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Silk
‘Mummy is absolutely furious with you,’ she informed Amber gleefully. ‘She is going to write to your grandmother and tell her that because of your behaviour she can’t possibly present you.’
Amber’s first guilty thought was that someone must have seen her at the Ritz and somehow or other managed to inform Lady Rutland. However, Amber’s fear was put to rest when Louise continued, ‘Mummy says she couldn’t possibly endure the shame of presenting a débutante who can’t curtsy.’
Amber exhaled shakily in relief. Innocent though she was, she was well aware that accepting an invitation from a strange man was a far more damaging social crime than not being able to curtsy. Not that she cared. She wouldn’t have missed her wonderful afternoon for anything.
Lady Rutland was seated in front of the small campaign writing desk, which she had informed Amber and Blanche she had inherited from an ancestor who had fought at Waterloo.
Amber still blushed to remember how her grandmother had responded coolly, ‘Really, it looks more Victorian than Georgian to me.’
Although the footman had announced Amber, Lady Rutland continued to study the letter on the desk in front of her as though Amber simply wasn’t there, so that it was a good five minutes before she finally turned round and announced coldly, ‘One of the things that separates the upper classes from those lower down the social scale, Amber, is an awareness of the importance of certain values. The upper classes do not tell tales. It is simply not done. I have a letter here from your grandmother. In it she expresses concern because, as she puts it, “My granddaughter does not appear to be attending as many pre-presentation social events as I would have expected.”’
Amber was mortified. Jay must have said something to her grandmother. Before she had left Denham she had pleaded with both Greg and Jay to write regularly to her. Greg was an unreliable correspondent, his letters stilted, betraying his desire to be enjoying his life rather than writing about it, but Jay’s letters were informative and interesting, just as though he was actually having a conversation with her, and gradually Amber had found herself writing more and more openly to him about her life here in London.
Even though Jay had written back to her in a very serious manner that since her grandmother was paying Lady Rutland to bring Amber out, she was in effect taking money for something she was not doing, it simply hadn’t occurred to Amber that Jay would say anything to her grandmother.
Now Amber understood why her grandmother’s most recent letter had requested a list of all those social events Amber had attended.
‘You will find that society does not like sneaks, Amber. I had hoped to protect your grandmother from the unpleasant news that her granddaughter has made a laughing stock of herself by not being able to perform a court curtsy, and that several society mothers have declined to invite you to their parties. However, now, thanks to your own foolishness, I have no choice but to inform her of the truth.’
‘I know that Louise is hoping that my grandmother will change her mind and that I shall be sent back home,’ Amber told Lady Rutland bravely, ‘but I shall not mind if she does.’
Lady Rutland didn’t look as pleased to hear this as Amber had expected. In fact she looked extremely displeased.
‘There is no question of your returning home, Amber. I am simply warning you of the consequences of tale telling. In this instance I am prepared to give you a second chance. As it happens I had already been busy on your behalf begging some of my dearest friends to include you on their guest lists as a personal favour to me, and I hope to be able to write to your grandmother within a few days with a list of the pre-presentation invitations I have accepted on your behalf.’
Lady Rutland’s unexpected about-turn confused Amber at first. She had expected to be sent home in disgrace but here she was being told instead that Lady Rutland was planning to take her to the very kind of parties from which she had previously been excluded. It was almost, Amber recognised, as though Lady Rutland were afraid of her grandmother.
‘At last. I have been in a fever of anxiety waiting for you. I telephoned you over an hour ago and told you that I must see you immediately. How cruel you are to me, Greg.’
She had run to him, attempting to fling herself into his arms, but Greg held her off, his fury born of irritation and fear.
‘Caroline, you know we agreed that we would never telephone one another. Fortunately it was only Jay who picked up the receiver, and I managed to spin him some tale about you having a message for me from Lord Fitton Legh.’
She obviously hadn’t liked being pushed away, because now she was pouting in that pseudo-baby way he had once found so adorable but which he now detested. She was twenty-three, for heaven’s sake, not seventeen.
‘Now what the devil was it that was so important you had to take such a risk and drag me over here?’
‘You haven’t said that you love me yet.’ Now she was being coquettish, and he found that equally unappealing.
‘Caroline—’
‘Say it.’
‘Now listen—’
‘Say it, Greg. You must say it otherwise I can’t bear to tell you.’
She was crying now, her voice starting to rise. Greg looked anxiously towards the door to her bedroom.
It was one thing to be in here with her by pre-arrangment when there was little chance of their being disturbed, and their relationship was a secret known only to the two of them, but Cassandra, who had been waiting for him outside on the drive and who had taken him into the house via a side entrance, had plainly known what was going on. And equally plainly did not approve, if the look of angry contempt she had given him had been anything to go by. Well, he wasn’t here by his own wish. In fact, if it was left up to Greg he would be happy never to see Caroline Fitton Legh again. Very happy, in fact.
Dash it all, what exactly did a chap have to do to make it clear that he wasn’t interested any more? Caroline was no ingénue; she knew the rules of the game they had been playing. She had to do, married as she was to a man old enough to be her father, and one who, according to what Caro had told him, wasn’t up to much in the bedroom department.
‘Say it,’ she was insisting.
If there was one thing Greg hated it was having his hand forced. His was an easy-going nature, but with a core of stubbornness. He didn’t love her any more and he was damned if he was going to say he did.
‘I’m not playing games,’ he told her. ‘I’ve got things to do.’ Greg headed for the door.
His hand was on the door knob when Caroline said softly, ‘You were happy enough to play games with me once, Greg, and if those things you are so eager to do include that silly political career, well, you’d better think again. There’s to be a child.’
His hands were clammy now and the door knob slipped in his grasp.
‘I’m honoured that you’ve told me, but surely that’s something between husband and wife,’ he blustered.
‘Or between the mother and the father of the child?’ Caroline suggested.
Greg was panicking now. ‘Look, Caroline, this has gone far enough. What you and I shared together was fun and I shall always remember it, and you, with affection and … and tenderness. But we’ve both always known that all we could ever hope to share was an interlude of mutual pleasure.’
He was sweating profusely now and she wasn’t saying a word, just standing there staring at him in that damnably unnerving way she had.
‘We both knew that it had to end, and all the more reason now that you and Lord Fitton Legh are to have another child.’
‘No! This child is not my husband’s.’
‘For God’s sake,’ Greg protested anxiously, ‘what’s the matter with you, Caroline? You know the child has to be your husband’s. There can’t be any choice. Think of the social disgrace. He would divorce you, and—’
‘And then you’d have to marry me.’ She gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Divorce isn’t so very bad. My father got divorced from my mother so that he could marry his lover.’
‘That may be all very well in America,’ Greg told her, ‘but it’s different here.’ His belly was churning sickly. ‘You don’t really think that my grandmother would countenance me marrying you, do you?’
It was the wrong thing for him to have said, Greg realised too late. She almost flew at him, clawing at his face, her own contorted with rage.
‘Your grandmother! Do you think that I don’t know now that you’re just hiding behind her? Do you think that I haven’t been told about that girl in Macclesfield you’ve been seeing? How could you, Greg? A common little nobody whose father makes his money from pork sausages. But then I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given your own lack of breeding.’
Her insult stung Greg.
‘You can say what you like,’ he told her. ‘Maisie’s a hell of a lot more fun than you are, and as for breeding, the only breeding you can lay claim to is the kind you get from what’s in your belly.’
He heard the crash of the mirror she had picked up off her dressing table hitting the door behind him as he escaped into the corridor.
‘Lady Rutland wants to see you in her sitting room, miss.’
Amber’s heart sank. Not again. What had she done now?
‘Thank you, Alice.’ She dismissed the maid, ignoring the look Louise was giving her.
This time Lady Rutland wasn’t alone. Two other people were with her, one of whom, a young woman wearing a startling large and ornate hat, Amber thought was puzzlingly familiar in some way. The other, an elderly man hunched over a walking stick, was wearing a black donnish-looking gown over a very hairy tweed suit.
‘Ah, Amber,’ Lady Rutland greeted her. ‘You are fortunate in that your grandmother seems tireless in her efforts on your behalf. Professor Roberts here informs me that Mrs Pickford has instructed him to give you lessons on the history of London’s famous buildings. I have to say that I would have thought that Mrs Pickford might have informed me of this decision, but I dare say she has other and more important things on her mind. Personally, I cannot see what advantage it might be to a débutante to study history but then I dare say that is because when one’s ancestors have played such a predominant role in the history of one’s country there is simply no need. History is one’s family.’
There was an odd choking sound from the professor, and as Amber looked at him anxiously he lifted his head and looked straight at her, giving her a big wink unseen by Lady Rutland.
Lord Robert! What on earth were Lord Robert, and yes, she could see it now, Cecil Beaton’s assistant, Saville, doing here, and dressed up in such a way?
‘Quite so, my dear Lady Rutland,’ the professor was agreeing in a quavery voice. ‘Let me see, it was Sebastopol where your grandfather fell, I believe, and his cousin the marquis was with the Light Brigade, as I recollect. A most distinguished military history, although my own expertise lies more in the field of political history. I seem to think that there was a record somewhere of an argument between one of your ancestors and William Pitt the Younger, would you know anything of that?’
When Lady Rutland, lost for words for once, simply shook her head, Lord Robert sighed and said, ‘Pity …’ before turning to Amber and asking, ‘This is the child, then?’
‘Yes,’ Lady Rutland confirmed.
‘Well, I hope she proves to be a good student although my experience is that young girls have a tendency to foolishness and an overfondness of things of little importance. We shall start her lessons with a walking tour, if possible immediately.’
‘Well, yes, of course, Professor.’ Lady Rutland was all compliance.
Amber badly wanted to laugh.
‘Well, child, you heard Lady Rutland. Go and get your outdoor things. You will see, Lady Rutland, that I have taken the liberty of providing Miss Vrontsky with a chaperone? I shall not introduce you. It would not be worth your while. She knows nothing of the history of the great families of our country.’
‘What’s going on?’ Louise demanded when Amber raced upstairs to get her outdoor clothes. ‘What did Mummy want? Why are you putting your coat on, Amber? Amber, answer me,’ she demanded, but Amber merely shook her head and almost danced back down the stairs and into the hallway, where ‘the professor’ and ‘her chaperone’ were waiting.
‘I couldn’t believe it when I realised it was you, Lord Robert,’ Amber laughed once they were outside and out of view of the house.
‘And I can’t believe that I have to wear this beastly hat,’ Saville complained.
‘You said that you had always fancied the stage, Saville,’ Lord Robert told him cheerfully. ‘You should be grateful to me for giving you the opportunity to have an off-stage run. Besides, you would not have had to wear the hat if you were not sporting half a day’s growth of beard.’
Whilst Saville retreated into a sulky silence, Lord Robert told Amber, ‘It is Cecil you have to thank – oh, and Diana, she was party to it as well, when Cecil decided that you should be his protégée. Saville and I are simply the instruments by which his plan is to be conducted. Sadly, I’m afraid that Saville is on loan to us only for today, Cecil has refused to be without an assistant for any longer. But no matter, I am sure we shall do very well just the two of us, unless of course you wish me to find another chaperone for you?’
His smile was still teasing but Amber’s heart had started to flutter with a delicious heady excitement that was both unknown to her and yet at the same time something she immediately recognised. Was Lord Robert actually flirting with her? Amber rather thought that he might be.
‘It was clever of you to remember all about Lady Rutland’s ancestors. She was very impressed.’
Saville gave a snort of derision.
‘Now, Amber, let us get down to business,’ Lord Robert told her, ignoring Saville. ‘Cecil has given me instructions that you are to become knowledgeable in a wide variety of matters of fashion. He has made arrangements for us to visit the offices of Vogue magazine; although I suspect that will be more of a penance than a pleasure, knowing Cecil. I am to take you to shops and educate you as to architecture and design, and Cecil has told me to tell you that he will be setting you tests to ensure that you are studying diligently.’
Amber was overwhelmed. ‘He is too kind. Why should he go to so much trouble on my account?’
Lord Robert looked down at her. There was no point in explaining that Cecil Beaton was part of a world in which the whim of the moment was all – or at least on the surface it was. Cecil worked hard, and if he chose to affect a nonchalance that made it look as though he did not, then that was his affair.
To tell Amber that it had been amusing to drink cocktails and discuss what could be done to help her, and even more amusing to hatch a plan that involved drama and dressing up, would be cruel.
‘Since Cecil has to travel such a lot, the day-to-day management of your education must rest with me, your professor,’ Lord Robert informed Amber, his hands gripping the edges of his gown. ‘So, today we shall explore the modern phenomenon that is Selfridges.’
Selfridges! Amber’s face lit up. She had heard of the famous store – everyone had – although Lady Rutland claimed that it was vulgar and she shopped only in Harrods.
‘They have the most wonderful parties there,’ Amber told Lord Robert excitedly. ‘I read about one in the Express.’
‘Amber, you must not believe everything that Lord Beaverbrook says,’ Robert told her, tongue in cheek.
‘I’m not going to Selfridges looking like this,’ Saville told them petulantly.
‘Very well then, my dear, do not come,’ Robert answered him.
Looks passed between them that Amber did not understand, mocking on Robert’s part and angry on Saville’s.
They spent over two hours in Selfridges, going up to the roof garden to see where the bulbs were poking their heads through the earth, and to sit in the café and drink tea, before going back down to watch one of the famous Self-ridges models displaying a new collection of jewellery.
‘What do you think of it?’ Robert asked Amber.
She hesitated and then admitted, ‘It is very pretty. The diamonds sparkle so much, but …’
‘But?’ Robert encouraged her.
‘It is not to my taste. I should prefer something a little less … shiny.’
Robert nodded approvingly. Cecil had been right: the child had a good eye and good taste, although what exactly she would be able to do with them, given her situation, he wasn’t sure. She certainly wouldn’t be making a career as one of Cecil’s assistants. She lacked a very important qualification for that. She wasn’t male.
Amber’s eyes rounded when she recognised a familiar face.
‘That’s the Prince of Wales,’ she whispered to Lord Robert in awe.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Robert glanced at the Prince and saw that he was with his mistress, Freda Dudley Ward. The Prince had a taste for outspoken American women – outspoken married American women – although he wasn’t going to say anything about that to Amber, who was still in many ways too sweetly naïve.
An hour later, Lord Robert returned an exhausted but very happy Amber to Cadogan Place.
Two nights later, as she lay in bed, Amber decided that she was happier than she had ever thought it was possible to be. Yesterday she had been taken to Selfridges by Lord Robert and today she had performed her curtsy perfectly.
Unexpectedly, and thanks to Lord Robert, London and her new life had become far more exciting and fun than she had ever believed possible. How lucky she was to have met Lord Robert and how kind he was to have befriended her in the way he had. Amber couldn’t wait for their next meeting.
Chapter Seven
‘It’s intolerable and if I had my way he’d be thrashed within an inch of his life.’
Blanche Pickford looked at her visitor, schooling her expression not to betray the fury she was feeling.
‘I agree, Lord Fitton Legh; it is indeed intolerable when a married woman lies to her husband in an attempt to conceal an affair. As for your wish to thrash my grandson within an inch of his life, all I can say is that it takes two to commit adultery.’
Her neighbour’s already mottled skin turned almost purple with rage. ‘You have not heard me correctly, obviously, madam. It is your grandson who attempted to force himself on my wife. Dammit all, woman, there was a witness. Cassandra saw everything.’
‘Yes, so you said,’ Blanche agreed, adding pointedly, ‘Your poor wife, she must have felt very beset, having two ardent supplicants for her favours.’
Lord Fitton Legh looked as though he might explode. ‘Allow me to tell you, madam, that your reaction betrays your class, or rather your lack of it,’ he sneered. ‘Any person of breeding would understand—’
‘What? What is there to understand other than that my grandson and your wife have been having an affair under your nose? Is blue blood thinner than red? Do you wish me to understand that persons of breeding do not have affairs? Come, Lord Fitton Legh, let’s be plain with one another. You wish to see my grandson punished.’
‘Punished? I shall see to it that he is ruined. You can make up your mind to that. You won’t be foisting him off on the county as a prospective parliamentary candidate now, Mrs Pickford. When people learn of the way he has insulted my wife— Oh, you may look at me like that, but Cassandra is prepared to swear on the Bible that the crime was all his. My wife had confided to her how upset she was about your grandson’s ungentlemanly manner towards her, and naturally when Cassandra heard my wife cry out she hurried to her aid, only to discover your grandson on the point of assaulting her.’
‘Shocking indeed, and I dare say a total pack of lies. Whilst it is none of my business I would caution you against making your story public, Lord Fitton Legh. There are always those who believe that there is no smoke without a fire and, after all, Lady Fitton Legh is a very beautiful and high-spirited young woman married to a much older husband.’
‘Why, you … I’ll ruin him, I tell you. He won’t be able to show his face in Cheshire for the rest of his life.’
‘I understand your feelings. Greg has behaved badly. I am quite prepared to punish him for that by banishing him from Cheshire – and indeed from England – for a time. However, I am not prepared to stand by and see him ruined.’
‘You can’t prevent it.’
‘Such a pity that you should have to face this additional worry. I hear that your father-in-law has lost a very great deal of money on Wall Street recently.’
Blanche paused and looked down at her hands, as though more intent on studying them than continuing their discussion, before lifting her gaze to Lord Fitton Legh’s face and continuing almost gently, ‘You yourself are currently rather, shall we say, overextended – so much so, in fact, that you have had to mortgage Fitton Hall.’
‘You can’t possibly know that.’
‘Oh, but you see I do. You know, it is always rather foolish, I think, to let young people have their head without checking them, especially a certain type of young person. I am thinking of poor Cassandra here. One does not like to say too much, of course, but there has been talk about her preference for her own sex. I dare say there will be those who will wonder about the true provenance of her story with regard to my grandson. So sordid and unpleasant. But alas, it is too late now to remedy the situation. However, I’m sure that, two older and wiser heads together, between us you and I can come up with something more balanced and closer to the truth. A young man, foolish and impressionable, falls in love with a devoted and beautiful young wife. A regrettable situation but understandable. Of course, neither of them has any intention of giving way to their feelings. They are, after all, very honourable. Sadly, though, events conspire to throw them into one another’s company, a foolish moment of weakness on the part of the young man, allied to loneliness on the part of the devoted wife, lead to an embrace, which is instantly regretted by both parties. Unfortunately, though, this embrace was witnessed by an overexcitable young woman who has yet to learn the ways of the world.
‘Those with wiser heads decide that the young man should be sent away in order to learn the error of his ways; the devoted wife remains exactly that, of course. The young man – naturally and honourably – says nothing of the fact that the lonely wife invited him into the privacy of her private quarters and without a chaperone, knowing that her husband was absent. He, however, did admit this folly on her part to, shall we say, his family. But why torment the poor girl with the threat of even more shame than she must already bear? She has learned her lesson, we must suppose.’
‘That’s blackmail.’
‘No, Lord Fitton Legh,’ Blanche corrected him coldly. ‘It’s self-preservation. I understand that your pride has suffered a severe blow, but I am sure that the application of a comfortable sum of money – enough, shall we say, to pay off your creditors and enable you to keep Fitton Hall – will aid its speedy recovery.’
Blanche waited for half an hour after Lord Fitton Legh had left before removing the photograph frame she always kept in the top drawer of her desk. A young man looked back at her from his photograph. Her son. Greg’s father.
‘You should have lived,’ she told him, her throat dry, like her eyes. ‘If you had lived none of this would have happened.’
When she had replaced the photograph in her desk drawer she rang for Wilson, telling him, ‘When Master Greg comes in, tell him that I wish to see him.’
God, but it felt good to be finally free of Caroline. Three whole days had passed now without her making any attempt to contact him. Greg felt positively light-headed with relief. In fact, he felt so good he wanted to celebrate. With Maisie, he decided with a grin, as he climbed out of his Bugatti and hurried into Denham, too impatient to wait for the butler to take his cap and his coat, and hurling first his cap and then his coat in the direction of the coat-stand with a neat overarm action, and a cheery ‘Howzat?’