‘I know he’s going to the Wheatleys’ ball tonight. Which dress should I wear? He’s seen all my ball gowns,’ she added ingeniously.
‘Then we’d better get you a new one, but it’ll have to be off the peg, I’m afraid.’
Rosie smiled happily. ‘I saw a beautiful apricot chiffon dress in a shop in Bond Street. It was only eighteen guineas. And Mummy …?’
‘Yes?’
‘I also saw a divine jacket made of squirrel, but dyed to resemble sable, for eight guineas; it would go terribly well with an apricot dress, wouldn’t it?’
Liza was about to point out that Rosie already had a white ermine cape and a blue fox wrap, but thought better of it. After all, to make sure her daughter looked good was a long-term investment, and worth every penny.
It so happened that Liza and Henry had also been invited to the Wheatleys’, and as soon as she saw Alastair Slaidburn, she was deeply impressed.
‘Don’t you think they’re well suited, Henry?’ she whispered, as Alastair took Rosie off to dance.
Henry started, appalled. ‘Well suited? Good God, Liza, she’s only known the man for five minutes. I don’t want her rushing into marriage at her age. Anyway, isn’t it presuming rather too much?’
Liza smiled at him with her secret cat-like smile, as if she knew something he didn’t. ‘I gather he’s rather keen on her.’
‘You shouldn’t encourage her, Liza.’
‘Get me another glass of champagne, will you, darling?’
Henry stomped off to the bar wishing he’d never agreed to this débutante nonsense. His sister hadn’t come out, because of the Great War, and so he hadn’t fully realized what they were getting into with Rosie and Juliet.
Now he felt angry. He did not want his daughters going to the highest bidders, as if the season was some bloody cattle market. When it came to Louise’s turn, he decided to put his foot down. The money would be better spent sending her to a finishing school in Switzerland.
‘… And you’ll find us all, doin’ the Lambeth walk, Oi!’ Juliet led the ‘Oi!’ Everyone roared and they all made the thumbs-up signal over their right shoulders. Then she flung herself at Colin Armstrong, giggling helplessly.
While guests at the Wheatleys’ ball were behaving like Edwardians, across town in Grosvenor Crescent the Martineaus were holding an altogether less formal dance, and Juliet was having the time of her life.
‘Let’s get a drink,’ Colin shouted above the din.
It was a warm night, and they took their drinks out on to a balcony, where Juliet perched herself on the balustrade, looking coquettish in a pale blue evening dress with a little flirty feathered cape. Crossing her ankles, she swung her feet with their dainty silver high heels to and fro.
‘Can I have one of your gaspers, Colin?’ she asked.
‘Right-o.’ He opened his gold cigarette case and offered her a black Sobranie.
‘Thanks.’ She took one and held it to her scarlet lips for him to light. Then they sat side by side, his arm round her waist, in companionable silence for a few minutes.
‘Why don’t we go on to the Hennessys’ dance?’ he suggested suddenly. ‘This one’s beginning to drag a bit, isn’t it?’
Juliet nodded. The party had already peaked, and she’d been seen by everyone she’d wanted to be seen by. ‘There’s just one snag, Colin. I don’t know them, and it’s the one party tonight I haven’t been invited to.’
‘Neither have I,’ he chortled. ‘So who cares?’
Juliet’s eyes sparkled like blue crystal. ‘You mean …?’
‘Why not? It’s at the Dorchester. If we’re not allowed in the front entrance, we’ll sneak in through the kitchens.’
Juliet shrieked in delight. ‘What a lark! Let’s do it.’
They slipped unnoticed out of the house without saying goodbye to Lord and Lady Martineau, or their dinner hostess.
Once out in the street, she gave a deep sigh of relief, smelling freedom. She was now, for the first time, without a chaperone, and completely alone in the company of a young man, in the middle of the night.
Colin grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s walk. It’s not far.’
Juliet agreed, feeling daring and naughty. She squeezed his hand, and he stopped walking for a moment to turn and kiss her lightly on the mouth.
‘You’re so adorable,’ he murmured, fixing her with his bright eyes.
Juliet giggled happily. Walking in the fresh air had made her realize she’d had quite a lot of champagne, and that felt marvellous too.
When they reached the ballroom entrance of the hotel, she held her head high, and sailing past the two uniformed commissionaires, entered the lobby.
‘I’ll leave my wrap,’ she told Colin, but at that moment a red-coated master of ceremonies came up to them.
‘May I see your invitations, madam, and sir?’ he asked with exquisite courtesy.
Juliet smiled sweetly. ‘You’ve already seen them. We went out to have a cigarette, and now we’ve come back again.’ And with that she disappeared into the ladies’ cloakroom. Here she bumped into several fellow débutantes.
‘Hello,’ she greeted them. ‘Isn’t this a marvellous party? such divine music.’
If the others wondered why they hadn’t seen her all evening, no one challenged her. When they left to go back to the ballroom, Juliet went with them, careful to let them surround her. There was no sign of Colin, so she stayed with the girls as they chattered amongst themselves like a flock of brightly coloured birds, until she saw Edward Courtney, who she’d met at a party the previous night.
‘Edward …!’ she exclaimed joyfully, as if he were a long-lost friend. Then she linked her arm through his and looked up at him with a beguiling smile. ‘Isn’t this … Oh, gosh! That’s my most favourite tune. Oh, do let’s dance, Edward. I can never resist this music.’
Unable to resist her, Edward allowed himself to be dragged on to the dance floor, and a moment later they were doing a smart quickstep. Edward was transfixed by her animation and sense of fun. At one point his girlfriend re-emerged from the cloakroom, looking for him, but he found it no hardship to cut her dead.
As for Colin, the last time Juliet had caught sight of him he was drinking at the bar; he’d suddenly become the most easily forgettable young man she’d ever met.
‘You’re up early, Mummy,’ Rosie remarked in surprise, when Liza stalked into the dining room as she and Juliet were having breakfast the next morning.
‘I’m up early,’ her mother snapped acidly, ‘because I was awakened at dawn by Lady Fogarty, your dinner hostess and chaperone last night, Juliet, phoning to say she and her husband spent twenty-five minutes looking for you last night, to escort you home. Lord and Lady Martineau had no idea where you’d gone either.’
Juliet looked sorrowfully at Liza. ‘Mummy, I had a raging headache. I think it was a migraine. I was almost blind with agony. All I wanted to do was creep home and go to bed, so I slipped away. Got a taxi right outside their front door too.’
Liza raised her finely plucked eyebrows and pursed her lips. ‘Then where were you when I looked in on you, at twenty past two? Your bed was empty.’
‘I might have been in the bathroom,’ Juliet ventured. ‘I had a terrible hunt for aspirins. With all these parties, Mummy, you really should make sure there are aspirins in every bathroom.’
Rosie looked across the dining table at her. ‘People only need aspirins if they drink too much,’ she said smugly. ‘Anyway, I thought I heard you coming back at about three thirty.’
Ignoring this remark, because Liza had no idea how to handle the situation if it were true, she proceeded to lecture Juliet on her rudeness, and told her she must write letters of apology immediately after breakfast.
When the sisters were on their own again, Juliet turned on Rosie with venom. ‘Why did you say I wasn’t back until three thirty?’
Rosie sipped her coffee. ‘Because you weren’t. What were you up to?’
‘Mind y
our own business, and why are you looking so pleased with yourself?’
With studied nonchalance, Rosie dropped her crumpled table napkin on to the table, and rose. ‘No particular reason.’ Then she walked slowly out of the room and into the hall. Once out of sight, she rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time, until she reached her mother’s bedroom.
‘Mummy?’ She tapped urgently on the door.
‘Come in.’ Liza was sitting at her dressing table, which was cluttered with silver-topped jars, brushing her hair.
‘You’ll never guess …!’ Rosie began. ‘I didn’t have a chance to tell you last night because Daddy was in a bad mood, and I knew he’d object, but Alastair has invited me to a luncheon party in the ladies’ annexe of his club. There’s going to be twelve of us, so I can go, can’t I?’
‘Of course you can. When is it?’
‘Today.’ Rosie was breathless with excitement. ‘Now, what shall I wear?’
Had she known it, in the days to come her wardrobe would be the least of her worries.
It wasn’t long before Rosie was certain Alastair was about to propose. Loving him more every time she saw him, she responded to the warmth of his manner, his intimate glances and the occasional squeezing of her hand. He held her close when they danced, and told her she was ‘beautiful’ and ‘wonderful’.
She was slightly worried, though, that it was now July, and the season would end in three weeks.
‘There’s always the little season, in October,’ Liza said soothingly. ‘Everyone comes back to London, refreshed from their stay in the country, and we might give a party ourselves. Just a little one, so Daddy doesn’t get cross, but don’t worry, darling. It’s obvious Alastair’s crazy about you; he hasn’t looked at another girl all summer, has he?’
‘No. He never leaves my side at parties.’
‘Well, there you are, darling! He’s obviously besotted with you.’
Meanwhile, to liven things up, gatecrashing had become Juliet’s latest craze. She and her friends made bets to see how many parties they could crash in a week, without getting caught. Cecil Beaton, she’d been told, had crashed a ball in the twenties with his sister, Baba, and had been forcibly ejected.
Juliet thought this was terribly smart and it hadn’t done his reputation any harm, had it? Everyone was clamouring to be photographed by him these days, and he was invited to all the best houses … at least once.
The thrill of dashing through tradesman’s entrances, or side doors, or climbing over railings and walls with Edward, James, Colin, Andrew, or whoever was her accomplice on that particular night, added a frisson to what might otherwise have been a round of fairly dull parties.
By the third week of July, the débutantes who had been popular when they came out had blossomed, made lots of friends and were looking forward to the little season in October. Those who had not, had promptly gone back in again, saying they were missing their horses in the country.
There was only one more dance before the mass exodus from London, and both Rosie and Juliet had been invited.
Juliet, getting ready in her room, felt an unexpected twinge of regret. Going out every night had become a part of her life. She was no longer a girl in her teens who had nightmares, no longer ‘Rosie’s younger sister’, but a young woman in her own right, certain her head would always rule her heart, and that she’d have complete control of her destiny from now on. For the rest of her life, she intended to remain in charge of her feelings and actions. It was, to her, a way of making sure she never got hurt.
In the next room, Rosie was putting the finishing touches to her face and hair. She’d decided to wear the white gown she’d worn for Queen Charlotte’s ball, because Alastair had said how much he liked it. Tonight she had the strangest presentiment something stupendous was going to happen.
Juliet arrived at the ball before Rosie. Within moments she was surrounded by a galaxy of handsome young men, offering her a drink, a cigarette, or a dance.
‘Later, perhaps,’ she replied, smiling with the lazy assurance of someone who knows they’ll be asked again.
Then she became aware that a man she’d never seen before was staring at her. He was tall and broad-shouldered and looked much more self-assured than the other men. She also liked the fact that there was a certain charismatic slow-burning rage in his eyes, which was both sexy yet scary.
Intrigued, she watched as he stood talking to Edward Courtney and suddenly realized they were discussing her. Amused and flattered, she averted her face so they could see her profile, which she knew was her best angle.
‘I’ll introduce you,’ she heard Edward say. ‘She’s top hole in the looks department, isn’t she?’
Juliet feigned surprise when Edward appeared in front of her.
‘Hello, Juliet. May I introduce …’ Edward affected an introduction, most of which was lost, as the band struck up at that moment.
‘Would you like to dance?’ The young man’s voice was almost a croak.
‘I’d love to,’ she said lightly, languidly stubbing out her cigarette in a glass ashtray.
Edward watched them as they drifted into the art deco ballroom. They made a striking couple, Juliet so femininely alluring, with her delicate hand resting on Alastair’s shoulder, and her golden hair rippling down her back. He, in contrast, looked strong, dark and brooding.
For a while Edward forgot about them, as he did his duty dances with the girls in his dinner party, but by then he realized it was nearly midnight, and Juliet was still on the dance floor, held tightly in the arms of her partner, their cheeks almost touching as they swayed to ‘These Foolish Things’.
‘Bloody hell!’ he exclaimed laughingly to Charles Padmore, as they came off the floor with their respective partners. ‘Alastair Slaidburn’s sweet on Juliet, isn’t he?’
Charles’s eyes were popping and he looked quietly distraught. ‘It really is too much, isn’t it?’ he fretted miserably.
Rosie had spent most of the evening in the ladies’ cloakroom, too upset to join the party and not wanting anyone to see her tear-stained face. Coming out of a cubicle in which she’d been lurking, trying to blow her nose on the stiff shiny Bronco loo paper, she collected her wrap, and slipped out of the hotel.
As she crouched in the back of the taxi, she sobbed with a mixture of anger and grief. It was the last straw. The last bloody final straw. And she felt like killing Juliet.
‘I can’t believe we haven’t met before,’ Alastair murmured into Juliet’s ear, as they continued to dance.
‘Never mind. Fate has brought us together now,’ she replied, smiling wickedly. ‘I hope you’re not about to dash off and bury yourself in the country, like everyone else?’ As she danced, she swayed her hips against his, a trick she’d learned instinctively during the summer, and it amused her to see how quickly she could arouse a man.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Alastair vowed with fervency. He looked feverish. The world had shrunk for him, and his attention had become focused, as if under a spotlight, on this girl with the rippling golden hair, reminding him of a pre-Raphaelite painting by Rossetti. Beside her, the other girls, with their short permed hair, looked artificial and contrived. Most of all, he was drawn to the wild streak he could sense in her. It made him suspect that deep passion flowed through her blood, so hot and feral it would drive him to a kind of madness if he got involved.
But involved he desperately wanted to be. He was on fire with longing. He wanted her right now, this minute. Then he felt deeply shocked at himself. What was happening to him? He’d become attached to a perfectly sweet heiress called Rosie Granville during the summer … but for some reason he’d hesitated to commit himself to her.
Now he knew why. Rosie had been a mere shadow of what he’d wanted. A charming but pale edition of this girl who was now in his arms, pressing herself against him in a way that was setting him on fire.
‘I’d like a drink,’ Juliet said, suddenly extricating herself from his arms. S
he could feel his reluctance to let her go.
‘Let’s go this way,’ he said, as he collected two glasses from the champagne bar. Leading the way to an anteroom, they settled themselves at a small table in the corner.
‘Why haven’t I seen you before?’ he asked wistfully.
Juliet gave a low chuckle. ‘You obviously don’t read the Bystander or the Sketch, or even Queen magazine,’ she mocked gently. ‘And why haven’t I met you? Do you ever go out?’
Alastair leaned forward, his expression entranced. He loved the way she spoke, like a sophisticated woman, instead of a drippy little débutante.
‘I live in Yorkshire, but I have been to quite a few parties this summer.’
‘Then you’re going to totally the wrong sort of parties,’ she teased.
Alastair took a swig of his champagne. ‘Do you live in London?’
‘Some of the time.’
‘Which do you like best? Town or country?’
She shrugged. ‘It depends.’
‘Are your parents here, tonight?’
‘No. I came in a dinner party, but I haven’t even seen my hostess for hours.’
Alastair smiled suddenly, as if the sun had come out. ‘Not much of a chaperone, then?’
She smiled flirtatiously. ‘I don’t pay any attention to chaperones. They’re such a bore. Have you got a gasper?’
He looked bemused for a moment, then he jumped to his feet, realizing what she was asking for. ‘I’ll get some right away.’
While he was gone, Juliet considered her situation. Alastair was never going to look at Rosie again, and Rosie was never going to speak to her again, either. Oh well! Juliet suddenly started laughing quietly to herself. It would serve Rosie right for being Mummy’s Little Pet, and such a goody two-shoes.
At that moment Alastair returned with a packet of Craven A, and a tiny box of matches.
‘Can I take you to lunch tomorrow? Or tea at Gunter’s?’
Juliet took a deep drag on her cigarette and looked up at him through her eyelashes. ‘Tea would be lovely.’ She made it sound as if she was accepting an invitation to an orgy.
The Granville Sisters Page 4