The Granville Sisters

by Una-Mary Parker

  She replaced the receiver very slowly, and felt immensely hurt and shocked. She’d thought Archie and Colin were real friends, but it appeared that was no longer the case. Should she risk one more snub and telephone Edward Courtney?

  She picked up the receiver and dialled his number, KNI 3467.

  ‘I’m afraid Mr Courtney is out,’ a housekeeper informed her when she got through. ‘Can I tell him who called?’

  ‘It’s Juliet Granville. He has my number. Could you ask him to telephone me when he returns?’

  ‘Certainly, madam.’

  She trawled through her address book. It was not pleasant to be persona non grata. What she wanted was an amusing young man who would take her out; give her lunch at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, tea at Gunter’s, cocktails at the Berkeley, dinner at the Ritz, then on to a nightclub like the 400 or the Orchid Room. She wanted some fun. Now she was no longer a débutante, she wanted to get out and live a little.

  Ten minutes later she’d compiled a list of young men she’d met, but didn’t know as well as the others. She decided to give a small cocktail party, adding a few plain girls to the mix. Surely one or two of them would ask her out? The thought that they might not was too scaring for words.

  It did the trick. Within weeks, Juliet had collected a coterie of eager young men, and quickly gained the reputation of being a man’s woman, rather than a woman’s woman.

  Other girls bitched about her, jealous of her beauty, her money, and her success with the opposite sex.

  They criticized her clothes for being ‘too showy’, and said she looked ‘too actressy’, which she took to be a huge compliment. Other young women were becoming afraid of her. She took that as a compliment too.

  As a result, and just to tease, she flirted with their boyfriends, flirted with their fathers, and flirted with other women’s husbands. If the wives were stupid enough to think she would actually want to go off with their husbands, they were bigger fools than she’d imagined.

  Once, when challenged by an irate hostess, whose best friend had locked herself in the bathroom because her husband seemed to have forgotten he had a wife, Juliet retorted frankly, ‘I don’t go to bed with other people’s husbands – I don’t even kiss them; but I know how to keep them on the dance floor all night.’

  Which in many cases was more than even their wives could achieve, and they knew it. Her secret lay in her innate sex appeal and her lively and intelligent conversation.

  One man told her, stressing it was the greatest compliment he could pay any woman, that what he’d really like would be to spend a night with her – just talking.

  It was true. She dazzled, she was witty and articulate, she looked stunning, and she made men adore her – and all without losing her virginity.

  She wasn’t stupid enough to throw that away on a meaningless relationship.

  Then she met Daniel Lawrence.

  The jazz club was dark and smoky, dense with people and loud with music.

  ‘Who have we got here?’ The man’s voice was as deep as a mineshaft.

  Juliet turned around with curiosity. He was looking straight at her. Over six feet tall, and in his early thirties, he had a strong jawline, thick black eyebrows and hair, and quizzical eyes. The thought that sprang to mind as she took in his full-lipped mouth and quirky smile was, My God, this is an homme fatal.

  The aura of energy and power that emanated from him was almost palpable.

  ‘I haven’t seen you here before. What’s your name?’ he asked, although she hadn’t said anything.

  Juliet gave her wicked smile, liking him a lot. ‘Juliet,’ she said simply.

  It was two o’clock in the morning, and after an evening of dining and dancing at Ciro’s, she and several friends had gone on to the Black Cat in Soho.

  ‘Mine’s Daniel Lawrence. What are you drinking?’ He’d moved closer, cutting her off from her friends.

  She raised her glass. ‘Pernod.’

  He screwed up his face. ‘Ugh! I hate aniseed. Let me get you a decent drink.’ He gently but firmly removed the glass from her hand. ‘A White Lady, please,’ he asked the barman. Then he took her elbow and gently pushed her away from the bar to a small table in a dark corner. ‘It’s quieter here.’

  Juliet sipped the gin, cointreau and lemon juice cocktail, and reached for a black Sobranie in the gold cigarette case she’d secretly borrowed from her mother.

  ‘I know your face,’ Daniel said, producing a lighter. ‘I’ve seen your picture somewhere.’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ Juliet replied, raising her chin defiantly, showing her long neck and jawline to perfection.

  Enlightenment suddenly filled his eyes. ‘You’re one of the Granville sisters, aren’t you? A débutante. And that young man …’ He stopped, embarrassed. ‘Sorry, that must have been awful for you.’

  Juliet nodded, glad in a way he knew everything without her having to explain herself, but also realizing, with a pang, that she was probably always going to be associated in people’s minds with Alastair’s suicide.

  ‘One wishes there was a nice way of saying no,’ Juliet remarked, as if to explain the situation. ‘But there isn’t. And there’s never a right time either.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He spoke with feeling and Juliet imagined that, with his looks and charm, there was probably a string of wrecked relationships and broken hearts in his wake.

  ‘What are you doing with yourself now?’

  Juliet shrugged. ‘Trying to free myself from parental claustrophobia.’

  The quirky grin deepened, crookedly. ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘I can assure you, it’s not.’

  ‘Kicking over the traces, are you?’

  She drew deeply on her cigarette. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Isn’t your sister getting married soon?’

  ‘Yes, God help her.’

  Daniel chuckled, his dark eyes sparking with amusement. ‘I gather you don’t like her intended?’

  ‘It isn’t me who’s marrying him, so it really doesn’t matter.’

  He raised one dark eyebrow quizzically. ‘So who do you plan to marry?’

  She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘No one I’ve met so far,’ she replied firmly, rising as she spoke. ‘You must excuse me, I must go back to my friends. Thank you for the drink.’

  ‘I hope I’ll see you again.’ He’d risen also, and seemed about to follow her.

  ‘Who knows?’ Her tone was amused and careless. A moment later she vanished into the dimly lit club, swallowed up by the crowds and the smoky atmosphere.

  Daniel Lawrence looked thoughtfully after her. He always got what he wanted, and he didn’t intend to fail this time.

  ‘What is wrong with the Granville family?’ Edward Courtney remarked, as he and Colin Armstrong wandered around the Chelsea Flower Show one afternoon, looking at the magnificent displays of roses in one of the marquees.

  They’d just bumped into Liza Granville, with Rosie and Charles in tow, and all she’d talked about was the forthcoming wedding, and all the parties leading up to it, and how exciting it was that the London season had come round again so quickly, and were they going to the Eton and Harrow match at Lord’s on Saturday?

  ‘They’re English,’ Colin replied, as if that explained everything, overlooking the fact that he and Edward were also English, as English as roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, or eggs and bacon, in fact. ‘Mrs Granville’s in complete denial about anything unpleasant. Alastair’s suicide, Juliet’s current wild behaviour, even the goddamn way Hitler has sent thirty-five thousand troops to invade the Rhineland … she simply doesn’t want to face reality. I’ve heard it drives Henry Granville mad; nothing but yatter-yatter-yatter about meaningless trivialities. I don’t know how he stands it.’

  ‘He’s very loyal,’ Edward pointed out, raising his hat to a passing lady he knew. ‘And he does spend a lot of time at White’s, and at meetings of the League of Nations.’

  ‘And the fact sh
e thinks Charles Padmore has a brilliant future is enough to scare anyone. God, the man’s a moron.’

  Edward laughed. A lazy bumble bee drifted past him to settle in the centre of a pink cabbage rose. He gave the stem a gentle tap, and the bee rose indignanly from its resting place, and droned off, heading for a bower of tiny rambler roses.

  ‘That’s what I’d like to do to Rosie,’ he remarked thoughtfully. ‘Give her a good shaking up. Get her to open her eyes to the real world. What the hell is she going to do with a loser like Padmore?’

  Colin looked at him askance. ‘You’re not sweet on her, are you?’

  ‘God, no. I just think she’s heading for a very dreary future. Why, are you sweet on her?’

  Colin shook his head. ‘I was rather smitten with Juliet for a while, but she’s too hot to handle. Too heartless, as well. She needs someone who can tame her.’

  ‘Like the shrew, you mean?’ Edward chuckled at the comparison. ‘I quite envy the man who finally does … tame her, I mean.’

  ‘I hear she’s seeing someone called Daniel Lawrence.’

  Edward looked thoughtful. ‘Daniel Lawrence, eh? Dear God!’ He turned to Colin. ‘I say, old chap, do you think she’s a masochist?’

  It was the third bouquet in a week. The first one, a large bouquet of white roses, had come with a card bearing the words, You’re the tops, you’re the tower of piza … It was unsigned.

  The next morning, pink roses arrived in a basket. You’re the tops, you’re the Mona Liza was written on a note, and again there was no signature, but Juliet began to guess who might be sending them.

  This morning, an arrangement of dark crimson roses, lavishly tied with red velvet ribbon, was delivered. Intrigued, she ripped open the little envelope, and drew out the card. Then burst out laughing.

  Cole Porter can say it better than I can … Daniel.

  Juliet was still laughing with delight when the phone rang a few minutes later.

  ‘There’s a call for you, Miss Juliet,’ Parsons announced primly. ‘A Mr Lawrence.’

  ‘I’ll take it in the morning room,’ she said lightly, as she sashayed out of the dining room.

  ‘Who’s Mr Lawrence?’ Rosie asked, agog with curiosity.

  ‘No one you know,’ Juliet replied lazily over her shoulder.

  Daniel’s first words surprised her. ‘I thought we’d go out to dinner tonight, Juliet.’

  Not – When can I see you? Not – Can I take you out?

  ‘That depends,’ she parried.

  ‘Do oysters and champagne appeal?’

  ‘They’re so passé.’

  ‘Caviar and vodka?’

  ‘Ordinaire.’

  ‘The lady is difficult to please.’

  ‘It’s who I dine with, not what I eat, that I’m choosy about.’

  ‘Not where?’ he queried.

  ‘Mostly who.’

  ‘How about this, then. I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock and we’ll dine somewhere you’ve never been before.’

  ‘I’ve dined everywhere.’

  ‘Not in this place.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘As sure as I am that you’ll be looking ravishing. And very, very sexy.’

  Giggling to herself, Juliet went to finish her breakfast.

  ‘Why are you looking so pleased with yourself?’ Rosie bristled, putting down her newspaper.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ Juliet replied with maddening evasiveness.

  That evening a scarlet sports car drew up outside 48 Green Street and a moment later Daniel was standing on the front doorstep, filling the space with his presence.

  Thankful that both Rosie and her parents were out, Juliet hurried forward, and after saying hello, slipped into the passenger seat, her white fox furs pulled close against the chill of the evening. Then Daniel jumped into the driving seat and they were off, roaring towards Hyde Park Corner.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Juliet asked curiously.

  ‘Not far,’ Daniel replied, ‘and you do look very, very sexy.’

  So does he, she thought, looking covertly at his strong profile. He intrigued her. No other man would dare take command of a situation, with a comparative stranger, the way Daniel was doing. Yet at the same time his manner suggested great intimacy, as if they’d known each other for years.

  What am I getting into? she thought, with a mixture of excitement and wariness, as he drove speedily towards the Embankment.

  In the darkness, the river glinted with sinister stillness and the gas lamps threw patches of mellow light on the old paved streets. A pang of alarm shot through her. She knew nothing about this man. She was taking an impossible risk going off with him, without even telling her family where she was going.

  Then he stopped the car and, getting out, came round to open her door.

  ‘What is this place?’ she asked, standing very upright, her head raised, as if she were sniffing the air.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said softly, cupping her elbow in the palm of his hand.

  For a wild moment she felt like running away … hailing a passing taxi, shouting for help … but how far would she get in high heels, and her long tight skirt? Visions of rape flashed through her mind. She started to tremble.

  ‘It’s all right, Juliet.’ His deep voice rumbled like the growl of a gentle lion, as if he sensed her perturbation.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she retorted sharply, raising her chin, determined to look more confident than she felt.

  He led her along the Embankment, until he stopped by a gangplank, its handrails hung with lanterns.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. ‘A boat?’ she exclaimed, in alarm. ‘I don’t understand …’

  ‘This way, darling.’ Calmly taking her hand, he led her down the steep incline of the wooden planking, until they reached the deck of a houseboat.

  ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said, ushering her into a large cabin, with windows all around, overlooking the river. Candles glowed on a table set for dinner. Through the large windows the Thames flowed past, carrying dimly lit river boats.

  A waiter stepped from the shadows, holding a silver tray with two glasses of champagne.

  ‘Thank you. You can go now,’ Daniel told him, taking the glasses and handing one to Juliet.

  In silence the waiter withdrew. A minute later they heard him walking up the gangplank.

  ‘To you, Juliet,’ Daniel said, raising his glass. ‘Come and sit down.’

  The waiter had left dressed crab, lobster and crayfish on a fish platter, surrounded by sliced lemons. There were different salads, Italian bread studded with dark fruit, and piles of grapes in a basket, beside a cheese board.

  ‘This is fun,’ Juliet remarked with brittle lightness, determined to sound sophisticated, as if she was used to dining on boats with strange men every night of the week.

  ‘So tell me about yourself,’ he asked softly, topping up her glass.

  ‘There’s so little to tell,’ she replied, shrugging.

  ‘But I don’t know anything about the real you; only what I’ve read in the magazines and newspapers.’

  ‘That’s all there is to know. Very boring, really.’ She sipped her champagne, and smiled her wicked smile.

  ‘What about your time in Rome? Surely, away from your parents, you had a good time?’ He looked deeply into her eyes, probing, searching.

  As if mesmerized, the saying like a lamb to the slaughter flitted through her mind. Juliet couldn’t help speaking with painful honesty, such was his effect on her.

  ‘The Principessa was as strict as a prison warder. I managed to slip out on my own occasionally, to do some shopping, but mostly she chaperoned me. And what’s the use of going to the Spanish Steps if all one does is look at Keats’s house?’

  Daniel looked at her sadly. ‘Rome is such a romantic city too. Didn’t you meet anyone …?’

  ‘I met lots of really divine people, but they were all the same age as my parents. It was very educationa
l, though, in more ways than one.’

  He looked at her intently. ‘What sort of ways?’

  Juliet shrugged again, tilting her head to one side. ‘I’d never been away from home before,’ she admitted. ‘I think it made me grow up fast. I had intelligent, worldly people to talk to, and that rather opened my eyes.’

  Daniel’s smile made the corners of his mouth tip up attractively. ‘Which you don’t get at home?’ he quipped swiftly.

  ‘Daddy’s very clever,’ she replied defensively. ‘Mummy … well, she’s had five children, and a big house to run … She doesn’t have much time for anything else.’

  ‘What do you enjoy doing most?’ Daniel persisted, never taking his eyes off her face.

  Juliet found that a hard question to answer. She didn’t want Daniel to think she was a shallow party-loving ex-débutante, and yet what else did she like doing? ‘All sorts of things,’ she replied lightly.

  He looked at her with tenderness. ‘You’re a rebel, my darling, and I love you for it. And you’re holding something back from me; I can feel it. What is it? What keeps you awake at night? What gives you nightmares?’

  Juliet felt her cheeks flushing red. ‘Nothing!’ she retorted hotly. And too swiftly.

  ‘But you have bad dreams?’

  ‘What are you? A psychiatrist?’ He was crossing the boundary line, getting into forbidden territory, and it made her angry.

  Daniel immediately looked contrite. ‘I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to pry, and why should you tell me anything, anyway? It’s just that I think you’re the most … the most fascinating and beautiful girl I’ve ever met; and I want to get closer to you,’ he added, his voice soft and low.

  Juliet looked at him warily. ‘Then let’s talk about something else,’ she suggested crisply.

  ‘Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings? How about the new King and Wallis Simpson, then?’ Daniel teased, laughingly.

  ‘Yes, indeed. What about her?’ Juliet replied. For the first time since she’d been a small child, she’d found someone she wanted to confide in; she wanted to tell Daniel all about herself, although she barely knew him. The desire was almost overwhelming, but she drew back, not daring.