‘Anyway, show me the rest of this wonderful flat and then we’d better make for your vast Chelsea acreage. What are we having for lunch?’
‘Salade Niçoise. Have you come across Elizabeth David?’
‘Darling, of course I have. And her Mediterranean cooking. Wonderful. What a perfect day I’m having. Especially seeing you so happy.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I am so very happy. I can’t quite believe how much.’
And Persephone, looking at him, thought this was how she would always remember him now, relaxed, smiling, totally at ease, his future set fair.
It made her very happy too.
‘Oh, Diana, thank goodness you’ve rung. I don’t know what’s the matter with your phone – it just rings and rings, I’ve been trying all morning. I’ve even had it tested. You’re usually so good at ringing in.’
‘Sorry, Esmé. Been away.’
‘You know you have to ring in first thing. Anyway, the Evening Standard rang an hour ago. Can you do a job on Wednesday? Rainwear?’
‘Jolly short notice. Who’s the photographer?’
‘Some new young genius called Russell. Just that. Anyway, he’s in the Bateman mould. Not as good, of course, but – think you’ll like him.’
‘OK. Yes, I’ll do that. Sounds fun.’
‘Good. Then Harper’s are after you, two days next week, Wednesday and Thursday, and Woman’s Journal are so thrilled with those pages they want to book you again, for their big autumn fashion issue. But that’s not for a couple of weeks –’
‘Esmé –’
‘And how would you fancy a trip to Paris? Only a couple of days, but it’s advertising, so the money’s good.’
‘Depends when. And what I decide to do.’
‘About what?
‘New York, of course.’
‘I thought you were going. That’s why I’m cramming so much into the next two weeks for you.’
‘And what’s happening about Enchantée?’
Enchantée was a new perfume; they had approached Diana about signing her up exclusively not only in England, but France and the States as well. It was a big contract worth hundreds, possibly thousands, of pounds. It would take her right into the model stratosphere, one of a small exclusive band, but there hadn’t been time for the lawyers to look at the contract.
‘Diana …’ Esmé hesitated, sounding more awkward than Diana had ever heard her. ‘Enchantée have cancelled. I’m so sorry. They decided they wanted a blonde.’
‘Ri–ight. When did this happen?’
‘While you were in New York.’
‘Bit sudden. I mean, I know we were dithering a bit, but they knew I was frightfully keen. It just seems – odd. So who?’
‘The rumour is it’s Jo Courtney.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see. ‘
Jo Courtney was new on the scene, young, blonde, classically beautiful; she was clearly going to make it in a big way. And she could not have been more different from Diana.
‘Bastards.’
‘Yes, I agree. I did try, of course, fought very hard for you, but – well, it was no good. I’m sorry, Diana. But everyone else loves you.’
Diana was silent, then she said, ‘Well, you win some and you lose some. Never mind. The exclusivity clause was a bore. Anyway, Esmé, you go ahead and call the Standard and Harper’s; I need a bit of time to think about Woman’s Journal. Sorry I didn’t call in this morning.’
Waking, sleepy with love, in Leo’s bed that morning, looking at him tenderly as he slept on, she wished – most unusually for her – she need never get up again, never work again, never go to another casting. She was in no mood for Monday, and especially this Monday, when she had to ring Freddie with her answer about New York. She and Leo had had a perfect Sunday, talking, talking, talking.
‘Do you think we’ll ever run out of things to say?’
‘Not if you’re there, Diana.’
They were walking in Kensington Gardens, saying ‘Good morning’ to Peter Pan, lunching at the Berkeley, and then back to Leo’s flat for afternoon tea and the newspapers. ‘I have to read them all, by mid-morning usually,’ said Leo. ‘Bath and bedtime,’ he said firmly very shortly after that.
His bath was enormous; they sat in it together, she on his lap: with inevitable consequences. ‘Oh,’ she said, leaning back against him afterwards, ‘that was wonderful. I never could see the sense when people went on about it, but I do now.’
Later, back in bed, drinking first tea for her, coffee for him, then the most poetically beautiful white burgundy; then more sex (‘Where does it come from, all this – this wanting?’ she asked) and then just as she was drifting off, he said, his voice blurred with sleep, ‘Don’t you dare agree to go to New York without discussing it with me first.’
That did it. She would not go, she decided, not if he didn’t want her to, but then, in the morning, his phone started ringing, obviously with a lot of amusing gossip, and he sat up in bed, propped on his pillows, making notes and saying things like, ‘She sounds a bit of a peach,’ and ‘I had a huge fling with her once, nympho really, but if that’s what she’s up to now, I’d love to see her,’ until Diana began to feel irritated, and she got up and dressed and, blowing him a kiss from the doorway, which he returned without pausing in his conversation, went out into the street in search of a taxi home, feeling uncertain of herself: which was a most unusual emotion.
* * *
Leaving the agency, she felt more uncertain still – and confused. It had all been wonderful at first, of course, being at the heart of it, admired, wanted, the centre of attention, soothing after the hour sitting beside Leo, very much the reverse. But the news about Enchantée had been a shock. As always when she was in emotional turmoil she phoned Wendelien and said she needed to see her.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she wailed. ‘I love Leo, love love love him, and he loves me.’
‘Well, that’s wonderful,’ said Wendelien. ‘How perfect you must be together.’
‘Well – maybe. But I have to make a decision about New York, whether I go or not, and I had decided to say no today. But now I’m not quite sure.’
‘Why not, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Well – well, it’s quite complicated.’
‘Diana, it always is with you.’
‘I know. Can I tell you? And then will you give me your advice?’
‘Yes,’ said Wendelien resignedly. ‘As long as you don’t take it.’
‘Of course not.’
This was a running joke between them.
‘Anyway, you know I thought I’d got that amazing perfume contract? Well, they’ve dropped me in favour of someone else, about fifteen years younger than me, the girl they want now. Esmé made a great thing of the reason being she’s blonde, which she is, but that’s not it. I’m thirty-five years old, Jo Courtney is twenty-one. She’s making all sorts of waves and this is a huge campaign. All other things being equal, it’s going to run for five years – and in five years I’ll be in my forties. And however amazing the retouchers are at taking the years off and the lines away, far better that there aren’t any years or lines to begin with. This is only the first time, Wendelien; it’ll happen more and more, there’ll be more gorgeous young girls, with beautiful faces and nimble, bendy, loose-limbed bodies. So I don’t have very long left, however busy I am now, and I want to get out while I’m still at the top.’
Wendelien digested all this, then she said, ‘Yes, I think you’re being very brave and positive about it, and sensible. But I don’t see what it’s got to do with going to New York.’
‘Well, it’s a lot of money which I could quite do with at the moment. I’ve spent so much on my house. And it’ll be fun. And they really, really want me, which is important to me, I’ve learned today. I rather like being the centre of attention. Wendelien, why are you looking at me in that funny way? I also like being independent, more so than ever now I’m involved with Leo. He’s such a star, and I don’t want to trail round being nothing but his girlfriend. I’ve got an idea about what I want to do next, but it’ll take money to set it up.’
Wendelien listened politely, and when Diana had finally finished she said, ‘I’ve listened very carefully, Diana, and if you really love Leo – and I must say it’s rather early days to be sure – I still don’t think you ought to go to New York. He’s hardly a pipe and slippers man, waiting patiently for your return, and you could come back to find him gone. Metaphorically speaking. Sorry, not what you want to hear, I know …’
‘No, but you’re probably right,’ said Diana. ‘Anyway, thank you for your time and wisdom, as always. Can I have another sherry, please?’
She rang Leo’s office when she finally got home but he was out to lunch; hourly calls after that yielded the same answer, right up to five o’clock. When, this being her deadline, and midday in New York, she rang first Freddie and then Miss Dickens and told them she had decided to make the move, and was looking forward to joining them in two weeks’ time.
Leo Bennett, feeling that a five-hour lunch with a drunken (albeit wonderfully garrulous) peer of the realm, followed by a rather tough editors’ conference, was enough for one day, was on his way to Diana’s house as arranged, bearing a bottle of Perrier Jouet, with a suitably flashy diamond ring in his pocket, to tell her exactly why she shouldn’t go to New York.
They had a rather ugly row, and Leo left half an hour later, the bottle of Perrier Jouet unopened on the dining-room table, and the diamond ring still in his pocket.