‘You’ll have to put a stop to it, Liza. If it gets around that Juliet and Daniel Lawrence have been …’ He paused, delicately.
‘I know. I know.’ Liza shut her eyes for a brief moment.
‘My dear, I’m so sorry. I should have telephoned you tomorrow, but I was just so anxious about Juliet. She was so involved … well, she didn’t see me the other night, but she’s such a beauty, and she’s so young and so obviously being led astray by this bounder,’ Chips said contritely. ‘Why don’t you sit down for a moment?’
Liza straightened her back and raised her chin. Her lips parted in a much practised smile, which never reached her eyes. Since she’d married Henry, she’d learned that ladies never display their emotions in public; it was such a common thing to do, as Lady Anne had once said.
‘I’m fine, my dear Chips,’ she replied, brightly. ‘You were quite right to tell me, and thank you. I will deal with it tomorrow. Oh, is that Lady Londonderry over there? I must go and say hello to her.’ And, with a gracious hand briefly touching his arm, and another smile, she glided away as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Liza decided to say nothing to Henry until they got home; the question was, what were they going to do with Juliet now? Supposing she refused to stop seeing this married man? This wanton womanizer? Who preyed on young girls? Supposing his wife found out about the weekend in Paris? Worse, much, much worse, supposing she asked Daniel for a divorce, citing Juliet as the co-respondent?
Hot and cold waves of horror and anguish swept over Liza, as she tried to make polite conversation, whilst her mind was in turmoil. She couldn’t eat a thing. Even vintage champagne tasted sour.
For the second time, it looked as if Juliet was on the brink of social ruin.
‘So, how was Paris?’ Liza asked Juliet the next morning, as they sat in her study, opening the morning mail.
Juliet started, and her face reddened.
‘Paris?’ she asked, questioningly. ‘I don’t know anything about Paris.’
Her mother looked steely, her eyes piercing and angry.
‘There’s no point in lying, Juliet. You were seen at Maxim’s, with a person called Daniel Lawrence.’ She spoke his name as if it were a dirty word. Then she repeated everything Chips Channon had told her. ‘I’ll get Daddy to tell him you can’t see him again,’ she concluded. ‘You can’t afford the scandal of it getting out that you’ve been with a married man.’
Juliet looked stunned. For a long moment she stared down at the carpet. Then she rose, pain etched on her face, her eyes dulled by disillusion and deep disappointment.
‘No,’ she said at last, her voice firm. ‘I’ll bloody do it.’
It wasn’t as easy as that. To her consternation and amazement, Juliet realized she knew absolutely nothing about Daniel. She’d spent four days in Paris with a man whose telephone number she didn’t even have.
Daniel had been so busy asking her all about herself that she’d barely had a chance to find out about him; except that she loved him. Loved him more than she thought it was possible to love anyone.
Then she remembered she still had his mother’s … no! Not his mother, his wife’s letter, for God’s sake! Her heart physically ached and felt bruised as the enormity of his deception hit her. How dare he treat her like this …? Make her a party to his adultery. Seduce her because she was young and … well, fairly innocent.
Did he really think she was so stupid that she’d never find out he was married with three … three children?
Sonia Lawrence’s letter was in a drawer of the bedside table. Juliet read it again. The handwriting was large and scrawly; so who had written it? The signature was almost illegible, but because she’d been expecting a letter from Daniel’s mother, she hadn’t questioned it.
Should she phone him? And risk his wife answering? Or did he live on the houseboat? Juliet threw down the letter as if it might sting her. She couldn’t even bear to begin to think about his children.
‘The rotten, rotten bastard!’ she exclaimed aloud, tears of rage and grief storming her eyes.
There was nothing for it but to take a taxi to the houseboat on the Embankment, and have it out with him, face to face.
Rosie was now having doubts about marrying Charles.
‘I don’t know why,’ she wept, ‘I love him, and I know he loves me, but …’ She gulped on a sob. ‘It’s such a terribly big step, isn’t it?’ She turned to Liza, her eyes bloodshot and her nose red. ‘I’m going to miss being at home,’ she confessed.
Liza quelled a stab of panic. St Margaret’s, Westminster had been booked and a thousand guests had accepted to come. Banks of white flowers had been ordered from Constance Spry, cars had been hired, and Claridge’s had taken their order for food and champagne for the reception. Hundreds of arrangements had been made.
They were past the point of no return, so far past it that they’d already hit the Titanic’s iceburg. Liza put up her hands to cover her eyes at the thought of cancelling the biggest wedding of the year. Then she was struck by an even worse thought. Think of the public humiliation, mortification and embarrassment that would be caused. Think how badly it would affect Rosie’s marital future too.
Liza’s mind worked quickly. ‘You’ve just got wedding nerves, my darling,’ she gushed nervously. ‘I don’t know a single bride who hasn’t suffered like this before their wedding. I was actually sick just before I married your father. It’s a sign of good luck, like actors getting stage fright before a first night.’
At the mention of a first night, Rosie wept harder than ever. ‘I don’t think I can bear it,’ she sobbed.
‘Darling, you’re going to be all right,’ Liza commanded fiercely. ‘Is there anything you want to know about …?’ But she simply couldn’t say the word; hopefully Rosie had grasped the facts of life from the dogs down at Hartley. ‘Anyway,’ she blundered on, ‘you’ll only be living five minutes walk away from here, so we can see each other every day. Won’t that be fun? Supposing you’d married an American, and had to live in New York? Or worse, an Australian …?’ Liza gave a little shudder. ‘Now, that would be heartbreaking.’
An elderly man, carrying a shopping basket, was making his way slowly up the gangplank when Juliet alighted from the taxi.
‘Exuse me,’ she said politely, ‘is Mr Lawrence in?’
His face creased into a good-natured smile. ‘Dan? You want Dan?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Is he in?’
‘He doesn’t live here, my dear.’ He’d reached the pavement, panting and wheezing from the effort, for the tide was out and the gangplank was steeply raked.
‘But I’m sure this is the houseboat where …’ Juliet glanced at the other vessels that were moored on either side of it.
‘Oh, yes,’ the old man followed her gaze. ‘this is the Four Winds all right, but it’s my boat. I rent it out to him on occasions. Been to dinner here, have you?’
Juliet flushed, humiliated, and ignored the question. ‘Where can I find him?’
He shook his head. ‘Moves around, does Dan. I don’t know where he is, right now.’
Juliet thanked him, and, trying to be gracious with gritted teeth, stalked off along the Embankment.
There was nothing for it but to wait until the bastard telephoned her; which she knew he would.
Charles invited Henry to have dinner with him one evening at White’s, to which he also belonged. ‘Get to know the future father-in-law a bit better before the big day sort of thing,’ he said jovially.
‘Certainly, old boy,’ Henry replied, rather touched. After all, Charles would soon be a part of the family, and if he was going to make Rosie happy, that was all that mattered.
Conversation was rather stilted at first, as they took their seats in the formal dining room. Once they’d ordered, Henry tried to help it along by asking Charles about his late father.
‘He was in the army, and was so badly wounded at Mons that he never fully recovered,’ Charles replied. ‘I was te
n when he died.’
‘And came into your inheritance?’
Charles hesitated. ‘Well, I suppose you could call it that.’
Henry frowned, puzzled. ‘And there’s just your sister?’
‘That’s right. It was hard for Mother to have to bring us up on her own.’
‘I can understand that.’
The waiter filled their glasses with wine and, to Henry’s surprise, Charles picked up his glass, drank deeply and then signalled for more. Perhaps, he reflected, the young man was nervous at having to entertain his bride’s father. He set about trying to put him at his ease.
‘How are you enjoying Lloyd’s, old fellah? Bit like a big club, isn’t it?’ He chuckled. ‘Friend of mine manages to squeeze in four games of chess during the day, between meetings, and if he’s not playing chess, he’s having a three-hour luncheon with friends.’
Charles didn’t smile. He took another gulp of wine and seemed preoccupied. ‘Actually, sir, I was wondering …’ He paused and seemed nervous. ‘Umm … I was wondering when you would be settling Rosie’s dowry? I mean, will you be waiting until after the wedding?’
‘A dowry?’ Henry repeated, shocked. ‘My dear fellah, girls don’t get dowries these days.’
Charles shot him a haunted look. His hands were shaking. ‘You mean …?’
Something at the back of Henry’s blue eyes hardened. ‘I sincerely hope you weren’t expecting my daughter to come with a dowry,’ he said coldly. ‘She has a dress allowance, and that is all I intend to give her.’
‘I see.’ It was obvious Charles was struggling with an inner turmoil which he was trying hard to hide. ‘Well, that’s fine. I only mentioned it because my father left a dowry in his will for Henrietta when she gets married … but no matter. My prospects at Lloyd’s are so good that we’ll do very well on our own.’ His smile was strained on his pale face.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to,’ Henry replied crisply.
Back at home, he told Liza what had happened.
‘Oh!’ she said, horrified. ‘For God’s sake don’t let Rosie know. We can’t cancel the wedding now, because people would suspect something.’
‘I’m not going to help him financially, though,’ Henry said firmly. ‘He’s going to have to stand on his own feet and make his own way in the world.’
‘He will, Henry. He will. He’s such a bright young man. I know everything’s going to turn out all right.’
‘How are you today, my love?’ The deep, intimate voice sent a thrilling tremor through Juliet. It was two days later, days in which her hurt and anger had grown deeper and more bitter.
‘I’m very well, thank you. How are you?’ She kept her voice steady.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘Why on earth shouldn’t I be?’
‘I just wondered … I can’t wait to see you, darling.’
‘I can’t wait to see you either,’ she replied. ‘Where do you live, by the way?’
‘Live?’
She might have asked how often he flew to the moon, from his surprised tone.
‘Yes. Or do you come up and go down to Kent every day?’ she added, innocently.
‘Lord, no! I’ve just sold my flat in Albany, and until I buy another one, I stay with various friends. Listen, my darling, I’ve booked a suite at the Dorchester for tonight. We’ll get room service to bring us dinner and … Oh, God, I can’t wait to be with you again.’ His voice trailed away huskily.
‘Eight o’clock?’ she asked, pertly.
There was a moment’s silence on the line. Had he guessed she’d found out about him? But then he said, ‘Marvellous, darling,’ and Juliet realized he had no idea at all.
She wore black again; a dramatic, clinging, halter-necked dress, with a long trailing scarf around her throat that fell to the ground. Her only jewellery was a pair of dazzling emerald and diamond earrings; real ones, borrowed from her mother, who thought she was going in a party to a smart charity ball at the Savoy.
Daniel was waiting for her in the lobby.
‘Juliet …!’ His eyes swept over her as if they were stripping her, making her feel naked. She suddenly felt horribly cheap. He kissed her cheek and slipped his arm around her waist. ‘Let’s go up to my room,’ he whispered, leading her towards the lifts.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the concierge give her a contemptuous look, and her cheeks flushed with shame. How many women had that concierge seen Daniel escort up to his room?
His suite was opulent in a glamorous Hollywood style. The obligatory bottle of champagne stood in an ice bucket. Juliet threw her ermine cape on to a sofa, and looked at him coquettishly.
Her tone was brittle. ‘Are we going to eat now … or afterwards?’
Daniel looked startled. Then he frowned. ‘Whenever you like …’ he said slowly.
‘Then let me do the leading this time,’ Juliet said, reaching for the lapels of his dinner jacket. ‘Let me seduce you. That will be quite a novelty for you, won’t it, sweetheart?’
He looked puzzled, and she thought she detected a glint of disappointment in his almost black eyes.
‘I can’t think of anything more exciting,’ he said drily.
Without another word, she undid his bow tie, and ripped open his evening shirt, exposing his muscular tanned chest.
Leaning forward, she kissed him hungrily on the mouth, while her hands feverishly unbuttoned the flies of his trousers.
‘A-h-h-h!’ he gasped, as her hands found him, held him, arousing him instantly. Automatically, he put his arms around her hips, trying to pull her closer.
‘Hands off,’ she said crisply, breaking away.
‘I want you, darling, I want you so much,’ he implored. He made a grab for her, thrusting his thigh between her legs.
She wished his voice wasn’t so wonderfully deep and sexy; it was almost her undoing. She wished with all her heart she didn’t have to do this, but nobody, nobody used her for their own ends.
Breaking away, she snatched up her wrap and walked briskly to the door, leaving him standing with his trousers around his ankles, and his ardour clearly visible.
‘Go back to your wife, Daniel,’ she said icily. ‘And your three children. I’m not some silly little débutante, you know. And I don’t appreciate being treated like a hooker, sneaking around hotel corridors. I never want to see you again.’
Then the door slammed and she was gone.
Juliet breezed into the morning room the next day, where Rosie was supposed to be writing thank-you letters for the latest batch of wedding presents. She sat crouched, a damp handkerchief in her hand, her shoulders slouched. Juliet, taking in the situation, dropped into an armchair.
‘You’re disappointed, aren’t you?’
Rosie looked up through tear-blurred eyes. Then she nodded, slowly. ‘I thought it would all be like a fairy tale,’ she admitted. ‘Like in the movies.’
Juliet smiled briskly but kindly. ‘Believe me, real life isn’t a Hollywood movie. If it turns out to be all too dreadful, you can always get a divorce, you know.’
Rosie perked up and gave a watery grin. ‘I suppose marriage needn’t be a life sentence; it’s not like being sent to prison, is it?’
Juliet shot her an amused look. ‘Not unless you want it to be, but it can always be a comfortable padded cell.’
Rosie blew her nose. ‘Mummy says it’s only wedding nerves, and I’ll be all right on the day.’
‘Of course you will,’ Juliet said robustly, sounding rather like her grandmother.
Five
Hearing the excited roar of the crowds outside St Margaret’s, Westminster, the congregation of a thousand guests wondered what the commotion was all about.
Surely the bride and her father couldn’t have arrived so early? Heads turned to look down the aisle, the pretty flowers on the women’s hats trembling like a herbaceous border in a gust of wind. Who was arriving? A member of the royal family? The Prime Minister? Fl
ashlights popped and another cheer went up.
Then Juliet made her entrance, and everyone knew what the furore was about. Dressed in pale aquamarine silk, which exactly matched her eyes, and with a saucy concoction of matching feathers and veiling tipped over one eyebrow, she looked straight ahead as she sashayed up the aisle, ignoring the stares of other guests, who were stunned by the sheer beauty of her exquisite face.
‘It’s the younger sister …’ people whispered, then turned to each other with knowing looks. Once again Juliet was stealing the limelight.
‘I, Charles Douglas Hugo, take thee, Rosemary Helen …’ Charles’s voice was high and tinny, tight with nerves.
Rosie stood trembling beside him, her ivory satin wedding dress gleaming in the light that streamed through the stained-glass windows. A diamond and pearl tiara held her tulle veil in place, and from her shoulders trailed a thirty-foot satin train, embroidered with tiny crystal beads. Liza had insisted that Norman Hartnell, who had designed a twenty-eight foot train for the famous beauty, Margaret Sweeny, in 1933, should make Rosie’s just that much longer.
Liza watched, dazzled with pride, and relieved there had been no more from Charles about a dowry, and that Rosie was unaware of his talk with Henry.
Henry looked grave, moved by the occasion, yet worried about his daughter’s future.
Juliet watched Rosie with pity. If Charles had been the last man on earth, she wouldn’t have wanted to marry him. After her experience with Daniel, she wasn’t sure she trusted any man now.
Lady Anne, sitting very upright in lilac chiffon and a waterfall of pearls, felt a mixture of concern and disapproval. The former because she thought Rosie was too young to be tying herself down for the rest of her life, the latter because Liza was to blame; for pushing her daughter into marriage, and for arranging this ostentatious and vulgar display of wealth.
‘… for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health …’
Rosie listened to the marriage vows, while Charles repeated them in his rather reedy voice, and in her head she was packing a small suitcase. Filled with necessities. Doubt about marrying him swept through her again; but there was nothing to stop her running away if the whole thing became too unbearable, was there?
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