Silk

George smelled of the sandalwood cologne he always wore, stronger than was considered ‘British and gentlemanly’. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a pink chalk-stripe, over a white shirt and with a maroon silk tie. He looked, Louise knew very well, just that little bit too smart, his clothes just that little bit too well fitting, his hat tilted just so at a slightly rakish angle and his confidence very evident in the swagger with which he walked.

‘How can a cocktail be wicked?’ she responded.

‘Come with me and I’ll show you.’

Chapter Ten

‘But you can’t have been as terrified as I was; I promise I was literally frozen and unable to move …’

‘I was frightful …’

‘Well, you were lucky. I was shaking all over and I was sure that my combs would come out and my headdress fall off.’

‘I can’t even remember if I did curtsy, I was so scared …’

The ordeal of their presentation was finally over. Amber, Beth and Louise, along with their fellow debs, had had their names called in stentorian tones by a liveried member of the royal household and had made their formal curtsies to the King and the Queen, the photographs had been posed for and taken, and their relief now scented the air as intoxicatingly as a heady wine.

Their voices high-pitched with relief and excitement, the girls all vied with one another with their tales of how terrified they had been.

Amber felt almost light-headed with a relief that she knew went deeper for her than it did for the other girls. They had grown up knowing the role they were to play and that their formal presentation would be part of that role. For her it was different. She had felt awkward and ill at ease, intimidated sometimes by the other girls, especially in the early days, and afraid of what her grandmother’s ambitions would mean for her. Afraid too of letting her grandmother down. But now at least that hurdle had been overcome, and she need not fear her grandmother’s anger on that account.

She had no idea what the future held, but at least the ordeal of her unwanted presentation was now behind her, Amber acknowledged. She hardly dared let herself think too much about the future and her own hopes. They made her feel too vulnerable and afraid, knowing what her grandmother wanted for her. It would take a miracle to give her the future she wanted, woven with the kind of love her parents had shared, and her own passion for silk, into its every weft and warp.

Tired chaperones were chivvying their charges towards waiting cars, wishing they might return home to bed instead of having to go on to one of the evening’s many balls, but only one ball could be the highlight of the season, the one that everyone would remember and use as a yardstick to measure the others against. Lady Rutland, of course, hoped that it would be her ball, just as every other hostess hoped that it might be her own. It was the social diarists in the society papers, though, who would pass judgement and decide.

Whilst they had been at court waiting to be presented, an army of magicians had been working their magic on Cadogan Place, preparing everything for their coming-out ball, or so it seemed to Amber when she saw the tiny lights shimmering in the trees and ornamenting the marquees, through the car window.

Lady Rutland didn’t allow her time to marvel, though, bustling the debs inside and into Renton’s efficient care, warning their maid that their guests would be arriving for the ball in just over an hour.

‘Don’t worry, your ladyship, everything is organised. Cook’s sent up a bit of supper for them to have before they get into their ball gowns.’

From her bedroom window Amber could look down into the gardens. She could hear the musicians tuning up. Her tummy was churning too much for her to be able to eat the light dish of baked cod sent up by Cook. The scent of fresh paint still permeated the house, even up here in her bedroom. It was a wonderfully balmy evening, a perfect evening for a ball, in fact.

Renton came bustling in, shaking her head when she saw that Amber hadn’t eaten her supper.

‘I’m sorry, Renton,’ Amber apologised, ‘I just can’t.’

‘Well, that makes two of you, because Miss Louise has left hers as well. Now come on, let’s get you out of that court dress and into your ball gown.’

‘Oh, Amber, this is all so beautiful,’ Beth gasped appreciatively two hours later, as they stood side by side in one of the marquees, flushed and breathless from dancing, and they drank the silver and black champagne cocktails that had been specially created for the ball.

The interior to the marquee had been lined with mother-of-pearl silk, and tied with white and black ribbons and bunches of white and silver flowers to match the huge urns of white and silver flowers outside. The black satin ceiling was covered in clouds of white tulle studded with tiny silver stars. Black and silver cloths covered the tables and the lights shone softly on the silver-gilt chairs, their backs tied with black and white satin ribbons and small posies of white gardenias and silver-painted foliage. It was a simple colour scheme and Amber had worried that it might seem dull after the exuberance of the many costumed and themed balls that were all the rage. But it looked simply magical.

Even the gowns Amber and Louise were wearing had been chosen to harmonise with the colour scheme. Louise was wearing a gown of silver lace, over an underdress of white satin with a daringly plunging back, so that her creamy skin was revealed through the lace. She had her hair newly shingled, which suited her, but she was sulking because her mother had refused to invite George Ponsonby.

Amber’s gown was in the bias-cut style of Vionnet, in four-inch bands of white satin, white seamed with narrow bands of tiny silver tissue stars. Amber too had had her hair shingled, but in a much softer style than Louise’s, and two pretty diamanté clips in the shape of hearts kept her curls in place.

Later, when Amber actually overheard Emerald Cunard remarking approvingly to someone that the pale colours of the debs’ gowns and the white theme of the marquee reminded her of the elegance of one of Syrie Maugham’s famous white room schemes, Amber’s heart swelled with so much pride that she thought it might burst.

Even Lady Rutland was smiling for once, graciously accepting everyone’s praise, although privately Amber knew that it was her own grandmother who should have been receiving it for she had been the one to plan everything. It bewildered Amber that someone with such a strong sense of style as her grandmother should turn her back on the fabric that to Amber possessed more of that quality than any other.

Even though the ball was far from over, it was already being pronounced a success. Amber could have filled her dance card twice over, thanks to the good offices of Lord Cadogan, who had generously stepped in to act as a male presence at the ball, and had also conjured up a score and more dashing young men with the right kind of pedigree from the Blues and Royals, who could be seen dotted here and there amongst the guests, their dress uniforms making a vivid splash of colour against the ladies’ gowns and the men’s evening dress.

Amber had danced with several of them herself, but best of all had been dancing with Lord Robert, who had kept his promise to come to the ball.

Lord Robert … There was a tiny bruised place in Amber’s heart now when she thought about him. She wasn’t going to be silly about it, she had told herself. And it would be foolish to give any meaning to Beth’s statement that he was falling in love with her. He must know so many pretty girls – prettier than she, and far more suitable. He was twenty-seven after all, a full ten years older than she. But he wasn’t married, a tiny voice in her head said … Amber’s heart gave a little thump, and then another as she looked up and saw that he was coming towards her.

‘I hope you are going to save me another dance,’ he told her.

Amber wanted to say that she would have saved him all her dances, had he asked.

‘Only if you promise that you will take me to West Compton,’ she told him.

She could see that she had struck the right note because his eyes had that lovely warm twinkle in them.

‘I’ve just been speaking with Diana and she said to tell you how lovely you look and how much she’s hoping you can be friends.’

‘Oh, that’s so kind.’

‘And Cecil says that he is extremely cross that your grandmother has not asked him to take a formal photograph of you, but that he is going to anyway, and that he intends to tell Lady Rutland so.’

Amber was becoming quite used to the flamboyant way of speaking and dressing adopted by Lord Robert’s set, even if something about the way that Ralph Seaforde watched Lord Robert all the time made her feel uncomfortable.

Both Lord Robert and Cecil had sent her corsages to wear, but instead she had worn the one that Jay had sent for her, laughing when Lord Robert had teased her about her secret admirer. She had been so thrilled this morning when the flowers had arrived with a small note to say that they were from Jay, and even more touched when she learned from Renton that he had actually telephoned and asked to speak to her to solicit her advice on what kind of corsage would be most appropriate.

Dear Jay. She wished that he and Greg could have been here. Lady Rutland and Louise weren’t her family, after all. In fact, she felt closer to Beth’s mother, and it had been the countess who had discreetly checked that she was holding her bouquet properly before she was called in to make her curtsy, and who had produced a clean handkerchief for her for those tears afterwards, as well as one for Beth.

Louise wasn’t enjoying the ball whatsoever. In fact she was very angry. With George and with her mother. Before she had learned that George was not going to be invited and that nothing she could say would change her mother’s mind, she had told George that she expected him to come and dance with her, but he had refused, saying that he had a prior engagement.

‘Then you must break it,’ she had told him imperiously.

‘If I do that then it will have to be worth my while to do so,’ he had responded.

She had known what he meant, of course, but she was not so stupid as to let him trick her like that.

When she hadn’t responded he had continued, ‘You would have to promise me something very special.’

‘You know I can’t do that.’

He had smiled at her then in a way that she hadn’t liked, saying smoothly, ‘Well now, I dare say your mother has been warned not to allow the heiress to meet any fortune-hunters. She’s a pretty-looking piece, I must say, and very tempting even without the grandmother’s money. Almost makes me wish I had a title.’

Louise had been so angry that she had tried to hit him, but George had been too quick for her, twisting her arm behind her back so painfully that she had cried out.

And that was when he had kissed her. God, but it had been so exciting. And it had made her so angry. She was still angry. Angry and on edge, and desperate for one of the cocktails to which George had introduced her. And another of those passionate kisses …

These weeks in London had opened Amber’s eyes to so much, she thought as her partner thanked her for their dance and bowed. Her parents’ love for one another was still her ideal, but she recognised now that for most young women of Beth and Louise’s class the right husband was considered more important than love, especially by their families. The right marriage, a good marriage, was a necessity if they were to enjoy the position in society to which they had been born.

Diana Guinness, for instance, made no bones about how much she enjoyed her husband, Bryan’s, wealth. Without the advantage of a good marriage how were one’s sons and daughters to be provided for and their futures in turn secured? If the benefits of social advantage were not worth having, then why were so many mothers anxious to push their daughters up from the middle class, and why did society look down on them and mock them for their ambitions? Social privilege was a fiercely guarded territory and just as subtly out of bounds to those who did not have the right credentials to enter it as Lord Cadogan’s gardens were to those who could only stand and stare in through the iron railings.

To marry well might not be what she wanted, but she could understand now why so many girls did, Amber acknowledged ruefully, as she left the marquee to slip outside and make her way along one of the paths through the shadows of the garden so that she could enjoy the cool air.

Even Beth had confided to her that she was anxious not to disappoint her mother and that she hoped that by the end of the season she would have received an acceptable offer of marriage from someone she could grow to love.

Love. Amber didn’t want to think about love. It had been so wonderful to dance with Lord Robert. He was such fun and she felt so happy when she was with him, so free …

A movement beneath the trees caught her eye, as two figures emerged from the darker shadows. Something about the stiffness of their bodies told her that there was discord of some kind between them, and so she held back, not wanting to intrude. She realised with a jolt that it was Lord Robert and Ralph Seaforde.

Seaforde said something to Lord Robert, and then started to walk away from him, but Lord Robert went after him, catching hold of his arm to stay him. At first Ralph Seaforde shrugged him off but then Lord Robert stepped in front of him blocking his path.

It was obvious now that they were quarrelling, even though Amber couldn’t hear what was being said. And then suddenly, so suddenly and so shockingly that Amber could not believe what she was seeing, Lord Robert reached out to Seaforde and embraced him, taking him into his arms and holding him, kissing him on the lips. As though he were kissing a woman and not another man …

Amber recoiled in disbelief, wanting to look away and yet unable to do so. Surely she could not be seeing what she was seeing? It wasn’t possible! She must be wrong, must have misunderstood. But she knew she had not done. She blinked, her eyes dry and sore as though somehow what she had seen had burned them. There was a horrible miserable feeling in the pit of her stomach. All she wanted to do was blot out what she had seen and get away, but as she moved, Amber heard Lord Robert call out her name. He must have seen her!

She panicked. She couldn’t stay to speak to him, not after what she had seen. She turned, running blindly through the darkness, her heart pounding.

He caught up with her within a few yards, taking hold of her arm and telling her urgently, ‘Amber, I’m so sorry. What you saw … You won’t understand.’

‘You’re wrong, I do understand,’ she told him almost fiercely, before wrenching her arm free and hurrying towards the lights of the marquee.

This time he didn’t follow her and she told herself that she was glad.

Of course she had understood. She wasn’t a complete fool, no matter what he might have thought. Greg had told her about ‘it’ in that boastful way of schoolboys towards younger relatives, and wanting, of course, both to shock her and show off his own newly acquired knowledge. She had been shocked and disbelieving then, but now she understood. Robert was one of those men who preferred his own sex.

How silly she had been for so nearly falling in love with him. And it had only been nearly, Amber told herself firmly. Nearly, that was all. Nothing more. So there was no reason for her to feel so humiliated. As her grandmother had felt humiliated when Barrant de Vries had rejected her? To her own surprise Amber felt tears stinging her eyes at the thought of her grandmother as a hurt and vulnerable young girl. Had Blanche ever been that? If so, it certainly didn’t show now. If she had then Blanche had somehow grown a tough second skin to cover her sensitivity.

It was pointless her attributing sensitive feelings to her grandmother she may never have had or comparing herself with her, Amber told herself. Lord Robert had not rejected her. He had been kind to her. It was silly of her to feel such a painful sense of loss.

The band were still playing the same number that they had been playing as she left the marquee, the coloured paper lanterns were still throwing out their soft light, other girls were still giggling and flirting with their dance partners. None of that had changed and yet within her Amber knew that something had been altered for ever.

It wasn’t just because she could so easily have fallen in love with Lord Robert; it was more than that. Something inside her flinched from what she had seen. It could not be forgotten, though, any more than the wrong dye could be washed out of a piece of silk. A clever designer might be able to find a way to incorporate the dye into a new design and so disguise it, but it would never be hidden from their eyes, no matter how well concealed it might be from those who did not know.

How frightening love could be, and how painful. How confusing and difficult to understand. People were not always what they seemed. Poor Lord Robert, he had looked so anguished.

She felt so different now – older, somehow, and more grown up; stronger too, Amber recognised, because she must be strong, for her own sake. But how could she be strong when she felt so hurt; so betrayed? She had trusted Lord Robert and believed that they were friends, and yet all the time she thought she had known him she had not known him at all. That made her feel very alone. Lord Robert and the friendship she had believed they shared had become a symbol, a touchstone almost for her of her future and all that she hoped it might be. She had told him her dreams for that future, trusted him with them, believed that there was a special bond between them. But how could there be when she had not known something so important about him? She had not known him at all. All she had known was a chimera, a fiction. How could she ever trust her own judgement again?

Was this what growing up was? Learning not to trust others, learning not to rely on them or to accept them at face value? Learning to accept that where there was love there was also pain? Could she bear all of that? Sorrowfully and with a heavy heart Amber acknowledged that she must bear it.

Never again would she put her feelings on such open display, she promised herself. That Amber was gone. The Amber that would grow from her would be different; wiser, and less vulnerable. Less ready to trust so easily.

Chapter Eleven

May 1930

The weeks were flying by so fast now, that Amber felt she barely had time to draw breath.

Under the strict chaperonage of the countess, she and Beth had attended luncheon parties, fashionable race meetings, afternoon teas and, of course, night after night of parties and coming-out balls.

A group of debs, including Beth and Amber, had even been taken to the Kit-Cat Club where they had all sat excitedly together, trying not to look too awed to see the Prince of Wales there with his entourage.

Amber had looked to see if she could see Lord Robert, even though she knew from Beth that he was visiting friends in Yorkshire. She hadn’t seen him since the night of the ball, and although she had tried not to do so, she still missed the fun they had had together, even if she no longer felt that little flutter of her heart whenever she thought of him.

Someone she and Beth were sure they had seen at the club, though, had been Louise seated in a corner with her escort, whom Beth swore was George Ponsonby.

‘Louise will ruin her reputation; no one will want to marry her,’ Beth had prophesied.

Although Amber and Louise slept under the same roof, Amber and Beth had been so busy attending the functions to which they had both been invited that Amber barely saw Louise any more.

She and Beth had tried their first cigarette, giggling together as they did so. Poor Beth had been dreadfully sick and Amber had felt almost as unwell.

It was hard to believe that it was over a month since her own ball, Amber thought, as she sat down to her breakfast, having said ‘Good morning’ to Lady Rutland.

Amber was drinking her coffee when Louise came in and sat down at the table, immediately lighting up a cigarette. Her nails were varnished a deep shade of red and the way she inhaled and then blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke was incredibly sophisticated, Amber thought slightly enviously.

Lady Rutland, who had begun to frown disapprovingly the moment Louise had lit her cigarette, announced sharply, ‘Amber, if you have finished your breakfast, I would like to speak with Louise alone.’

Although she had closed the door as she left the breakfast room Amber could still hear Lady Rutland telling Louise angrily, ‘Put that cigarette out at once, Louise. I will not have you smoking at the table, and what is this I have heard about you being seen in some nightclub with a man?’

Not wanting to eavesdrop Amber hurried upstairs.

She had been in her bedroom a matter of minutes when Louise burst in without knocking, plainly in a furious temper.

‘It was you who told Mummy about me being with George at the Kit-Cat Club, wasn’t it, you little sneak?’

‘No,’ Amber defended herself. ‘It wasn’t.’ Louise no longer had the power to intimidate her. Her confidence had soared since Lord Robert had taken her under his wing and Beth had returned from her finishing school in Paris to renew their friendship.

‘You told her because you’re jealous,’ Louise stormed, ignoring Amber’s response. ‘You want him for yourself. Well, you’re wasting your time. George would never look at someone like you, whose family are in trade.’

Amber didn’t bother dignifying Louise’s insult with a response. It was laughable that Louise should think she was interested in George Ponsonby. Amber thought he was selfish and self-serving, and didn’t find him in the least bit attractive.

‘Mummy can say what she likes,’ Louise continued angrily, ‘I’m not going to stop seeing him.’

Louise had gone before Amber could say anything, slamming the door behind her.

‘I can’t imagine ever doing something that Mummy had forbidden me to do,’ Beth told Amber, after Amber had related the incident to Beth later in the day.

They were in the countess’s private sitting room in the Levingtons’ Belgrave Square house, waiting for the countess, who was to accompany them to a luncheon party at the Savoy Hotel.

There was a copy of The Times on the countess’s desk, and Amber noticed that its main story contained yet more bad news about the growing number of unemployed. Jay had mentioned in his last letter that several of Macclesfield’s mills had had to lay men off because of the slump in trade that had followed the previous year’s Wall Street crash.

One could see poor people begging everywhere in London, and the Labour government seemed no more able to mend matters than the Conservatives had been.

‘Mummy will be here soon,’ Beth told Amber. ‘There’s something she wants to discuss with you, but I’m not supposed to say anything. Oh—’

Beth stopped speaking as her mother came into the room and looked at them, shaking her head at Beth wryly, before turning to Amber to smile and say, ‘Amber, my dear, the débutante dances will soon be at an end, and I was wondering if your grandmother has discussed her plans for you for the summer?’

‘Grandmother hasn’t mentioned anything in her letters,’ she answered the countess shyly, not sure where the conversation was leading.

‘Very well, in that case I shall write to her to ask her permission for you to accompany us to the South of France next month – that is, of course, if you are happy for me to do so?’

If she was happy? Could it really be in any doubt?

‘Oh, yes. Yes, thank you,’ Amber responded fervently.

How could she not be thrilled at the thought of spending the summer in the South of France, and with Beth, her best friend in the whole world?