‘Matches my dress,’ she pleaded, but he still shook his head and offered her a glass of lemonade. He had his instructions, obviously, that the ‘schoolroom party’, as the Duchess named them, should not be allowed alcohol.
Poppy was looking magnificent. She was wearing a gown of emerald green silk that made her amber eyes glow with a greenish light. The dress had been beautifully made. It was very simple, cut on the bias with no trimmings, but the asymmetric hem and the shimmer of the silk as Poppy walked made her look like a model straight from Paris. Maud had left the red hair flowing around her shoulders and just confined by a band of emerald green (made from the sash of the dress as it was originally) across her forehead. Daisy had noticed heads turning and eyes settling on Poppy with huge interest when they came in. Violet had made a new dress for herself as well, but Daisy had persuaded her to wear her dragonfly dress.
Violet was a huge success, Daisy thought as she watched the men – except Justin, of course – cluster around her. Daisy looked at her partner with a half-smile. Justin was very proud, she thought. He would not plead with Violet or try to coax himself back into her favour. As soon as she rebuffed him, he walked away in the opposite direction.
‘Orange juice, please, Justin – oh, and get one for Rose also, would you?’ He had asked her what she wanted to drink. When he came back she entertained him with an account of her morning and of the remarks made by the young film-makers about her film and she pretended not to notice as his eyes strayed towards Violet. ‘They didn’t like the ending to my film, Justin. I said that I would redo it. I’m going to have to think. I hate changing things but they convinced me that they were right.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Justin absent-mindedly. ‘Have you got your dance programme, Daisy? May I write my name in it for a few dances?’
‘I didn’t get one; I don’t think that they were given to “the schoolroom party”, but—’
‘Oh, nonsense! I’ll go and fetch you one from the ballroom.’ Justin jutted out his chin determinedly and turned towards the door.
‘Bring three,’ said Daisy. She didn’t fancy being left there standing on her own, looking as though she had been deserted, but on the other hand if she stayed where she was she could watch Violet over the rim of her glass.
‘What do you think?’ Poppy had joined her and was nodding her head in the direction of Violet.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Daisy, taking care to turn her back on her eldest sister. Violet would be furious at the notion that they were looking at her and whispering about her.
‘She’s annoying Catherine,’ said Poppy. And then when Daisy looked at her in surprise she said, ‘Well, at least that’s what Paula says and she should know what her sister is thinking.’
Daisy glanced over towards Catherine. It would be hard to read much from that rather expressionless face, she thought. However, it was true Paula would know her own sister.
‘Oh, Marjorie and I are the greatest friends,’ Catherine was saying in the rather breathless voice that she always used. ‘We used to share a dancing teacher; do you remember, Marjorie? And she started us off practising the proper curtsy to the King when we were five years old.’
‘I could do it in my sleep,’ said Marjorie. ‘Look, everyone!’
And she sank down into a graceful curtsy, saying, ‘The secret is to lock your left knee behind your right knee and then you don’t wobble or – horrors! – tumble over.’
‘What happens if you tumble over, Marjorie?’ called out David.
‘You are banished into outer darkness for the rest of your natural lifetime,’ said Marjorie with a note of mock horror in her voice.
Catherine gave a smile and said softly, ‘Oh, but we all learn how to behave in front of royalty as soon as we can walk, so that never happens.’ And Daisy saw her eyes rest on Violet.
‘Let’s see you curtsy, David,’ said Violet, picking up the challenge, and David got a huge round of applause as he awkwardly, stiffly, and with an exaggerated wobble sank down in front of Violet, bowing his head to Violet and saying, ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
The sparkle came back into Violet’s eyes and she went on talking eagerly, perhaps rather too loudly, teasing David about his lack of grace and sentencing him to six months’ attendance at dance classes.
‘Here you are,’ said Justin, appearing at Daisy’s side with the three dance programmes. His eyes went to Violet and then back to her. ‘One for each of you. I’ll go and give this one to Rose and rescue that footman from her. As far as I could hear as I went through she’s endeavouring to get him to teach her how to mix cocktails. She is telling him that she’s an author and that she needs the information for a novel. The poor man keeps looking over at the butler for help.’
‘Oh, Justin, a dance! Oh, dear, dear, dearest Justin, I never knew that you cared. Oh my poor heart. It is going pit-a-pat.’ Rose was by their side, holding her little booklet where Justin had scribbled his name opposite the fifth dance. ‘Oh, I must go and show my friend the Duchess. She will be so pleased to know that I am not going to be a wallflower all night. The shame would have killed me.’
And then she was off. She and the Duchess were great friends as they shared an enormous interest in the intricacies of relationships between members of the British royal family and their European cousins.
‘That was nice of you,’ said Daisy to Justin after Rose had left them.
‘Not in the least,’ he said indifferently. ‘At least I’ll have fun while dancing with her; most of the girls here are such affected bores.’
And once again his eyes went to Violet, who was laughing at one of David’s jokes.
‘Dinner is served, Your Grace,’ announced the butler.
‘I know what you should do for an ending to your film,’ said Justin when they reached the fish course. He took a sip of his wine and then turned to the Duchess. ‘You must know, Your Grace, that Daisy has made a movie and it is about to be snapped up by a leading film producer.’ Justin’s voice was trained to reach to the back of a law court and everyone stopped talking and looked at him and then at Daisy.
‘Well, we must drink to the success of that,’ said the Duchess graciously. ‘Robert, champagne for everyone and then we’ll drink a toast! What a shame that the Duke is not here. He would be so interested. He is forecasting that if the present trend goes on everyone will eventually have a private cinema in their house.’
To Daisy’s embarrassment, once everyone, even Rose, had a glass of champagne, Justin himself called for the toast. Violet’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked across the table at them but Justin ignored her and proceeded to give a quick and dramatic summary of the film.
‘The only thing is that Daisy has to find a new ending. It ended rather sadly with this noble and self-sacrificing chauffeur being dragged off to prison, but Hollywood would like a happier ending. And I’ve just thought of one.’ Justin smiled wickedly across at Violet, though he pretended to address Daisy, and said, ‘What if the hero is now released from custody – he comes back, meets the heroine, she falls into his arms, they exchange a passionate kiss and then they ride into the sunset, leaving the tragic figure of the chauffeur gazing after them. What do you think, everyone?’
‘Lovely,’ said the Duchess, applauding delicately with her bejewelled hands. ‘How clever you are, dear Justin.’
‘If ever I need a lawyer, old boy, I shall come to find you,’ said an elderly cousin of the Duchess, eyeing Justin with approval. ‘Clever young fella – gave me some great advice about that troublesome affair of . . .’ His voice sank to a whisper into the Duchess’s ear and she nodded vigorous approval.
‘Cross your fingers for me, Daisy.’ Justin kept his voice to a low mutter. ‘That fellow has big interests in the city. I put him wise to a few things last night. If he said the word he could get me a job. Must see if I can have another chat with him.’
Won’t be good enough for Violet, thought Daisy as she nodded and wished him luck. She
wants a brilliant marriage, not just enough to live on. Her thoughts turned to the letter, and the mysterious baby that had been born to its writer. ‘Justin,’ she said, ‘tell me about the law regarding birth certificates. Does everyone have to have one? And does it always have to have a date of birth on it? And are they all kept at Somerset House?’
‘Every birth in Britain,’ said Justin with his mouth full of lobster. He chewed, swallowed and continued. ‘It’s the law that every birth must be registered with the date of birth given on it. Time is important, you know. Friends of mine at Harrow, twins, were the eldest sons of their father, an earl. Mark was born at six thirty in the morning and Adam at eight o’clock. So Mark was the heir – and Adam, poor devil, like myself, was just a younger son. They were identical twins too. Used have a lot of fun at school with that! But to go back to the heir business, apparently as soon as Mark was born, a silver bracelet was locked on to his wrist and never taken off until he was about three years old just in case some nursemaid swapped the babies.’
‘How horrible,’ said Daisy. ‘Poor little baby – bet he tried to bite it off as soon as he got teeth.’
‘Not so poor,’ said Justin. ‘He’s got everything now. Just has to sit there. Adam, only an hour and a half younger, has come down from Oxford and now he has to find something to do – get a job, or else marry a rich heiress, like me,’ he finished rather bitterly, looking across at Violet who was giving David a taste of her choice of dessert from her own fork.
‘What about people like me and my sisters who were born in India? Do they have birth certificates?’ asked Daisy hurriedly.
That interested Justin and he turned the thought over in his mind.
‘I’m not sure about ordinary people,’ he said eventually, but I would say that because your father was in the army it would go by British law – yes, I remember now. All the Indian Army records are kept at Somerset House. Why do you want to know? I suppose you’re wondering who was born first, you or Poppy.’
‘That’s right,’ said Daisy.
‘Do you no good, old girl,’ said Justin affably. ‘No money at all for girls, you know.’
Chapter Eighteen
The ballroom at the Mayfair house was magnificent, thought Daisy when they went through after dinner. It was the first time that she had been in there. It was very different from the long, bare room on the top storey of Beech Grove Manor. This was a splendid and lofty apartment built on to the back of the house. It had glass walls and a glass roof and there were several small rooms leading off the central hall, including a suite of ladies’ cloakrooms, a men’s cloakroom and a caterers’ kitchen. A forest of potted palms stood around the walls interspersed with the elegant gilt chairs, carefully arranged in friendly groups of varying sizes. These would be for the chaperones and for those young ladies who were unfortunate enough not to have a partner for a dance. High above the hall was the musicians’ gallery and the sound of instruments being tuned floated down as the dinner party guests walked in through the side door that led from the dining room. Each girl, even the younger ones, linked arms with a partner and made a stately procession from the dining room until they reached the ballroom and melded into one large chattering group.
Catherine and the Duchess took their places in front of a row of potted palms and waited for the guests to arrive. Most of them would have been entertained to dinner by other hostesses, friends of the Duchess. She, in her turn, would do the same thing for their daughters’ balls. The house party chattered eagerly while waiting, each girl keen to tell what had been planned for her season. To Daisy’s appalled ears it sounded as though six months of non-stop parties, balls and other events were already arranged. It would take a fortune to do all this. Unless the Duchess sponsored Violet and allowed her a share in Catherine’s season, it would be impossible for Violet to have the same as these other girls.
Catherine was very flushed and for the first time Daisy thought that she looked pretty. I suppose she has been looking forward to this for months, if not years, she thought and was half sorry that she had not made a point of admiring the girl’s splendid dress earlier in the evening. The rich magnolia with pale pink rosebuds suited Catherine’s fair colouring and her hair was expertly dressed, though the style was a little old-fashioned.
‘Catherine looks lovely, doesn’t she?’ Daisy turned towards Paula, hoping that Catherine’s sister would pass on the compliment, but she was wasting her time, she thought, as Paula’s only response was to turn to Violet and demand loudly, ‘What are you doing for your season, Violet? You’re being very quiet.’
Every head turned at that and all eyes were fixed on Violet, who coloured up and was suddenly at a loss for words.
‘What date is your ball planned for?’ asked a girl called Sybil, while Paula whispered in the ear of another girl.
‘You are going to have a ball, aren’t you?’
‘Have you sent out the invitations?’
‘Have you had an invitation, David?’
‘No, we haven’t been asked – none of us.’ Paula’s voice was so loud that the Duchess looked across at the little group.
‘I say, everyone,’ interrupted Justin, ‘why doesn’t Daisy take a photograph of us all before the rest arrive? Come on, girls, let me get you all lined up, beauty in the front and the rest at the back. All the fellows stand in a straight line and I’ll arrange the girls at the front. If I don’t get a job in the law, then I’ll turn to flower arrangement. Stand here, Marjorie – you will be a lily, and Esmé – you’ll be a rose.’
Justin chattered on while Daisy darted across to the shelf where she had put her camera. Violet’s cheeks were flushed, she noticed when she came back, but she had been placed at the end of the line beside a quiet, shy girl who was unlikely to cross-question her. In any case, as soon as the photograph was taken, Violet took David by the arm and strolled over with him to examine one of the portraits that lined the walls.
The new arrivals swarmed in and after removing their coats in the suite of cloakrooms they came up to greet the Duchess and Catherine one by one. After this they moved to the centre of the floor and stood around chattering. Most seemed to know each other and greetings were called out and hands waved. As the line of newcomers started to grow thin and peter out, Catherine began to look uneasy. Nothing could start until Prince George arrived and there was no sign of him yet.
‘I think I’ll take some film now before they start dancing,’ Daisy said to Justin, and taking her camera from her bag she positioned herself unobtrusively by the door and began filming. After a while everyone would forget about her, but in the beginning, she had learned from the film she had taken yesterday, it was best to be at a distance.
Oh bother, she thought. I suppose that if the Prince has the first dance with Catherine I will definitely have to film that and I’ll miss my dance with Justin.
‘No sign of His Royal Highness yet, Robert,’ she murmured to the footman as he obligingly shifted a small table out of her way.
‘No, my lady,’ he whispered back. ‘Mr Curtis is walking up and down the hall, peeping out every minute.’ But as he spoke the butler came through the door, went up to the Duchess, gave a stately bow and said something.
The Duchess had stood in the one position for almost an hour without slouching or showing any signs of fatigue but at the butler’s words she stretched up to her full height, her elaborately dressed hair seeming to grow an inch nearer to the ceiling and her tiara sparkling in the light from the chandelier overhead. Catherine straightened up too.
Another footman came in at that moment and said something to Robert about it just being the photographer and journalist from Tatler who had arrived.
‘Trust them,’ muttered Robert. ‘They’ll be out there waiting until he gets out of the car. We’ll see His Royal Highness in a minute now,’ he said, nodding his head wisely and speaking to Daisy out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Those photographers are always just ahead of the game. They track the four young p
rinces all around London trying to take photographs of them. You keep your camera ready, my lady. I’ll block the magazine reporters and you can get a good scoop of the Prince greeting Her Grace. Trust me.’ He slipped through the door after Mr Curtis.
And then there was a strong draught. Not just the door to the hall, but the door to the outside world was opened wide and held open. Daisy shivered with excitement. London was out there. London – full of street lights that made starlight look dim, London – full of radiance and energy, of young talent, of people who were breaking the patterns of stuffy behaviour and old-fashioned rules of conduct. She wanted to be part of it and she had only courage, a good eye, a feeling for a picture and a Kodak camera with which to achieve her dreams.
From a distance, she thought, lifting her camera to her eye.
Yes, from a distance would be good – symbolic, really. The long empty path between the Duchess and the door . . . The young royal would tread it lightly, airily, like a prince in a fairy tale. And the Duchess would greet him, introduce him to her daughter. The archetypal story of romances – the fair young girl and the handsome young prince.
And Daisy lifted her camera, ignited her flash, and as Prince George came in swiftly and charmingly, two hands outstretched, she filmed the greeting between him and the Duchess, filmed the bow to the charming daughter and the perfect curtsy that returned it, filmed the signal to the orchestra from Mr Curtis, the butler, filmed the slow start to the stately waltz, filmed the handsome perfection of a young prince who held the world in his hands, filmed him and Catherine waltzing, the expression of ecstasy on Catherine’s face. Daisy hoped that it might stand for every girl’s young dream come true. Some day, she thought, she would make another film – a prize-winning film that would demonstrate what Sir Guy called ‘a universal theme’.
And then the first dance was over.
Daisy went up to the Duchess. The look of excitement on the woman’s face touched her. ‘I think that the film will be marvellous,’ she said with sincerity. ‘I got everything. I’ll get it developed tomorrow but I’ll have to work on it at home. Don’t worry – I’ll make it good. Catherine looked lovely.’
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