “We will take those empty frames, the ones that are stacked in the corner, and set them up along the wall there, and then we will put whatever we must hide underneath. Then we will cover all of it with, ah . . .”
“We’ve those old sheets. The ones we’re meant to put up if we notice anyone trying to take pictures from the opposite windows.” Then another idea occurred to Ann. “Do we have the samples back again from the queen and Princess Elizabeth?”
“Yes,” Miss Duley said promptly. “They’re in Mr. Hartnell’s office. I saw them there yesterday.”
“Let’s see if we can fetch them back. We can set them up on the table by the stairs, and we’ll put Mr. Hartnell’s sketches there, too. In case he wants to show them.”
“Good. Yes, that’s a splendid idea,” Miss Duley said. “Thank you, Ann.”
“Are you feeling better? Why don’t you stay put for now? We’ll take care of sorting everything out.”
It only took an hour to set everything to rights, although they had to work straight through their morning break to ensure everything was tidy and clean. Just as they were finishing there was another small panic, this time over everyone’s appearance. But Miss Duley, now herself again, was not to be moved. No, lipstick was not allowed under any circumstance, and no, the queen and other royal ladies would not notice what any of them were wearing.
“I can’t believe I’m going to meet the queen and I’m dressed in any old thing,” Ruthie complained. Ann, who was wearing her least favorite blouse and skirt under her coveralls, wisely said nothing.
“You’d look ridiculous if you were dressed up in your Sunday best,” Miss Duley reasoned. “Besides, they’re not coming to see us—they want to see the gown. We’ll be part of the scenery, no more.”
As soon as the workroom was ready for inspection, Miss Duley pulled out her box Brownie camera, which made Ann wonder if perhaps she had been hoping for a visit from the royal ladies, and had one of the girls from the sewing workroom take a photograph from the top of the steps of everyone at their places. That accomplished, there was just enough time for dinner, and for Ann to run over to the models’ cloakroom to return Carmen’s frock and coat.
“I promise to tell you everything later, but I have to rush back—the royals are coming.”
“I heard. Good luck! And don’t forget your coat.”
A dropped pin would have sounded like a falling anvil in the workroom that afternoon. Ann resolved to focus only on the work before her, and did so with such success that she nearly jumped out of her skin when the telephone on Miss Duley’s desk began to ring.
“Yes, Mrs. Price. Thank you. We’ll be ready.” Miss Duley set down the receiver and stood. “They’ll be here in five minutes. Please line up in front of the frames, ladies, and mind you don’t brush against them and knock off the coverings.”
They all did as she suggested, and then, frowning, she beckoned Ann and Miriam to come forward. “I want you to stand at your chairs. Just in case they wish to see a demonstration.”
Approaching Ann, her hands fluttering over her hair, Miss Duley asked worriedly, “How do I look?” She had added a white lace collar to her usual black dress, and her hair was in an even tighter bun than usual.
“Very nice,” Ann said. “Now off you go and I’ll make sure everyone is ready when the door opens.”
Miss Duley vanished out the door, they took their places, and Ann slowly became aware of how nervous she was. She even had to wipe her hands on her coverall several times. The younger girls broke into giggles after a few minutes of aching silence, but a good hard glare was enough to quiet them.
At last they heard the noises of people in the corridor. The door opening, creaking on its hinges, and there were the queen and Princess Elizabeth and Queen Mary, and just behind them Princess Margaret and the Duchess of Gloucester. They stood at the landing for a long moment, and the queen looked down at all the girls with a dazzling smile.
Ann bent her knees into a curtsy, and the others followed but not quite at the same time, which made for a rather comical effect as their heads bobbed up and down at intervals. But the queen didn’t notice, or rather was too polite to take notice, and instead she and the others swept down the stairs and into the workroom.
Mr. Hartnell and Miss Duley and Mam’selle followed just behind, and he showed the royal ladies the samples that Ann and Miriam had worked, and explained that the gown itself was next door in the sewing workroom.
“Having completed the principal embroidery on Your Royal Highness’s gown, we are now working on the train. Miss Hughes and Miss Dassin are my two most senior embroiderers, and they have led the way in the embroidery on both the gown and the train. Would Your Majesties and Royal Highnesses care to observe them at work for a moment or two?”
�
�I should like that very much,” said the queen with another wonderful smile, her cornflower-blue eyes so friendly and warm, and Ann sat in her chair and picked up her needle and began to work.
“They begin by attaching the satin appliqué pieces to the tulle, after which they affix the pearls and other decorations, and all the while they must take great care to ensure that every stitch is invisible,” Mr. Hartnell said in his most serious voice.
The queen and Princess Elizabeth had come to stand next to Ann, and just knowing they were so close made Ann’s hands go all wobbly, but it wasn’t so bad as to be noticeable. She managed to set several pearls at the center of one of the York roses before the queen nodded and said, “Thank you very much. We are so grateful for your hard work.”
Ann wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say anything, but it seemed rude not to respond. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, and out of the corner of her eye she saw both Mr. Hartnell and Miss Duley nod.
The royal ladies processed back up the stairs, and Ann and Miriam stood up, and at the landing the queen paused and turned to say good-bye to everyone. They curtsied again, still horribly out of unison, and then the door shut and their visitors were gone.
“There,” Miss Duley said. “We survived. Well done, girls. Let’s all sit down and catch our breath, and mind you don’t start to chatter until our guests have left the premises. After that you may have your break a little early.”
Ann crossed the workroom to Miss Duley, who had collapsed onto her desk chair. “What do you think?”
“I’d say they were very pleased. They never talk much, you know. Only the queen, and she always has something nice to say. It was a very good idea to have the samples brought down, by the way.”
“Shall I take them back? Mr. Hartnell will probably need them again before the wedding.”
“Yes, do. But make sure to avoid the royal ladies.”
Ann set off for Mr. Hartnell’s office, taking the long way round so as to stay out of everyone’s way. It sent her through the showroom, which should have been empty, since any appointments would certainly have been canceled once the queen had announced her intention to visit.
The Gown Page 21