Debutantes (33 page)

‘We’ve got some news too,’ broke in Justin. ‘Wait till you hear this, Rose. You might be a bridesmaid after all – without stirring out of Beech Grove Manor.’ He put his other arm around Violet, drawing her close to him, and looked around triumphantly. ‘Violet and I are getting married,’ he said.

‘Oh, my dears!’ Elaine was startled out of her preoccupation, but she was drowned out by the joyful exclamations of Violet’s sisters.

‘Oh, Justin, pray, pray tell me all about it,’ begged Rose. ‘This is what I lack as a novelist – real life experience, and Violet is no good at telling these things. Tell me how you proposed.’

‘Well,’ said Justin, facing her solemnly, ‘the important thing with these affairs is to get the right setting, don’t you think, Rose?’

‘
A jug of wine and thou beside me singing in the wilderness
,’ said Rose dreamily.

‘Actually, it was in the pantry,’ said Justin apologetically. ‘Or was it the scullery? Well, we were looking over this house for me to live in when I get my huge salary of five hundred pounds, and I thought that Violet looked so beautiful in every one of the rooms that I didn’t care what the furniture looked like or anything, I was just determined to take it. And then we got to the pantry and she looked like an angel in that terrible little dark room so I just couldn’t help myself – I told that awful woman who kept dogging our footsteps that I would rent the house and I sent her off for some papers. And there we were in that awful pantry, and I suddenly knew that I could not bear that dreadful little house without Violet in it, so I proposed. What do you think of that, Rose?’

‘Well,’ said Rose, ‘it may not be terribly romantic, but I do appreciate your honesty in telling me all this, Justin. If you had consulted me beforehand I would have given you a few tips.
A violet by a mossy stone
. . .’

‘Not too many mossy stones in London,’ said Poppy, entering into the fun.

‘Let’s all go down to Beech Grove Manor tomorrow,’ said Justin with the air of one struck by a good idea. ‘I shall approach your father and humbly ask permission to pay addresses to his eldest daughter – after I have impressed him with my new-found wealth, of course; and then Violet and I will wander out into the beech woods, find a mossy stone, and . . .’ Justin interrupted his speech as a sharp ring came from the front door. ‘Ah, the man with the champagne,’ he said as Poppy ran to open the door and Jack came in, followed by the cab driver carrying a box.

‘Come in, sir, come in,’ said Justin to Jack, with the air of the man of the house, at the same time relieving the cab driver of his load. ‘Come into the morning room; we’re all a bit delayed tonight. Exciting events, pressure of business. First of all, may I offer you, on behalf of the family, our sincerest congratulations and best wishes to you both for your happiness, and secondly, perhaps you might like me to give this box to Bateman. I’m sure that he can handle it.’

Jack smiled and shook hands with the four girls, his eyes lingering longest on Daisy. She returned his smile warmly. He was very nice, she thought. He and Elaine would, she was certain, be very happy together.

‘Let’s all put on the dresses that we wore for your birthday party,’ she said to Violet with a sudden inspiration. After all, she thought, the discovery of the dresses was the start to everything. ‘You’re happy, Vi?’ she asked when they got into the hall.

‘Deliriously,’ said Violet. ‘I feel as though I’ve had the champagne already. I have that floating and fizzy feeling.’

‘Will you be able to live on five hundred a year?’ asked Poppy.

‘I think so,’ said Violet dreamily. ‘Anyway, I have expectations. Tell her, Daisy.’

So Daisy went through the story of the man from Hollywood who had liked her profile and would visit London next autumn and wanted to meet her. Violet smiled and looked like an angel and surreptitiously admired her profile in a looking glass on the landing.

‘You’ll be like Lady Diana Cooper in
The Miracle
, won’t she, Daisy?’ asked Poppy generously. ‘All London will flock to see you.’

Violet smiled and, rather unusually for her, kissed them both. ‘We’ll plan the bridesmaids’ dresses tomorrow,’ she said, ‘but now I must get ready. I’m exhausted. What a day!’

‘You seem a bit quiet, Daise,’ said Poppy when they reached their bedroom. ‘Oh, isn’t it so lovely to have someone light a fire and bring up hot water every day at just the right time! Is something the matter?’ she asked, looking closely at her sister when she didn’t answer.

Just then there was a knock at the door and Maud came in to do Poppy’s hair. Daisy managed her own these days – that bob was just so easy to comb.

‘I’ll tell you later on,’ she said to Poppy and waited until her sister was ready before going down. She felt shy about confronting Jack and Elaine on her own. Did he really want her to make a home with them? What would Poppy think when she heard about the small car for Daisy’s use?

The dinner was probably the most relaxed and the most enjoyable that they had ever had in the pretty house. Elaine was dreamily peaceful, like someone who had reached a safe harbour, thought Daisy; Violet was radiant with happiness, Justin outrageously witty, Rose matching him quote for quote, and Poppy less in the clouds than Daisy had ever seen her. She and Baz had made out a two-year plan, she informed Daisy in a whisper; they were full of ideas for setting up this jazz club. Morgan had driven them to see the house that his grandfather had bequeathed to Baz and by a piece of luck the caretaker was there and had shown them all over it.

‘It even has a cellar – we thought that would be good for the club,’ she told Daisy. ‘Morgan agreed with us about getting rid of the kitchen and all those pantries and things – just turn it into one big room and then the morning room on the ground floor can be a cloakroom. We’ll get Vi to help with the decorating – she has a good eye for colours. We thought we might buy some cheap materials in Petticoat Lane or places like that and—’

‘Now how about a toast to true love,’ suggested Jack, rising to his feet. Already he had assumed the air of the master of the house, giving a whispered command to Bateman to substitute lemonade for champagne in Rose’s glass after she had downed the champagne in three large gulps. He would suit Elaine very well, thought Daisy. She was someone who found it hard to make up her mind about anything and Jack would be the perfect husband – affectionate, loving, but decisive and organized.

‘I can’t wait to introduce my wife at those formal dinners out in India,’ he said when the toast had been drunk, looking proudly at Elaine. ‘These Maharajahs have a wonderful sense of style and of occasion. You eat off gold plates—’

‘Gold!’ exclaimed Rose. ‘Oh, Elaine, how lucky you are to marry a man who is invited to eat from gold plates!’

‘You could always take a large handbag and slip one in,’ suggested Justin, but he didn’t look envious. He and Violet were having fun talking about their house and planning to put swathes of cheap, artificial silk over the gloomy pictures that lined the walls. It was the jolliest dinner they had had since they came to London. There was no strain and everyone seemed very happy.

‘Now what’s on your mind?’ asked Poppy as soon as they reached their bedroom. Jack and Justin had gone off together, Violet was talking to Elaine downstairs in the drawing room, and Rose was so sleepy after the champagne that she could hardly keep her eyes open.

‘Elaine has told Jack all about me,’ said Daisy. She tried to say it lightly, but she still felt a sense of betrayal. It had been her secret as well as Elaine’s. She met Poppy’s eyes and saw that she understood, so gave a little shrug. It wasn’t that important, she supposed. However, an answer had to be given to Elaine by the following morning. It should have been given that evening really.

‘Poppy,’ she said. ‘Elaine and Jack want me to come to India with them – to live with them. She says that they will have pots of money – she didn’t quite put it like that – but she promised me anything that I wanted: clothes, everything – even a small car.’

Poppy was very still, very silent, her amber-coloured eyes very wide.

‘But it will be your decision,’ she said eventually.

‘That’s right,’ said Daisy. ‘It will be my decision.’

And, she thought, it should be an easy decision. On the one hand was life in a freezing cold, poverty-stricken house where money seemed to be limited to penny stamps, grudgingly dealt out one by one; where food was monotonous; where she was, she admitted to herself, the least appreciated of four neglected girls.

On the other hand was India: warm and welcoming, a land of sun and luxury where the mangos grew ripe, soft and ready to be picked, and people dined off gold plates; a place where she would have every luxury that she could imagine, even a little car – she pictured it red – which she would use to dash from party to party at high speed. India, where uniformed young gentlemen would fight over her favours, ready to escort her to balls and dances. India, where she would watch polo matches and saunter in lush green enclosures with the winners – a luxurious home where the bath water was always hot and a servant always available to give her whatever she wanted at that moment; a home, moreover, where she would be the most beloved child, instead of knowing, deep down, that she was the least loved. And now she knew why.

The contrast with the life that she had led for most of her childhood was stark. A cold, damp house. No money, no clothes, no prospects. Her needs, her desires, her interests of no importance to any adult in the house. A life led in close proximity to three other girls, her nature always urging her to consider her sisters, to worry about them, to try to do something for them. How could she go back there, knowing she didn’t really belong? Poppy was the only one who knew the truth, but things would never be the same. She felt like an intruder.

The decision, she thought, certainly should be an easy one.

She looked across at Poppy and then hesitated.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said eventually.

The next few days seemed dreary after all the excitement. Poppy was caught up in the world of jazz and as Morgan was insistent that she should not go to lunchtime concerts without another girl with her, Rose went out with her each morning. Violet and Justin were also out every day, shopping for Justin’s little house and planning their future. Sir Guy and his workers were absent from their London studios, shooting some sea scenes in Dover, so Daisy was very much alone.

Her mind was busy, though. She had her decision to make. Elaine kept looking hopefully, waiting for a word from her, and on that morning Daisy had decided that by dinner time her decision would have to be made. As soon as the others had left the house she took a piece of paper, ruled it down the middle and put INDIA at the top of one column and ENGLAND at the top of the other. By the time she had finished writing, the first column was full of exciting prospects and the second was sadly bare.

There was no doubt about it, she told herself. It made such good sense to go to India and to make her home with Elaine and Jack.

At that moment the doorbell rang. Someone for Violet, or for Elaine, thought Daisy, throwing the list into the fire and dreamily watching the burned embers go sailing up the chimney. And then she stiffened. That was her father’s voice in the hallway – Michael Derrington’s voice, she amended. She listened to his heavy footsteps and then the door opened.

‘I’m afraid that Elaine has gone out, and so have the others,’ she said. He did not look well, she thought as she looked up at him, and she wondered whether he had one of those devastating headaches that had afflicted him since his return from the war.

‘It was you that I came to see,’ he said, closing the door behind him. He walked across the room and leaned over the fire, picking up the poker and rattling the coals vigorously.

‘How are you?’ he asked. His eyes did not meet hers.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, feeling rather puzzled. ‘We’re all fine,’ she went on when he did not respond. ‘Rose is having a wonderful time. She does enjoy her visits to the British Museum and Elaine has taken her to lots of plays. London has been very good for her. And Poppy—’

‘But what about you?’ he interrupted and she looked at him with astonishment.

He put down the poker, straightened himself, took a deep breath and then looked away again.

‘Elaine told me that you . . . that she . . .’ he muttered.

‘Told you . . .’Daisy began, but before she could finish he pulled her into an awkward, one-armed hug. Then he pulled a crumpled and much-read letter from his pocket, thrust it at her and walked away, standing by the window with his back turned to her.