Eventually everything was completed, and Trilby stood in front of her maid, turning her beautifully coiffured head from side to side so that the light caught the long chandelier-style diamond earrings that Lewis had given her as part of her wedding present.
‘Mrs James is looking more beautiful than any other of Mr James’s ladies.’
Trilby stared down at her maid, and for the first time since meeting Lewis she felt a darting stab of jealousy. ‘Did you dress any of Mr James’s other ladies, Mrs Woo?’
‘Oh yes, madame. Mr James always used me, and my mother, for all his ladies. He say, “The Woos are part of my wooing.” ‘Mrs Woo burst into a small fit of laughter, holding a tiny finger under her nose as she did so, as if she was afraid that she would sneeze.
‘Goodness, that is funny,’ said Trilby, not smiling.
Mrs Woo did not seem to understand light sarcasm but continued to laugh inordinately, before stopping abruptly and picking up her mistress’s evening gloves and handbag and handing them to her.
‘Not gloves in my own home, surely?’
‘Other ladies always wore.’ Mrs Woo looked up at Trilby, her slanting eyes holding in them a hint of warning and at the same time a solemnity which Trilby sensed went far deeper than just gloves. The gloves were a symbol of something; they probably meant that Trilby was proper.
‘Yes, but the other ladies were not the mistress of this house,’ Trilby said, her voice dropping to a lower tone which anyone who knew her would identify as her thus far and no further level. ‘I am the mistress of the house. I am Mrs James.’
Trilby put the gloves back on the bed. It was time to assert something, she felt, although quite what it was that she was asserting she did not know.
‘Velly well, Mrs James. Velly well.’
Mrs Woo strutted across to the chest containing Trilby’s new collection of over two dozen pairs of gloves. Pulling open the appropriate drawer, she replaced the evening gloves and shut the drawer smartly.
Trilby turned to go out of the bedroom. She nodded to the door. The maid, sensing that there was steel where she had not thought to find it, went slowly to the door, and opened it.
Trilby walked through it, her head held high. If the little woman slammed it, she would sack her, she thought suddenly, but the little woman did not slam it. She probably would have liked to do so, but in the end she had not dared. Trilby walked slowly down the wide staircase to the hall. She hoped she had won a battle, but she had the feeling that in reality the battle was not so much a battle as the first in a series of small skirmishes. Even so, she must win.
In the library Lewis was looking almost intolerably handsome. Immaculate in his evening dress, he had the look of a man who was about to take his just reward. The look of a man who although he had owned his house for many years now felt he had at last filled it with the right person, and that person was Trilby. He sipped his ice cold champagne and threw his cigarette into the fire. As he turned back and straightened up he saw that he had a visitor, and she was his wife.
Trilby stood framed in the doorway knowing that since she had not had the opportunity to wear the dress on their honeymoon Lewis would appreciate a theatrical entrance, albeit one that was also designed to make him laugh.
‘How about that?’ She lifted up her arms, very much in the mannequin style, and draped one above her head, holding the other at hip height.
‘Beautiful, darling.’ Lewis smiled across at her. ‘Stunning, in fact; you look stunning. But darling – you have forgotten something, haven’t you? You have forgotten your gloves.’
Trilby had spent part of the afternoon in her room memorising the names of the guests, which she had copied from the placement folder, but now that the eighteen guests were coming at her she found that she could barely remember the names she had so carefully memorised.
‘Madame de Ribes, may I introduce Mr Norman Levington?’ Paine had explained that all the more illustrious guests must have people introduced to them first, before being reintroduced to the person in question. So, now, Trilby faithfully repeated the names in reverse. ‘Mr Levington – Madame de Ribes.’
Paine had explained that this meant that each guest had time to absorb the others’ titles and surnames.
‘There is always a method in the madness of the social whirl, Mrs James, low be it said. There is always a method, you will find. And most of all, it is about putting one’s inferiors at their ease. You will find that too, as you go on. As Mr James’s wife, you will find that more and more.’
Correctly gloved, and armed with the knowledge that she had effectively introduced everyone to everyone else without a slip, Trilby waited for Paine’s signal to go into the dining room. Everyone was drinking the excellent vintage champagne, everyone that is except Trilby, who was determined to drink only orange juice until she was quite sure that everything was as perfectly perfect as Lewis would wish, because tonight, for the first time, she felt she was mistress in her own house.
After all, she had planned the seating with Paine, and at least they had discussed the menu, although Lewis had chosen it.
A nod from Paine at the door and Trilby prepared to walk ahead of Lewis to the dining room. Her black dress fell into a slight flare at the bottom so it made walking ahead a rather stately procedure, the dress following on just a second or two behind and trailing across the floor. Trilby knew enough to make sure that her hips were pushed a little forward, to show off the dress better, and once again she felt as if she was in a film, as if she was part of something not quite real, which, given her upbringing in Glebe Street, was not really dreadfully surprising, she thought of a sudden, as Lewis followed her into the beautiful, dark-panelled room with its magnificent Charles I and Charles II silver, its paintings and its feeling of having wined and dined many people, often and well.
She went to her end of the table in the accepted manner, Lewis went to his, and the guests, all presumably having checked the placement cards on the hall table, also went to their seats.
‘My dear Lewis. But . . . I mean, this is not my place. I am so sorree!’
Looking first down at the place name in front of her and then up at her host, Lola de Ribes gave a slightly shocked laugh. She had gone, as had been arranged by Paine and Trilby, to sit to the right of Lewis, only to find the name Mrs Arturo la Motte on the placement card. Mrs La Motte, on the other hand, having moved to a chair well down the table, now found herself about to sit at a place setting meant for Lady Bentinck.
Lewis looked down the table at his young wife, discomforted and trying not to be angry, his eyes nevertheless saying, ‘What have you done? What on earth has happened?’
Trilby quickly looked across at Paine, who was hovering by the door. Sensing imminent social disaster the butler hurried forward to Trilby’s side.
‘Paine, I think something has gone sadly wrong,’ Trilby said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen in the room, for what with Lewis looking daggers down the table at her, and poor Paine’s top lip breaking into a sweat, it really could not have been worse. ‘I think,’ Trilby went on, and she opened her eyes wide and stared round at all their guests as ingenuously as she dared, ‘I really think, if we are not quite careful, this is about to turn into the Mad Hatter’s tea party!’
The laugh that followed from everyone and filled the previous silence was one of relief, naturally, and Trilby quickly took advantage of it.
‘I am so sorry, everyone. Something has obviously gone very, very wrong, but providing you are all happy, why not let us obey the crazy cards, and then swap places after the hors d’oeuvres? By which time we will all have forgotten where we were meant to be in the first place.’
The expression on Lewis’s face as their guests willingly and happily fell in with her solution was something that Trilby would always remember. A mixture of relief and pride, and something else too. But what that was she could not have precisely said.
‘Well done,’ said the gentleman on her right. ‘One of th
e maids has obviously been sacked. If there is trouble backstage they always either jam the aunt, change all the placement cards, or throw the silver in the dustbin, anything like that.’
Trilby stared at him. He was old, he was nice, but she had no idea who he was, so she said, ‘Tell me more.’
He did not smile, but if anything looked more serious. ‘Well, as you don’t know, Lady Bentinck and I live in Worcestershire. We have always lived in Worcestershire, but, it has to be said, since the war there has been a great dearth of young ladies wishing or even willing to work in a house. Darling Caro, my wife, has known nothing but hell because of it. They simply won’t be told, do you see? So, believe me, I know all about what they can get up to, because she tells me everything. She has to, otherwise she might go mad, with the strain of it all, do you see? And then of course there is the little matter of trinkets disappearing. Take advantage of old people? Believe me they do. They take advantage of us old trouts and before you can say christening mug they are off with your jewellery or your snuffboxes, and nothing to be done. At least not if you don’t want your barns set on fire.’
As she listened to her guest Trilby’s mind wandered, back to Mrs Woo, back to her smug expression when Trilby reappeared demanding her evening gloves. Of course, she had tried to best Mrs Woo, she would be the first to admit that, but Mrs Woo had ended up besting Trilby.
Mrs Woo had won over the evening gloves, which she had handed back to Trilby with a strange smile. Could she also, the thought of a sudden occurred to Trilby, could she also have changed all the placement cards to embarrass her mistress? As a revenge perhaps? Because Trilby had been so reluctant to be dressed by her?
‘You have frightened me, Lord Bentinck.’
‘No need to be frightened, my dear. Just always remember that, like the press, servants always win, there is no way round that. As to us, we’re selling our house, giving up the unequal struggle. Our son is furious of course, but what can you do, there is just so much that you can take, and then you have to up stumps and sell. Let the National Trust do the worrying, I say. But, there, it’s different for you, Lewis has a loyal staff. Lucky fellow.’
‘Until now.’
Lord Bentinck looked up from his smoked salmon and stared at Trilby. ‘Oh, I see, the mix-up over the placement, you too think it was sabotage? Good luck then, my dear, you will need it.’
The rest of the dinner passed off effortlessly, as dinner will do when there are fine wines and perfectly presented food, and in due course Trilby, at a given signal from Lewis, led the ladies from the dining room and up the stairs to her bedroom where they powdered their noses, fussed over their hair, and went to the bathroom.
They were all beautifully dressed, all beautifully coiffured, and perhaps because of this, Trilby noticed, they talked of nothing except hair and clothes. Where to go for your clothes, where to go for your hair, but never, ever how much they paid for the clothes, or the hair. In fact the subject of how much their clothes and hair might have cost seemed to be taboo. That at least was the same as Glebe Street where no-one ever discussed money, for the simple reason that none of them were terribly interested by it, unless they had run out of it.
Instead of talking about money, the ladies gossiped, while Mrs Woo smiled almost possessively at the scene. Women seated on the bed, women brushing their hair, women momentarily easing their high-heeled shoes from their feet. It was obviously a familiar scene to the little Chinese woman. Mrs Woo also took the trouble to smile at Trilby every now and then, as well she might, since she had won the day, and she knew it. Trilby too took care to smile innocently back, while the thought would keep recurring: after Trilby had gone back for her gloves would the little maid have had time to dart downstairs and mix up all the placement cards?
At first she was convinced that Mrs Woo would have had easily enough time, possibly because she wanted to be convinced. Paine had been in and out of the library all during the first part of the evening, and the maids would have been in the kitchen. Except – now Trilby glanced surreptitiously at Mrs Woo – except she could not help noticing, as she was being dressed by her, how breathless the maid had been. Just bending down and picking up something from the floor had been enough to make her pant like a Pekinese on a hot day.
As the ladies prepared to move downstairs again, Trilby admitted to herself that it would surely have been impossible for the maid to dart anywhere, let alone be able to run down to the dining room and mess up the placement cards. Quite apart from anything else, she would surely be afraid of being accused of trying to steal from the table.
Now that she had convinced herself, Trilby very deliberately turned and smiled warmly at the small Oriental maid in her immaculate uniform.
‘Thank you, Mrs Woo.’
This time Mrs Woo did not smile back. She merely bowed slightly, and such was the intensity of her gaze that her small, dark eyes looked almost colourful, as if she was saying to Trilby, ‘You’ll learn, my girl.’
Downstairs, once the guests had gone, Lewis kissed Trilby long and passionately.
‘You did beautifully, darling, and you looked ravishing. No-one can talk, no-one will talk of anything except you in that beautiful dress for at least a week, I predict it.’
‘Oh, Lewis, how could you be so nice after all that business with the placement cards?’ Trilby stood back from him and shook her head.
‘That was nothing – it passed off very well, you handled it all perfectly.’
‘All I had to do was get the placement right, and I even got that wrong! I could not have been more of a failure, really.’
Lewis stared at her, and then put his arm around her shoulders, at once protective and loving. ‘You didn’t feel that, did you? A failure, you? Far from it, my darling, you were a total success. None of the men could take their eyes from you. You were a complete and utter success and I predict that you will be the toast of London within months. Whichever way, you have made me the proudest man in the world, and I am now going to take you to bed and make passionate love to you.’
Afterwards, as she lay back on her pillows, Trilby’s mind turned back to the mystery of who had changed all the cards before dinner. She could not let it go because she knew that she might have been ruined. Worse than that, since it was her first dinner party as a married woman, she might have been totally humiliated. Worst of all, she might now have been a failure in Lewis’s eyes, and that, she sensed, could make her life difficult, what with her being so much younger. He might become impatient with her.
‘Men do hate to be embarrassed,’ Molly admitted when Trilby went round to see her the next day for coffee and related to her the near-disaster at the dinner party. ‘They do. But really, Trilby, you sound as if you have done quite well, so I should put the whole matter out of your mind, and just soldier on as normal. Really, I would.’
Trilby had noticed that from the moment she walked into Molly’s house, although she looked pleased to see her, Molly kept glancing at the clock. They had not met since Trilby had come back from her honeymoon, only talked on the telephone, admittedly in quite the old way.
‘You’re busy, aren’t you? I shouldn’t have arrived without telling you.’
‘Well, you know, Trilby, delightful as it is to see you, and looking so well and smart – I am expecting someone, and quite soon; a young cousin as a matter of fact, and her mother. They are coming to luncheon, and guess what? I have to lay the table, although, you may be pleased to hear, there will be no trouble with the placement!’
Although they both laughed, Trilby felt suddenly uncomfortable.
‘Berry is downstairs cooking up something delicious because I have to try a little harder. They may both be coming to lodge for a few months, while the daughter does a flower arranging and cooking course, you see?’
Molly’s smile was still kind, still caring, but suddenly Trilby sensed the distance between them. It was entirely normal for people in Glebe Street to take in lodgers every now and then when they were
feeling a little poor, or down on their luck, but now that she was Mrs Lewis James and had a Chinese maid, and lived in a house with not just a drawing room but a library and a music room, not to mention a summer dining room in a conservatory in the garden, and an indoor staff of six, and a chauffeur, suddenly the word ‘lodger’ seemed like something from another language.
‘Yes, of course. I perfectly understand. I’ll pop across to see Aphrodite, and then – well, perhaps you could manage luncheon with me next week sometime?’
‘I can’t do lunch next week, duck. I have taken on a little temporary afternoon job, but Berry will be here as he always is, daubing away. The week after, perhaps . . . Goodbye, Trilby, and don’t forget to keep in touch with all your news. Lovely to see you, really it is, but Cousin Millie and her mother will be here any minute, I fear. Coffee and then lunch, their trains, you know, arriving from Chester at such unsuitable times. But, take care. I am so glad to see you looking so well. I only hope that Millie will make as exciting a match as you have. What an example to your generation you have been.’
Standing on the old familiar doorstep outside Molly’s house, Trilby stared across the road feeling oddly disappointed and dulled. After a minute she crossed the street and knocked lightly on Aphrodite’s door, which, uncharacteristically, was locked. Eventually Aphrodite could be heard pounding up the stairs to open it. On seeing Trilby she looked, it seemed to Trilby, just for a second exactly as Molly had looked, as if she could hardly believe that it was actually Trilby standing there.
‘Hallo, Trilby. Er, I wasn’t expecting you.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Molly never said you were coming. I am just entertaining Mrs J.J. to coffee and croissants, but I expect you have eaten and drunk and all that already, haven’t you?’
‘No, as a matter of fact,’ Trilby told her, over-brightly, ‘I have not. No, actually I am starving to death. I left home so early, you see, to avoid having breakfast with Lewis.’
For a second it seemed to Trilby, perhaps unfairly, that a look of relief came into Aphrodite’s eyes as she imagined that Trilby had been made miserable by her marriage to a rich, celebrated and powerful man.
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