Melanie, Hortense and I had been taken by Giles to Syon House, which belonged to the Duke of Northumberland, to be photographed.
Vogue had the idea of having models posed against realistic backgrounds in famous houses.
Syon House was fantastic! I had never realised that a house could be so beautiful and so elegant.
I wish I could have seen it in the old days when it had dozens of flunkeys in their silver-buttoned livery and the Duke had given grand parties attended by Royalty.
The house had been shut up for most of the War and it had a slightly unlived in look that houses take on when the family who own it are not in residence. But it was still breathtaking to look at and I really enjoyed posing in the pillared hall with its gilded statues, in the Long Gallery and the beautiful salons.
Giles had finished with me for the moment and was concentrating on Melanie and Hortense, so I wandered away to look at the pictures.
I was standing in front of a very beautiful Dutch painting when I heard someone approach.
I thought it was Giles and I said,
“I wonder who painted this?”
“Jan Van Eyck,” a man’s voice answered and I looked round in surprise.
It was not Giles as I had expected, but a fair-haired man of about thirty, bare-headed and carrying a large notebook.
He was obviously a gentleman and I thought he might be one of the Northumberland family.
“Are you interested in pictures?” he asked.
“I wish I knew more about them,” I answered, thinking once again how ignorant I was and here was another subject I knew nothing about.
“Would you like me to tell you what I know?” he asked.
“Would you do that?”
He smiled.
“I know who you are, so perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Peter Sinclair.”
“Are you a relation of the Duke?” I asked ingenuously.
He laughed.
“Nothing so grand. I work at Christie’s. I am here to re-value some of the pictures and furniture. The Duke thinks that they are under-insured.”
I knew that Christie’s were the famous auctioneers in St. James’s who held auctions of pictures and antique furniture.
“You must have a very interesting job,” I said.
“Perhaps it is almost as interesting as yours,” he answered. “Let me tell you about the pictures and you will then be able to tell me if they are as absorbing as the lovely gowns you wear.”
We walked around the gallery and he told me the most fascinating stories, not only about the pictures but also the artists who painted them and how they had come into the possession of the Northumberland family.
There was something about Peter I liked from the moment I met him.
He was very quiet and unassuming and he told me afterwards that it was the bravest thing he had ever done in speaking to me and offering to be my guide.
“I’m really a very shy person, Samantha,” he said, “but I had the feeling that you were anxious to learn and that made me brave.”
I suppose it was again brave of him, when Giles said it was time to leave, to ask me if I would like to go with him the next day, which happened to be Saturday, to a house in the country where he had to inspect some furniture which was being sent to Christie’s to be auctioned.
It was the first of many houses Peter took me to and because he loved antiques he made me love them too.
I learnt all sorts of interesting things from him that I am sure no one else would have told me and which never appear in the guide books.
For instance how Van Dyke painted hands better than anybody else, how Grinling Gibbons always put an ear of corn among his carvings as a kind of trade mark and how Botticelli’s model for the Birth of Venus had died at the age of twenty-three of consumption and had been so beautiful that great crowds had stood silent in the street to watch her coffin pass.
Peter made the things he talked about come to life and I became more and more fascinated with everything he told me.
‘This,’ I told myself, ‘is the proper way to learn and I am sure that everything that seems new to me, David has known all his life.
Then gradually I thought perhaps that he could teach me more than just about pictures and furniture.
When I first made up my mind that to please David I must be experienced in love, I realised, of course, that it meant becoming involved with a man.
The mere idea of letting someone like Lord Rowden touch me made me feel sick.
I had managed to avoid seeing him since I had come back to London. I hoped that after I had behaved so badly at his house party and made him look a fool by running away, he would not wish to speak to me again, but Melanie told me that he had enquired after me several times before my return.
I knew I could not bear Lord Rowden even to come near me, let alone kiss me, but there had to be a man somewhere that I could tolerate, otherwise I would go on being ‘absurdly innocent’ and ‘a crashing bore’ for ever.
Of course, all the usual young men had turned up again to ask me out to dinner and to dance. But when I could avoid Giles knowing about it, I refused every invitation and went home alone at night to carry on with my reading.
I had made up my mind that I couldn’t face the boarding house again. It was not only because it was so uncomfortable but because I felt that Mrs. Simpson might ask questions.
So I went to a cheap hotel for the first week and then a house agent found me my flat. It was small but I could just afford the rent and I could put in it some of the furniture from the Vicarage, which I had left in store.
It was quite an effort to get it ready, but Peter found me a very cheap painter to work after hours and who charged far less than a firm would have done.
I altered the curtains myself to fit the windows and Peter hung the pictures for me.
They weren’t great Masters like those we had looked at in other people’s houses, but I had known them all my life and I loved having them with me as a reminder of Mummy and Daddy. I knew that in a way they prevented me from being lonely.
Even when Peter gave me dinner he never suggested coming into the flat at night. I knew that he was thinking of my reputation and was afraid of my being talked about by the other tenants in the house.
He was also kind and understanding and ready to listen to what I had to say. He never laughed at me for not knowing the right answer and he was never cross or irritable if I forgot something he had already told me.
It took me a little time, but finally I made up my mind that when Peter wanted to kiss me, as he was sure to do sooner or later – the young Guardsmen were still trying to do so every time they took me out – I would say ‘yes’.
Then, I supposed, like David, he would want to make love to me and I would say ‘yes’ to that too.
I tried not to feel that I would shrink away and feel horrified when the moment came.
After all, I liked Peter, I liked him very much indeed. He was the kindest and nicest friend I ever had and he was so gentle that I really didn’t think that he would frighten anyone, not even me.
The extraordinary thing was that Peter didn’t try to kiss me and, although he asked me out almost every evening and took me to the country every Saturday, he was just friendly, kind and sympathetic as he had always been.
If it hadn’t been for all the other young men who were endlessly asking me to go out dancing with them and who made veiled innuendos about other things we might do, I would have begun to feel that I had lost all my attractions.
‘I must give Peter more encouragement,’ I told myself. ‘If we go on at this rate, I shall be one hundred and thirty before I am experienced enough for David, by which time he will have forgotten all about me!’
I couldn’t think of David and Lady Bettine without feeling that terrible agonising pain inside me which had taken the place of the numb misery that I had felt when I had known that they were going to be together on The Queen Mary.
I tried not to think about them but it was very difficult, for I kept seeing them clinging together as they danced at Bray Park, Lady Bettine’s slanting eyes looking up into David’s and her red lips inviting his.
‘Oh, David – David – ’ I would cry inside me and I would force myself to think of something else.
It was only sometimes at night that I really cried because it seemed so hopeless. Then I would tell myself that I hadn’t given my plan a proper chance and there was Peter only waiting for me to suggest that we made love together.
I wasn’t quite certain what that entailed but I thought that perhaps with Peter it would not be too horrifying.
Then one evening when we came back from the country having had a delicious dinner just outside London, Peter drove me back to the flat and said,
“Can I come in for a moment, Samantha?”
For the moment I was too surprised to answer him. He had never suggested it before. Then I knew that this was what I had been waiting for.
“Yes – of course, Peter,” I answered after a moment’s pause.
I stepped out of the car and waited while he locked it and then he followed me up the steps.
I felt so nervous I could hardly open my flat door.
The room looked very nice and cosy and Peter had given me some roses, which scented the air.
Peter shut the door behind him and I stood still, thinking that he would take me in his arms and kiss me for the first time.
My lips felt dry and I had an idiotic desire to run away and lock myself in my bedroom.
“I want to talk to you, Samantha,” Peter said quietly.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “Shall we sit down?”
I sat down on the sofa which was really too big for the room and Peter sat beside me.
I thought he would take my hand, but after a moment he said,
“I want to tell you, Samantha, that I’m going away.”
“Going away?” I ejaculated in astonishment.
“I am going to Italy,” he said. “Christie’s have some work to do there and, when they suggested that I should do it, I accepted.”
“Will you be away long?” I asked.
“That rather depends,” Peter answered. “You see, Samantha, I am going away because of you!”
“Because of me?” I echoed in surprise.
He looked away from me and I thought that he seemed very tense.
“The fact is, Samantha, I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“Is there anything wrong in that?” I asked.
“Yes, as far as you are concerned,” he replied.
My eyes widened and he said still without looking at me,
“You see, Samantha, I love you because I think you are the most wonderful adorable girl I have ever met in my life and I would give everything I possess to be able to ask you to marry me.”
I drew in my breath, but I really didn’t know what to say.
“But I can’t ask you,” Peter went on, “because it wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“Why not?” I enquired.
“Because, Samantha, I was wounded in the War,” Peter said, “not very seriously, but the doctors say it is very unlikely that I could ever have children.”
“Oh – Peter – ” I murmured.
“I’ve never worried about it particularly,” Peter went on, “because until now I have never wanted to marry anybody. But you are perfect in every way, Samantha, and it wouldn’t be fair for you to miss what I know for a woman is perhaps the most important experience in her life – having a baby.”
“Are – you sure they – were right?” I asked hesitatingly.
“Quite sure about that,” Peter said. “That’s not to say that I couldn’t make love to you, but I couldn’t face the day, Samantha, when you would reproach me because you would feel that I had deprived you of something that is every woman’s right. So I am going away.”
“Oh – Peter – Peter!” I cried.
It was all so unexpected, something I had never dreamt might happen and I didn’t know what to say, I could only put out my hands towards him.
He took them in his and raised them to his lips one after the other.
Then he rose to his feet.
“You are very beautiful, Samantha,” he said, “not only because of your lovely face, but you are nice, kind and completely unspoilt. I hope that one day we will be able to be friends again, but in the meantime I shall pass through a very unpleasant hell on my own until I can become used to not seeing you.”
“But – you mustn’t go away – like this – ” I began.
He put two fingers on my lips to stop me speaking.
“Don’t say it, Samantha,” he said. “We both know that I am doing the right thing, for while I’m in love with you, you are not in love with me. Just take care of yourself and I only hope the young man you are breaking your heart over is worthy of you.”
I was absolutely astonished at this, because I had never mentioned David to him and I had no idea that Peter knew I was in love or, as he said, breaking my heart.
He walked towards the door and then he turned suddenly.
He took me in his arms and held me very close to him. I thought that he would kiss my lips, but instead he kissed my forehead and before I could say anything or even hold onto him, he opened the door.
I stood where he had left me and then I heard his car start up. I tried to realise that Peter had gone out of my life for ever.
I was so sorry for him and wished that I could have told him how much he meant to me! I knew that now he had gone away there would be an empty place in my life and there was no one else at hand to fill it.
For the next few days I tried to forget Peter by going out with anyone who asked me.
I danced at the Savoy, at the Berkeley, at the Embassy Club on Thursday night and at the Kit-Kat.
Every place seemed to be full of the same people dancing to the same music and, it seemed to me, saying the same things over and over again.
“You’re looking bored, Samantha,” a young man said to me one night and I thought perhaps that I was beginning to look like all the other fashionable women. I wondered if David would think that an improvement or not.
Now that Peter had gone I had to start all over again finding someone to teach me about love.
I would sometimes look round the restaurant or the Club and, instead of finding the men attractive, I could only compare them with David and think how stupid and ordinary they were.
None of them had his presence, his personality or the vitality that seemed to exude from him, so that the moment he walked into a room people noticed him.
I was at a party at the Savoy one evening. It was a rather noisy tiresome party. Several of the men had had too much to drink and ragged about during the cabaret, which I always think is very bad manners.
They also danced rather rowdily, which was not only embarrassing but worried me in case my dress was torn.
The party was given for a very rich Argentine. We had sat down twenty-four to dinner and then, after the theatres closed, other friends kept arriving to join us.
I cannot remember how I was invited – I think it must have been through Giles. It was the sort of party I hate and I was wondering how soon I could slip away and go home when three men arrived.
Two of them were nondescript and looked like all the other men present, but the third was definitely different.
He was dark and very good-looking, almost outstandingly so and the moment he appeared everyone seemed to wake up and become interested.
“Victor!” a woman cried. “Where have you been, darling? I haven’t seen you for ages!”
Our host also greeted him most effusively and, as he sat down at the table, it seemed as if the whole tempo had risen and everyone was talking animatedly and excitedly all at once.
“Who is that?” I asked the man sitting next to me.
“Don’t you know Victor Fitzroy?” he replied. “I thought everyone knew Victor.”
“Everyone but me,” I answered.
“Well, he is certainly somebody you ought to meet,” my dinner partner said quite seriously. “I can’t understand how you haven’t already read about him in the newspapers.”
“I never have time to read the gossip columns,” I smiled.
“I was talking about the headlines!” he said. “I always tell Victor he hogs them so that none of us can get a look in.”
“What does he do?” I asked.
“It would be easier to tell you what he doesn’t do,” my informant replied. “He has just beaten the air speed record from Cape Town to London. He has won all sorts of motor car racing trophies and is one of the best amateur riders in England.”
“Obviously a very talented gentleman!” I laughed.
“He is also enormously rich! However, if you don’t appreciate Victor Fitzroy for himself, you won’t appreciate anybody.”
A few minutes later I had the chance to judge, for it seemed that Victor had noticed me across the table since our host brought him over to introduce him.
“Come and dance,” Victor suggested and I was delighted to agree.
I was rather intrigued by a man about whom another man talked with such enthusiasm and I found very quickly that my dinner partner had not exaggerated.
Victor had tremendous charm, almost too much in a way. It was overwhelming.
He didn’t pay me the usual compliments, he just said,
“The moment I saw you I knew why I was in such a hurry to get back to England last week.”
“Why do you want to fly so quickly?” I asked.
He laughed at that.
“I hate wasting time,” he said. “If I want something, I want it at once.”
He looked at me as he spoke with a sort of speculative look in his eyes.
Then he said,
“Tell me about yourself.”
“I expect you have already been told that I am a Giles Bariatinsky model?”
“I am not interested in the advertising slogans but in what lies behind them.”
He held me really close to him and said,
“You are very thin.”
“I’m sorry if I disappoint you,” I answered.
“You don’t,” he said. “I am really wondering if you are real or if you will disappear at the touch of a hand.”
“I think that depends on whose hand,” I answered.
I realised I was flirting in a manner I was seldom able to do with other men.
There was something effervescent about Victor. He made one feel gay and amusing. He made one sparkle, just as he sparkled himself.
We danced and danced until he said,
“Let’s go – my car is outside.”
“Without saying goodbye and expressing our thanks?”
“Our host should thank you. People must pay you to sit at their dull and boring dinner parties and look beautiful. You are far more effective than floral decorations.”
“Thank you,” I laughed.
I did as Victor wanted and walked out of the Savoy without saying goodbye.
I realised later that it was the way people expected Victor Fitzroy to behave. They were grateful if he accepted their hospitality, even for a few moments.
He had a long low expensive sports car outside the Savoy and we raced down the Strand through Trafalgar Square and passed Buckingham Palace at such a speed that I was only surprised that we weren’t stopped by the police.
“Do you really want to go home?” Victor asked.
“I’m afraid I must,” I answered. “I am a working girl and I get into trouble if I am late in the morning.”
“I will let you go only on condition that you promise to dine with me tomorrow night.”
“I would love to,” I answered.
“I have a feeling we are going to see a lot of each other, Samantha,” Victor said, “so like you, I won’t waste time on unnecessary preliminaries.”
“Are you trying to say that I should have refused your first invitation?” I asked.
“I am telling you,” he answered, “that I would not have allowed you to do so.”
When we reached my flat, I was ready to step out quickly as I always did, but I found it difficult to open the car door,
Victor helped me out and took my keys from me.
He opened both doors and then he walked into my flat before I could stop him.
I stood looking at him speculatively, then he put his arms round me and said,
“You are very lovely, Samantha!”
He kissed me before I could move or make any effort to prevent him, but surprisingly it didn’t shock or frighten me.
Then as suddenly as he had taken me in his arms, Victor let me go.
“I shall be looking forward to tomorrow, my sweet,” he said and left me.
I felt as if I was in a whirl. I didn’t know quite what I thought or didn’t think. It was just as if I had been swept off my feet and carried along on a tide over which 1 had no control.
It was not an unpleasant feeling, it was rather fun, and I told myself as I locked the door and turned out the light in the sitting room that I liked Victor.
I was looking forward to tomorrow evening.
‘Tonight,’ I thought, ‘Instead of thinking of David, I’ll think about Victor!’
The following night I took an extra amount of trouble, choosing one of my prettiest dresses. I had my hair done at lunchtime and I was ready a quarter of an hour before I expected Victor to arrive.
I might have known that when he did come it would be somewhat flamboyantly.
There was the noise of his car outside and then he seemed, as I opened the door, to sweep into the flat like a boisterous wind.
He was smiling and I thought he really was one of the best-looking men I had ever seen.
He put his hands on my shoulders and held me away from him.
“Let me look at you,” he said. “I thought last night that I really had dreamt you. No one could be quite so beautiful.”
“What do you think now?” I asked.
“I am sure you are a fake,” he said, “but I’ve got to find out for certain.”
“That’s not very complimentary,” I said accusingly.
“You’ve had enough compliments,” he said, “but, just to spoil you, I will say you are entrancing and I would much rather kiss you than have that drink you haven’t offered me.”
He held me close to him and kissed my lips.
“I’m sorry,” I said when he released me, “but I haven’t any drink.”
“Are all your boyfriends teetotallers?” he asked.
“I haven’t any.”
“You can hardly expect me to believe that.”
“The men I do know,” I replied, “are not allowed into my flat.”
I picked up my wrap as I spoke and moved towards the door.
Victor looked round.
“The setting is not really worthy of the jewel,” he said.
I felt I ought to have been angry with him for being critical, but one didn’t get angry with Victor over small things.
“It is what I like.”
“And that’s all that matters,” he replied. “At least you are not pretentious, Samantha.”
“I hope not.”
He led me to the car and we roared away to the West End. A table had been kept for him at the Embassy Club where, of course, he knew everybody.
People came up and talked to him, he waved to his friends across the room and it was rather like being out with a film star.
In between the interruptions he made love to me amusingly and with that quite irresistible charm that made me certain that I should not to believe a word of it.
But he was so skilful at it that I found him fascinating.
From the Embassy we went on to a nightclub where there was an extraordinarily amusing cabaret and then to a small, dark, seductive cellar where one danced on a glass floor lit from beneath and sat at small velvet-covered sofa tables, which were very intimate.
Victor talked to me beguilingly and in a manner that in some way healed the wound to my pride.
David had not only made me miserably unhappy he had left me humble and insecure, deflated and insignificant.
I can’t explain what Victor did except that I felt as if he lifted me up out of the gutter and placed me on a pedestal.
I felt young and gay again, I felt that the world was not a place of misery and oppression, but of laughter and sunshine.
We talked and danced and it was nearly dawn before he drove me home.
Once again he came into the flat and kissed me more passionately than he had done the night before and left me just as suddenly, while I was still willing for him to go on kissing me.
It was the next night, after we had been to the theatre and were having supper at the Savoy, that he said,
“I’ve a suggestion to make to you, Samantha.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“I want to go to Paris tomorrow morning,” he said. “Will you come with me?”
For a moment I could think of nothing to say and then I knew that this was what I had been waiting for – what I had envisaged would happen sooner or later and it would be stupid for me to refuse.
I liked Victor, I liked him enormously. I loved being with him. I thought I had never laughed or enjoyed anything so much as I had these last two nights.
But Paris – !
Then as I thought about it, Victor put his hand over mine.
“Say yes, Samantha,” he said. “I want you to come with me and I am not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.”