The Flower Garden

by Margaret Pemberton

  Nancy assured her that she would not wish anything to be changed. Certainly not for the moment. They drank a glass of Malvasia together and Nancy was relieved to find not the least trace of coolness in Senora Henriques’manner. If she was to have a new mistress, temporarily or permanently, she was going to work as amicably for her as she had for her former mistress.

  As Nancy put down her glass and was about to take her leave, the first hint of faint unease crossed her cultured features.

  ‘May I be so bold, madame, as to suggest the seating arrangements at dinner of yourself, Mr Cameron and Mr Sanford, are resolved as soon as possible?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nancy paused. Senora Henriques had far more experience of such ‘arrangements’than she herself. ‘May I ask what you would suggest, Senora Henriques?’

  There was no hint of embarrassment on the housekeeper’s face as she said circumspectly, ‘The easiest solution would be for Senator Cameron to leave aboard the ship he arrived on. I believe the Aquitania sails on Wednesday. Failing that, it is usual for the wife to be seated with her husband and her gentlemen friend as their guest. In this case, of course, Senator Cameron and yourself would be Mr Sanford’s guests. Not that this situation has ever arisen at Sanfords before with Mr Sanford,’ she added hastily.

  ‘No. Thank you.’

  Senora Henriques knew and understood. It seemed to Nancy that everyone knew and understood except those to whom it should have been obvious: Vere and Nicki and Jack. Jack knew, but she doubted if he would understand and she doubted if he would sail aboard the Aquitania on Wednesday.

  They parted with the cordial warmth proper to their respective stations, and the unspoken knowledge that if Nancy needed an ally and friend, Senora Henriques would prove herself to be one.

  When she opened the dooor of her suite she gasped and stood rooted to the ground. Baskets of ornately arranged flowers filled every foot of floor-space, cascaded from the bed, the dressing table, the wardrobes. Gingerly she picked her way between them. In her bathroom the bath was lost under a welter of orchids and roses, birds of paradise, jasmines, lilies and mimosa.

  Maria was nearly in tears as she tried to negotiate a path towards her mistress.

  ‘I can’t get to your dresses, madame, or your toilet things …’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The prince.’

  In the centre of Nancy’s dressing table a giant bouquet of white orchids, freesias and lilies stood out against a cascade of red roses like snowflakes on blood. Between the flowers something gleamed. With great difficulty Nancy edged her way through the baskets. The something gleaming was a rope of perfectly-matched pearls, circling the flowers with careless magnificence. She looked around her. In a huge bouquet of strelitza a jewel sparkled and shone. She crossed to it, petals scattering in her wake.

  It was a slim gold chain with a ruby pendant. In another bouquet a lily held a diamond ring in its fluted heart.

  ‘What are we going to do, madame? We must get rid of them. We can’t move and they’re making me sneeze.’

  Nancy lifted the ring from its petal-soft bed. ‘We can’t simply ask for them to be removed, Maria. See, there’s a ring here and over there, in the strelitza, a necklace and in the bouquet of all-white flowers, pearls.’

  Maria’s eyes widened. ‘You mean there are jewels hidden in all the baskets?’

  ‘Not all.’ Nancy was frantically searching between leaves, stems and petals. ‘But some. We must find them and return them to the prince. Of all the crazy, idiotic …’

  ‘That’s not all.’ Maria’s pretty face was strained with anxiety. ‘His Grace, the Duke of Meldon is sitting on the terrace. He’s been there since before lunch. He’s been there for hours!’

  If there had been room to sit down in weak exhaustion, Nancy would have done so. There was no room. She said despairingly, ‘Search every basket of flowers minutely, Maria. Any jewels you find put to one side and then place the basket outside the door. Ring for a bellboy to remove them when you are quite certain there is nothing of value hidden in the foliage. I will be out on the terrace with the duke.’

  ‘Yes, madame.’

  Dutifully she began her search for treasure, and just as dutifully, deposited all she found on a silver tray. It would no more have occurred to her to slip a pendant or bracelet into her pocket, than it would have occurred to Nancy that she might do so. The pile grew: rubies, emeralds, diamonds, gold clasps and necklaces, pearls. Maria sighed. She had never met with madness but felt she was meeting it now.

  He was smoking, his face impassive. He looked very English. His blond hair was short and parted neatly, brushed to a healthy shine. His white flannels were impeccably creased, his shirt immaculate. He sat, one leg crossed idly over the other, waiting.

  ‘Hello, Vere,’ she said inadequately.

  ‘Hello.’ He looked at her and felt only pain. Her dress was a filmy silk and the fabric seemed to float as she walked towards him and sat down.

  How naive he had been to think the dream of childhood could be retrieved twenty years later. She was as far beyond his grasp now as she had ever been. Her kindness had blinded him to the truth. He had not known of her whereabouts since the night of the ball. The tasteless, extravagant exhibition in her rooms told him why.

  She moved towards him as he rose to his feet, and took his hands. He said stiffly, ‘I misjudged the situation badly, didn’t I? You must think me a complete fool.’

  ‘Dearest Vere.’ She held his hand against her cheek and then released it, sitting down on one of the gaily painted wicker chairs. He sat opposite, crushing out his cigarette. Below them were the carefully tended gardens and a triangle of brilliant blue that was the corner of the pool. A few voices could be heard faintly, there was some soft laughter but not much. Twilight was approaching and cocktail hour. Maids were filling perfumed baths, valets brushing recently pressed evening suits. Venetia Bessbrook was having a secret shot of bourbon. Despite Senora Henriques’ conclusions, Luke Golding had not occupied her room for two nights. Countess Szapary was crying. Madeleine Mancini was raking deep scratchmarks down Hassan’s back and Viscountess Lothermere was daydreaming of men far darker than the handsome Luis. Mr Blenheim was waiting to see how his gift of a large, uncut emerald had been received by Marisa and Madame Molière was having gold powder brushed lavishly through her hair to highlight it.

  ‘Of course I don’t think you’re a fool,’ Nancy said gently. ‘And you didn’t misjudge the situation. I was frightfully lonely when I met you in England and very grateful for your company.’

  ‘If I did not misjudge the situation, I misjudged you.’ His eyes turned towards the exotic profusion of flowers spilling out on to the terrace. ‘I would never have imagined you falling for such obvious flattery.’ His voice was tight and controlled, but the throb of anguish was obvious.

  Nancy said quietly, ‘Prince Vasileyev is not the reason our relationship has changed, Vere. Indeed, our relationship hasn’t changed. We are family and we were friends. We are still family, nothing can alter that – and I want us still to be friends.’

  ‘We were on the verge of becoming something more.’

  ‘I know, and it would have been wrong.’

  ‘It wasn’t wrong with him!’

  ‘No, because despite the flamboyant display in there, Nicki does not love me and he is not going to be hurt. I don’t believe you really love me, Vere, but nevertheless you would have been hurt if we had become lovers and I had told you afterwards that I loved someone else.’

  ‘Who?’ The aristocratic, fine-boned face was pinched and white.

  ‘Ramon Sanford,’ she said simply.

  The mask fell. His eyes showed pure astonishment. ‘Sanford?’

  ‘Yes, we met in New York. There was a … misunderstanding. He followed me here.’

  Another man would have blasphemed. Vere’s lips closed in a tight line. At least the scene in her bedroom now made sense. Even gave him a measure of satisfaction. He had nearly stolen the P
anther’s latest plaything from beneath his nose and the world-renowned lover was well aware of it.

  ‘I see.’

  It seemed to Nancy that the more she heard people say that, the less they meant it. She said gently. ‘You’re not in love with me, Vere. And you weren’t. You were as lonely and unhappy as I was. You remembered the last time we met and the infatuation you had felt for me and suddenly, romantically, there I was. A storybook love story with a storybook ending.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Not even the most perfect love stories have storybook endings, Vere.’

  ‘You mean he doesn’t want to marry you.’

  ‘I don’t know. We haven’t discussed it. It hasn’t been … necessary.’

  There was bitterness in his voice. ‘I would have divorced Clarissa, forced you to divorce Cameron. I wouldn’t have cared about the publicity and scandal. That was how much I loved you. He doesn’t love you like that. He never will. If he did he would want to marry you.’

  ‘I know just how much Ramon loves me,’ Nancy said with quiet conviction. ‘It is totally and utterly, as I love him.’

  He rose abruptly to his feet, digging his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers, turning his back to her, staring steadfastly out to where the dusk was rapidly creeping down the distant mountainside, enveloping the yacht-dotted harbour. Compassionately she rose and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder.

  ‘You are carrying your own unhappiness with you, Vere, wherever you go. I couldn’t have relieved you of the burden. Only you can do that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He was refusing to look at her. His jaw was clenched and she could feel the tenseness of his body. He was like a little boy longing for love and steadfastly refusing to show his need.

  ‘I mean that if you are so bitterly unhappy with Clarissa, you should part from her permanently and seek happiness elsewhere.’

  ‘I told you I was prepared to do that but the elsewhere proved to be nothing but a mirage.’

  ‘No. Not a mirage. A mistake. At least now you know that you could find the strength to divorce her. Isn’t that what you had always doubted?’

  ‘Wintertons don’t divorce.’

  ‘They do if their marriage is non-existent and they find love elsewhere. You said only seconds ago that you would have done so. Vere, dearest,’ she turned him towards her, forcing him to meet her eyes. ‘If your marriage is truly nothing but a sham, make the break and marry again. You have no children and Molesworth needs children to fill its empty rooms. It needs an heir and you need love. You will find it easily enough when you are single again. You’re too moral and honourable for affaires. Besides, the girl who is worthy of a love like you are capable of giving is not going to be the kind of girl that indulges in illicit liaisons.’

  ‘It isn’t that easy.’ He had turned away again, gazing sightlessly out to sea.

  ‘Do you still love Clarissa?’

  ‘No, but I care about her. I don’t want her feelings to be hurt or for her to be ridiculed.’

  She had to choose her words carefully. She had no desire for him to know that Georgina had told her the truth about Clarissa and the reason for the barrenness of their relationship.

  ‘Would Clarissa mind awfully if the marriage came to an end?’

  He shrugged, his lips tightly compressed.

  ‘If you asked her to divorce you, citing someone no one knew about, would she care very greatly? You could leave her financially secure and she might even be,’ Nancy struggled for the right words, ‘she might even be relieved.’

  ‘What about the woman whose name is dragged through the mud of the courts?’

  Nancy suppressed a sudden smile, tactfully not pointing out that if he had had his way, it would have been her name that would have suffered thus. Instead she said, ‘That’s no problem. It doesn’t have to be anyone you are actually having an affaire with. Your lawyer would arrange everything. I believe all you have to do is meet with a lady supplied by the lawyer and go and register in the same hotel room. You don’t actually have to commit adultery to be divorced for it. One of the idiocies of the law. The lady in question gets paid accordingly, and as no one knows her name socially, suffers not a whit. It wouldn’t surprise me if some enterprising young ladies weren’t making quite a profession of adultery and keeping their virtue intact at the same time.’ She giggled and even Vere allowed himself a smile.

  ‘Do you think that it could really be so easy?’

  ‘Yes. If you want it to be.’

  ‘I do. I just don’t want to hurt anyone.’

  ‘Darling Vere. I don’t think you’re capable of hurting anyone, but inadvertently it would seem to me that you and Clarissa are hurting each other continually.’

  ‘Yes.’ He moved away towards the open doors leading into the room where Maria still worked, sitting on her heels on the floor, only her dark head showing above the mass of flowers as she prodded and searched. He gave a crooked smile. ‘I’m glad to know that Sanford isn’t the crazy coot I thought he was. However, if things go wrong I shall be here. I’m not leaving yet.’

  ‘I’m glad. I need all the strength and support I can get this next few days. Jack isn’t making things easy for me.’

  ‘Have you told him you are divorcing him?’

  ‘No, because I’m not.’

  He stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘I don’t understand you, Nancy,’ he said at last. ‘Your character and the way you are behaving just don’t add up.’

  ‘Only because I’m behaving as I want to behave and not as society dictates. I’m very happy, Vere. It’s taken me a long time to discover happiness and now I’m full up and brimming over with it. I want you to be happy too.’

  ‘I envy you,’ he said simply, and was gone, Nicki’s orchids and roses crushed heedlessly beneath his hand-sewn shoes.

  Nancy sat alone on the terrace as the twilight deepened and when she eventually returned indoors Maria had succeeded in clearing some floor space and removing the baskets that had been blocking the wardrobe and cramming the dressing table. The treasure-trove of jewels was piled in a shimmering pyramid on a silver dressing tray. Nancy laughed and ran her fingers through them wonderingly.

  ‘There must be a king’s ransom here, and I thought emigrés were always bordering on the penniless.’

  ‘This one isn’t,’ Maria said tartly, pushing her curls away from her sweat-damped forehead.

  ‘Apparently not. We must return them but how?’ She gazed at them musingly. She couldn’t just thrust them back at him as if they were an unwelcome box of chocolates. ‘Any ideas, Maria?’

  ‘No, madame. Did you know that Miss Hedley left today?’

  ‘No.’ She continued to stare at the glittering and glowing stones. With Samantha gone there could be no question of a reconciliation between Nicki and his former mistress. She was not a meddler by nature, especially when it came to other peoples’lives, all the same …

  ‘Continue with the flowers, Maria. I’ll run my own bath. Would you also ring reception and ask them to give a message to Madame Molière. I don’t know her suite number – to say that I would like to see her.’

  ‘Now, madame?’ Maria asked, astonished.

  ‘No. In about thirty minutes’ time. Before cocktails,’ and enigmatically she disappeared into the bathroom.

  Maria began to think with fond remembrance of the sanity of Boston and Washington and did as she was bid.

  The evening dress Nancy chose to wear was of white silk, long and clinging, almost skin-tight, backless and strapless. Her perfectly shaped shoulders and the rising crescents of her breasts were satin-soft and honey-gold. She looked blatantly erotic and revelled in it. It was a dress that could never have been worn in New York or Washington; a dress the Nancy Leigh Cameron of a month before would have shrunk from wearing. Originally it had been halter-necked and always worn with a black silk, mandarin-collared jacket. Zia’s dressmaker had dispensed with the halter, reshaped the bodice and skillfully tightened the lines from breasts to hip
s. The mandarin jacket was discarded. Since meeting Ramon she had been discovering new things about herself daily. One of the most startling was that she enjoyed being not only beautiful but sexily beautiful. She was at the peak of her loveliness and she knew it. After years of dressing suitably as behoved her position as the Mayor of Boston’s daughter and Senator Jack Cameron’s wife, she was dressing for herself. She slid two diamond bracelets slave-like high up her arm, above the elbow. When Maria began to brush her hair, she took the silver-backed hairbrush from her hand and began to brush her hair forward at the sides, smoothing it into two scimitar-like curls over her high cheekbones. The effect, combined with her heavy-lashed, kitten-slanted eyes, was devastating.

  ‘Madame Molière,’ Maria announced, unable to take her eyes off her mistress.

  Fleur Molière entered and at the sight of Nancy clapped her soft, scarlet-tipped hands delightedly.

  ‘C’est magnifique,’ she said generously. ‘You will create a sensation and a whole new fashion craze. I feel quite provincial.’

  She said it complacently, knowing that in her Lucien Lelong creation of shimmering silk she could never look provincial. Provincials did not have gold dust in their hair and a tiny diamond stuck provocatively at the corner of one eye.

  ‘I wonder if you would do me a great favour, Madame Molière.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Fleur Molière was always ready to be a party to an intrigue and this favour must surely denote one.

  Nancy rose and crossed to the silver dish with its priceless contents. Fleur gasped and sank weakly on to the bed when she saw what Nancy held in her hands. ‘Mon Dieu! You are mad, ma petite. It should be in the vaults! In the bank!’ She stared at them, transfixed.

  ‘They are not mine, Madame Molière. They belong to a friend and I wish to return them.’

  ‘Fleur,’ she corrected, not lifting her eyes from the careless pile of rubies and sapphires, emeralds and diamonds, pearls and coral, jade and lapis-lazuli.

  ‘I would like you to do it for me.’