September 1925
There wasn’t an empty table to be seen in Claridge’s Grand Foyer. The summer was over and the wealthy and fashionable had drifted back from continental villas and country houses to visit dressmakers and hair salons and place orders at Harrods and Dickens and Jones. The space was filled with drawling, well-bred voices above the clink of china and restrained piano music.
Theo had already been at the table when Selina arrived. He had stood up to wish her a happy birthday when she was still halfway across the room, prompting the pianist to launch into the jaunty little tune and everyone to look round, much to Selina’s embarrassment. It was mid-September but Theo still had the remains of his Italian suntan. He had an enticingly wrapped box with him – a birthday present for Selina – but since it was from him and Flick jointly he couldn’t give it to her until Flick arrived.
‘Twenty-two,’ he said wistfully, dropping a lump of sugar into his teacup. ‘Do you feel terribly old?’
‘Not old so much as grown-up, I suppose. Much more so than I did on my last birthday, even though that’s supposed to be the milestone.’
‘Grown-up?’ Theo dropped the sugar tongs with a clatter. ‘My dear, how frightful. Don’t tell me you’ll be taking up embroidery and good causes like your sister? I shall have to disown you.’
‘Darling, I’ll disown myself if I ever become like my sister. I feel that the time has come to take more control of my life, that’s all. I can’t live by my parents’ draconian rules for ever – or on their meagre allowance for that matter.’
Theo glanced at her sharply. ‘I predict an upturn in interest in the ruby magnate may be on the cards. I don’t believe you ever really told us what happened in Scotland. In fact, I recall you being distinctly evasive when the subject was brought up…’
She shrugged, not quite meeting his eye. ‘Not at all. There’s really nothing to say. It was all very yawn-making – I only saw Rupert twice and it rained incessantly.’
‘Really?’ Theo’s elegant eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘I bumped into Clarence Seaton at my tailor’s last week – the poor boy’s nose was still as pink as that carnation. He spent most of August at Buffy Campbell’s lodge and said the weather had been scorching.’
‘Well, yes…’ Selina felt her cheeks going the same colour as Clarence’s sunburned nose. If there had been a moment to confide in Flick and Theo about Lawrence and their stolen week it had long since passed. ‘I suppose it was rather warm at the beginning, but after the third day of relentless rain one quite forgets that the sun has ever shone, don’t you think?’
Theo leaned back, crossing his legs in their extravagant Oxford bags and brushing a crumb off one knee. ‘Only twice in two weeks,’ he said musingly. ‘Carew’s a cool customer, one must admit. I thought he might take full advantage of your inability to escape and beat a path through the heather to your door.’
‘I imagine the guns wanted to make the most of the weather while it was so good. He and his parents came over for dinner at the end of the first week and of course, Ruthie seated us together.’ Selina pulled a face. ‘He suggested we ride out to see some screamingly dull Celtic monument, but thankfully I was spared by the rain. Not from him coming back, but from the monument at least.’
They had sat in the library together and she had tried to keep her mind from straying constantly to Lawrence. Lawrence, shirtless, making scrambled eggs in the kitchen at Blackwood. Lawrence on the deck at the Chinese Tea House, a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he’d fished for the perch. Lawrence across the dining table in the candlelight, his eyes like pools of ink. Everyone believed that it had been illness that had delayed her arrival, so she had used that as a shield to hide behind. An excuse for her detachment and distance.
‘A lucky escape,’ Theo drawled. ‘Dear God, I do hope he hasn’t mistaken you for a sturdy country type. What did you talk about?’
‘Burma mostly. It was the only thing I could think of to ask him about.’
Rupert had talked, and she had listened, with a growing interest that surprised her. With the Highland mountains cloaked in mist and the rattle of rain against the window it had been rather soothing to let her imagination wander to the places he described – the damp heat of the jungle, the extravagant gold temples and endless rice fields and the little hill station where the streets were all given English names. He outlined the problems that were endemic in the management of the ruby mines: an isolated and inaccessible location, intractable workers, the difficulty of importing supplies. As he spoke she turned these difficulties over in her mind. Following their complicated strands gave her temporary respite from the monotony of her own thoughts. Lawrence. Lawrence. Lawrence.
‘Good show,’ Theo said faintly, sipping his tea. ‘Commendably grown-up.’
Beneath his wholesome suntan he looked tired, she noticed, and wondered if things had disintegrated further with Andrei. He had confessed that their Italian idyll had been marred by petty arguments and sulky silences. Andrei’s artistic temperament, which had formed a large part of his attraction in London, had manifested itself in jealous rages when they were abroad, and Theo had been unable to catch the eye of a waiter in a restaurant without it sparking a quarrel that would simmer for days. She was about to ask him how things were between them now when he looked pointedly towards the door and twitched his cuff back irritably.
‘The idea of fashionable lateness is one of several things Lady Felicity is taking just a tiny bit too far these days,’ he said acidly. ‘I even told her we were meeting half an hour earlier than was the case. Really, one doesn’t want to be a dreadful old fusspot – that’s what Aunt Constant Killjoy is for – but since she got back from Cap Ferrat she’s been worse than ever. Have you noticed? Too terribly distrait.’
‘Flick is always distrait. It’s why we adore her.’
‘Of course, but I can’t help noticing it’s worse of late. My dear, one doesn’t want to be a gossip, but she forgets things. Last week—’
‘Oh look – here she is now!’
Selina cut him off as she saw Flick emerge from the revolving doors – looking as marvellous as ever, she noted with relief. Under the stylish influence of her Godless-mother she had taken full advantage of the boutiques and couture studios during her stay on the Riviera and was wearing a coat Selina hadn’t seen before, in ivy green velvet with a tawny fur collar that framed her elfin face. Shoes in rich brown leather, the colour of conkers, clitter-clattered across the marble floor as she hurried towards them, bringing the scent of autumn air and coal soot from outside. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes shone.
‘Am I unforgivably late? So silly – I just lay down for the tiniest nap after luncheon, and the next thing I knew it was four o’clock. Isn’t that too funny? Darlings, I haven’t kept you waiting, have I?’
‘The teeniest bit,’ Theo snapped. ‘I didn’t think I ought to give Selina her present until you arrived.’
‘Present? Oh – your birthday present! Of course—’ Flick leaned across the table to kiss Selina’s cheek, misjudging the distance slightly so that Selina had to grab her arm to stop her from falling. ‘Many happy returns, angel. I’ve quite lost track of the days, because they’re all so damp and miserable. I feel like I’m suffering from a permanent chill and Nanny will start threatening to rub my chest with goose fat. It’s not at all like darling France, where it’s warm all the time, even in the evenings, and one can wear pretty clothes and take siestas and have marvellous fun in the casino.’
A waiter appeared to take her coat. She shrugged it off carelessly, swiping one silky fur cuff through the cream on the top of a Tarte Parisienne, and revealing a fabulously up-to-the minute dress beneath; drop-waisted and knife-pleated. Compared to what Selina was wearing – one of Miranda’s blouses from last year, with a skirt that Polly had taken up to this year’s length – her clothes were excessively pretty.
‘Tea, madam?’ the waiter asked.
Flick pulled a face as she looked around the table. ‘Is that what we’re having? I rather hoped it might be cocktail time.’
Theo took the cigarette case from his pocket and flipped it open before offering it to Selina. ‘It’s a quarter to five.’ His voice was clipped.
‘How dreary. In Cap Ferrat it’s always cocktail time, and there are always fascinating people just falling over themselves to buy them for one. Oh, but wait – it’s your birthday!’ She brightened visibly, clapping her hands. ‘We should have champagne! Do let’s!’
The waiter bent and murmured something discreet about licensing hours. Flick’s face fell. ‘Too unutterably tiresome. Bring a bottle over the very second we can drink it without being swooped upon by officers of the law. Now—’ she turned to Selina. ‘Do open your present, darling.’
There was something slightly frantic about her. Her eyes didn’t shine so much as glitter, and the hand she cupped around her cigarette as Theo lit it fluttered like a leaf in a breeze. Squashing down her unease, Selina took the ribbon-tied box Theo held out to her and smiled broadly at them both.
‘How exciting! You are lovely.’ She touched the glossy ribbon. ‘It’s too pretty to open.’
‘Don’t be silly, and do hurry up – I’m dying to see your face. Theo found it in Florence. Or was it Venice? Anyway – simply too clever of him…’
Selina undid the ribbon and lifted the lid of the box, folding back layers of crisp tissue paper to reveal a lustrous tortoiseshell trinket box, edged and inlaid with delicate silver filigree patterns. In the centre, in swirling silver inlay, were the entwined letters S and L.
Her heart faltered. For a heady second she wondered how they knew, when they’d discovered her secret, before realising that as far as her friends were concerned the letters were her initials, nothing more. Laughing, she blinked back tears.
‘Isn’t it simply perfect?’ Flick said triumphantly. ‘Terribly old apparently, but it could have been made just for you. Isn’t Theo clever to have spotted it?’
‘Lucky, really,’ Theo said modestly. ‘It was in the window of a jeweller’s shop in Venice – I only noticed it because Andrei was in one of his moods and had flounced off, and I was in no hurry to catch up. And not quite perfect. I believe that it actually says S&L on the top, but even so. I like to think it was meant to be.’
‘It was.’ Selina’s voice cracked. She wanted to tell them that the ‘&’ made it even more special, but she didn’t know where to start. ‘Absolutely meant to be, and absolutely perfect. Thank you. Thank you both so much. I adore it.’
After that the waiter brought the champagne and they toasted and drank and Flick talked again about Cap Ferrat, scattering exotic names and improbable titles over the table like ash from the cigarette she waved about. ‘Next year you must come with me, Selina darling. No argument. I simply cannot think why you still agree to go to a dreary old castle for shooting with your mama and papa – it’s too absurd at your age.’
Selina didn’t bother reminding her that she didn’t have the financial independence to do anything else and seized her moment. ‘I rather agree. In fact, the less time I spend with my mama and papa the better, which brings me back to what we were saying the other night – do you remember?’
Flick’s glass was empty and she was looking round for the waiter. ‘The other night? Which one?’
‘Monday, after the KitKat, when we couldn’t find a taxi. We talked about getting a set of rooms together. Somewhere small but central – a sort of base.’
‘Darling, I thought it was one of your outlandish schemes,’ Flick said, giving up on the waiter and refilling her glass herself. ‘Were you serious?’
‘Why not? Wouldn’t it be marvellous to have somewhere lovely and central that was all our own? No one to make a fuss about us coming in late, or the noise of the gramophone and the number of empty bottles.’
‘Oh gosh, yes…’ Flick said, with feeling. ‘Aunt Constance has been worse than ever since I got back from France – watching me like a hawk, instructing Harris and dear old Simpson to spy. She’s even started to mark the levels on the decanters in the drawing room.’
Across the table Theo’s expression was oddly blank, but one elegantly manicured finger tapped against the stem of his glass. Selina sensed his disapproval without understanding it; it wasn’t like him to be a dog in the manger. ‘You have to admit, it would be heaven … Our own place to get ready before going out, and to go back to after the bars have closed. Our own fire to toast crumpets on with no one to be cross because it’s too early or too late or the servants are busy.’
‘It’s a topping idea,’ Flick beamed. ‘We should start looking straight away. Well, not straight away because it must be time to think about dressing for dinner – where on earth did the day go? What are we doing this evening? Did Aggie say she was having an At Home, or is that tomorrow?’
‘Angel, it was Tuesday.’ There was an edge to Theo’s tone. ‘We went, remember?’
‘Oh yes – silly me.’ Flick laughed, a sound like the tinkle of the piano, but a little off key. ‘It’s Thursday today, isn’t it? So that means The Embassy. Dinner at the Eiffel first?’
‘I can’t.’ Guiltily, Selina drained her glass and began to gather up her belongings. ‘I promised Mama I’d be home for a birthday dinner – Miranda and Lionel are back from their honeymoon and desperate to show off reams of tedious photographs.’
‘Oh Selina!’ Flick wailed. ‘That’s too bad! It’s your birthday, you should be allowed to have fun. You can come later, can’t you? To The Embassy. You simply must.’
‘I’ll try,’ she lied. ‘And I’ll buy an evening paper on the way home and look in the advertisements for lodgings. The sooner we can make our escape the better.’
She said her goodbyes, and repeated her thanks for the present, in a flurry of kisses, uneasily aware of Theo’s slight froideur and Flick’s disappointment. As she made her way through the tables and across the foyer she could feel their eyes on her, tiny needles of reproach pricking at the back of her neck. Or maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe it was just her own guilty conscience, rightly punishing her for her dishonesty and disloyalty.
The cold air hit her as the revolving door spat her onto the street. The light was bleeding out from the day and the headlamps of motorcars made ribbons of gold on the wet road. A gust of wind whipped leaves around her ankles and she pulled her coat more tightly around her. The doorman stepped forward.
‘Taxi, miss?’
She should decline the offer and take the underground train, which would be so much cheaper. But it would be slower too, and impatience pulsed through her veins. Another time she would brave the discomfort and inconvenience of public transport, but not now. Not today, when he was waiting for her. When they would be properly alone together for the first time in over a month.
She nodded. ‘To Bloomsbury. Marchmont Street.’
At five o’clock, when there was still almost an hour of usable light left, Lawrence dropped his brush into a marmalade jar of turpentine and wiped his fingers on a stained rag. Edith looked round in surprise.
‘Finished?’
‘For today.’
He had been painting like a demon for weeks, working harder than he ever had. Against the studio walls, interspersed with numerous vast and energetic seascapes Edith had painted during a summer in St Ives, were several completed portrait commissions, waiting for the paint to harden sufficiently to be parcelled up and delivered. The portrait on the easel – Lance Corporal Douglas Mackay, Royal Highlanders Division – would join them tomorrow.
‘Splendid!’ Edith beamed. ‘Am I finally going to be able to tempt you out for a drink?’
He usually worked until well after she had downed tools (literally – since returning from St Ives she had begun experimenting with woodcuts, and acquired a collection of alarming sharp implements) and flung on her old coachman’s cloak to take herself off to the Marlborough Arms, where a new influx of Slade students waited to be dazzled by her bohemian glamour and buy her drinks. She was always trying to persuade him to accompany her and he always refused. He felt guilty to be doing it again.
‘Sorry. I’m afraid I’ve got to be off.’
‘Ah. Special occasion?’ Edith’s tone was one of casual enquiry, but he sensed a challenge in the way she was looking at him. ‘Or is it just the girl that’s special?’
‘Both,’ he admitted. Going over to the velvet-draped divan in the corner he picked up his jacket from amongst the clutter and checked that the little square box was still in the pocket. He had collected it this morning from a jeweller’s shop in Holborn, which was conveniently situated next to a barber’s. The package he had picked up from there was in the other pocket. He still had to go to La Normandie to collect the pot au feu Madame had agreed to sell him, to heat up on the stove at Marchmont Street for dinner.
Luck was on his side; Selina’s birthday, and Sam had gone away for a few days. (To Northumberland, to write a piece about a pit disaster that had taken the lives of thirty-eight miners. Not so lucky for them.) Since Selina’s return to London the frustration of snatched, unsatisfactory meetings in public places was getting to them both. Separation had almost been easier to bear than being together and not being able to touch, of having to carry his camera with him like a shield, so that anyone who recognized either of them would presume that the meeting was professional. The opportunity to be alone together was rare and precious, and he wanted it to be perfect.
Edith’s eyes were still on him. ‘Do I know her?’
‘Of her, yes.’
‘Ah.’ Edith sighed. ‘I feared as much. I suppose you were never going to fall in love with anyone ordinary, but you could have chosen a slightly more realistic object for your affections than Selina Lennox.’
He paused, his jacket half-on. ‘How did you know it was her?’
Her smile was rueful, a little sad. ‘Dear boy, I’m not nearly as dippy as I make out. I saw those photographs in The Sketch – the ones that were supposedly of her sister’s wedding. And I never quite believed that you left the Napier girls’ party early because you were tired.’
It was always difficult to fool Edith. He didn’t bother trying to deny it.
‘I never said anything about falling in love with her.’
Edith gave him a pitying look.
‘You didn’t have to.’