Daisy had just finished dressing when Mrs Peabody’s loud voice at the door informed her it was time to go down for dinner. Flustered, Daisy clasped her pearl and garnet necklace around her neck and put on her wrap.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,’ she said, opening the door. Then she gave a little gasp.
Mrs Peabody in a pleated gold robe and a stiff black wig looked like a buffoon version of King Tutankhamen. Daisy had discovered that Mrs Peabody loved wigs, and owned at least five or six of them. Irene must be kept busy looking after all those hairpieces! Mrs Peabody’s eyes were also made up in an Egyptian style, with black kohl lines that tilted up at the corners. To top off she was wearing yellow-tinted, gold-rimmed glasses. She was untidily smoking a cigarette in a long gold holder, ashing it all over the beautiful hall carpet.
Mrs Peabody eyed Daisy’s pink silk rather critically. ‘Pretty, if a bit quiet,’ she said. ‘Well — had a good afternoon then?’
‘Yes, ma’am, I did. Thank you.’
‘Irene tells me the St-Remy boy sent a message asking if we would dine with him and his grandmother.’
‘Will that be all right, Mrs Peabody?’
Mrs Peabody shrugged. ‘Sure, why not? They seem pleasant enough. Not that I much care for aristocrats generally. Noses up in the air, like there’s a bad smell around. Ha! You look surprised. Didn’t he tell you? That old woman’s a genuine French countess, he’s the sole heir to the title and estate and all.’ She looked shrewdly at Daisy. ‘Interesting, eh? Wondering if this is your golden opportunity?’ She cackled, coughing a little as she swallowed smoke. ‘Take a word of advice. Have fun — but set your cap at smaller game, my dear.’
Daisy felt she hated Mrs Peabody then, hated her with all her heart. She had cast a cold, shameful shadow over what had been a wonderful afternoon. Daisy had loved being in Victor’s company; now she would not be able to even meet his eye across the table. Oh my God! Across the table! She just could not do it.
‘I feel a little ill,’ she faltered. ‘I don’t think I should go down to dinner …’
‘Fiddlesticks!’ said Mrs Peabody, robustly. ‘Never heard of anything so stupid. Now take my arm and let’s go downstairs.’
The dining room was already crowded. Daisy, who had hoped otherwise, had to grit her teeth and follow in Mrs Peabody’s billowing golden wake as she waddled her way to the back of the room, where the Countess St-Remy and Victor sat waiting for them. Daisy knew practically everyone was staring; who could not, in truth? In the well-bred surroundings of the Brooks Hotel, Mrs Peabody stood out like an escapee from a music hall pantomine. But she appeared not to notice any stares or sniggers.
As Daisy made her miserable way to the St-Remy table, she caught sight of Olivia Marlow sitting at a table, surrounded by a bevy of admiring men. She looked stunning in a halter-neck evening dress of silver satin, her platinum-blonde waves shining under the lights. Daisy saw she wore a magnificent necklace with an enormous ice-blue diamond in the centre.
The actress gave Daisy a friendly smile then glanced at Mrs Peabody. Her eyebrows raised slightly and she gave Daisy a look of commiseration mingled with humour, then turned back to her friends. Daisy hurried after Mrs Peabody, who was almost at the St-Remys’ table.
Victor looked extremely handsome in evening dress, with his thick dark-brown hair side-parted. He smiled at Daisy, but addressed her employer. ‘Mrs Peabody, may I present to you my grandmother, Madame St-Remy? We are very much honoured that you and Miss Miller have kindly agreed to join us.’
‘Honour’s all ours,’ grunted Mrs Peabody, semi-politely, to Daisy’s relief. ‘How do you do, Countess? Count?’
Victor glanced quickly at Daisy. ‘Not Count,’ he said, lightly, a little pleadingly. ‘Just plain Victor St-Remy.’
‘You will be, when you come of age, though,’ said Mrs Peabody, squeezing her bulk into a chair.
There was a little silence. Then the Countess smiled. ‘My grandson doesn’t like to be reminded of all that,’ she said, tapping on the table with her black lace fan. She was dressed in a very chic high-necked black lace dress.
‘Travelling incognito, eh?’ laughed Mrs Peabody. ‘I guess they do say that’s why people come to the Brooks Hotel. Can’t say I’ve ever fancied that notion, myself.’
The other three exchanged wry smiles. No, no-one could accuse Mrs Peabody of trying to pass incognito!
Mrs Peabody picked up the menu. ‘Now then, Countess — er, madame, you’re a Frenchwoman — what’s worth ordering here?’
Madame St-Remy smiled. ‘Everything is very good at the Brooks,’ she said, ‘but I think I could recommend …’
Under cover of the two women’s animated conversation about the menu, Victor leant over to Daisy and whispered, ‘You look wonderful, Daisy Miller. I am so glad you could join us.’
To stop herself from blushing, Daisy gabbled, thoughtlessly, ‘Oh, Victor, did you see that jewel Olivia Marlow’s wearing? It’s the Blue Moon Diamond, I’m sure of it! Prince Ottokar of Luxenstein gave it to her — I read about it in a magazine. It was in his family, I think. Isn’t it the biggest diamond you ever saw? I hear it’s worth thousands and thousands and thousands of pounds!’
Too late, she remembered his earlier reaction to the actress. But he did not seem annoyed. ‘It’s certainly big enough,’ he said, indifferently. ‘But I’m not interested in diamonds any more than I am in film stars. Let’s talk about you — tell me, Daisy, would you like to go to Paris?’
Daisy gasped. ‘Would I like to go to Paris? Oh yes.’ Her heart beat faster — she liked him a lot, but she was a proud girl, and she didn’t want to give him the impression that she expected anything more from him than a mere holiday friendship. ‘I suppose I will, some day, with Mrs Peabody,’ she hurried on. ‘I expect we’ll have to go there, for research or something of the kind.’
‘No doubt,’ said Victor. ‘My grandmother knows quite a few people in that world. I’m sure she’ll be glad to help. You’ll have to come to Biarritz, too. Grandmother has a villa there. And if Mrs Peabody wants to talk with film people, well, there are always silly film stars galore at Biarritz.’
‘Oh, that would be so wonderful!’ breathed Daisy.
‘Yes, and royalty, too,’ went on Victor, ‘including your own Prince of Wales, who loves it there. I’ve often seen him in the street — and once in the sea, in his bathing costume!’
Daisy’s eyes widened. ‘Really? What is he like?’
‘He was just like any other dripping wet bather,’ said Victor. ‘In fact, he had a head full of sand, from being picked up by a big wave and unmercifully ground down along the bottom! Biarritz is famous for wild seas and big waves, you know. It’s the Atlantic — not like that Mediterranean bathtub at Nice!’ He glanced at Mrs Peabody. ‘More like the sea where she comes from,’ he added. ‘They say Biarritz is the closest thing in Europe to an Australian beach.’
Daisy, who had been to none of these fabled coasts, happily agreed. She looked across at a chattering Mrs Peabody, feeling quite kindly towards her now. After all, if it hadn’t been for the Australian, she wouldn’t be here, in the midst of this glamorous, wonderful new world! Sometimes fairy godmothers came in the oddest varieties. But their magic was nonetheless powerful.