‘Oh dear, back to real life,’ Liza grumbled mournfully as Henry drove up the drive of Hartley Hall. The Georgian family home stood welcoming as it had done for the Granvilles for the past hundred and twenty years; its soft pink brickwork bathed in an autumn sunset, its symmetrical windows, surrounded by climbing roses and wisteria.
Henry’s two young black Labradors, Rufus and Nelson, lay by the white front door, instinctively knowing he was about to return home.
Seeing them, Henry remarked mildly, ‘I think Real Life is rather pleasant myself.’
‘Mrs Dobbs said she was going to make toad-in-the-hole and treacle pudding for dinner,’ Lady Anne volunteered, thankful to be home after a long and emotional day.
‘I couldn’t eat a thing,’ Liza protested, pulling off her gloves and dropping them carelessly on to the floor of the car.
Henry glanced at his discontented wife. Juliet’s wedding party had unsettled Liza, reminding her of how their lives used to be, but were unlikely ever to be again. For one thing, food rationing had become worse since the end of the war because what resources there were had been diverted to feed the starving people of Europe. And although they’d advertised for more staff to help run Hartley and the large garden surrounding it, no one wanted to go into service any more. Especially not women.
‘The girls who are being demobbed want to work in shops and offices now they’ve known what independence is like,’ the head of a London agency told him. ‘No one wants to be a servant any more.’
The grim reality of maintaining a ten-bedroom house, with outbuildings and land worried Henry greatly. He was no longer as rich as he’d been in 1939, something that Liza was failing to comprehend. She still expected to be able to spend hundreds of pounds a year on clothes, and she was forever going on about entertaining, and how they should be giving weekend house parties; a life he could no longer afford except on a small scale. He was also tired, suffering a deep weariness of bone and brain that a few good nights sleep no longer assuaged. He planned to retire in three years, and then nothing on God’s earth was going to take him away from Hartley. Nothing, he swore to himself, except the occasional day in London to see his daughters.
‘I do wish Juliet knew some really intelligent people,’ Amanda remarked as she and Charlotte climbed out of the car. ‘There wasn’t a single person at the reception who was remotely interested in politics. What do these people do with their lives? Apart from going to parties?’
‘I expect they are interested, Amanda, but a wedding is neither the time nor the place for you to extol the virtues of Clement Attlee, to a room full of people who voted for Winston Churchill,’ Henry told her.
‘I suppose they were all Conservatives,’ she said in disgust. ‘You’d have thought the war would have opened their eyes to how poor people suffer hardship though, wouldn’t you?’ Lady Anne paused at the door of her private sitting room. She gave her granddaughter one of her serene I-know-what-you’re-feeling-but-don’t-make-such-a-fuss smiles. ‘Times are changing, my dear girl. Try not to be too impatient. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
Amanda stomped up the stairs to her bedroom. ‘I’m going to change into some comfortable old clothes.’
As she disappeared round the bend in the stairs, Liza observed with asperity, ‘I thought she was already wearing her comfortable old clothes.’
Henry and his mother exchanged amused looks.
‘I’m going for a walk, Mama.’
‘Good idea, Henry.’
‘Can I come with you, Daddy?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Yes, but you’d better put on some sensible shoes, darling.’
‘OK. I shan’t be a sec.’ She ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, her silvery hair, which to Henry’s regret Liza had had cut short because it was ‘more fashionable’, bouncing with hot-tongued curls.
‘When you get back, perhaps you’d like to join me for a glass of sherry?’ Lady Anne suggested.
Henry nodded, reading the subtext of what she was saying. ‘Thanks, Mama.’
Walking through the rose garden, which Lady Anne had created when she’d first married his father, Henry felt the beneficent peace of Hartley enfold him in a cocoon of tranquillity. His cares seemed to fall away. The lush grass beneath his feet was soft, the air about him fresh and clean, heady like wine after the smoke-laden atmosphere of London.
With Charlotte by his side, and Rufus and Nelson lolloping happily around them as they walked in companionable silence, Henry wished his life could always be like this. The war was over and he felt a great sense of peace and thankfulness that all of them, with the exception of Rosie’s husband, had survived. Now a feeling of great contentment swept over him as he trod the earth of his beloved home; a home that would provide a haven for his family and their descendents, even after he’d gone. Hartley was his legacy to his daughters and grandchildren, and it gave him a feeling of solace to think that in another fifty, or a hundred years the Granvilles would still be treading the rich soil of this beloved place.
‘Juliet looked very happy today, didn’t she, Daddy?’ Charlotte remarked, tying her silk scarf under her chin, as her steps matched his.
‘Very happy,’ he agreed. ‘I like Daniel very much. I think he’s good for her.’
‘Why did none of his family come to the wedding?’
‘Well, he’s Jewish, darling, and his religion doesn’t really allow him to marry a Christian.’
Charlotte looked thoughtful. ‘Then he must love Juliet a lot.’
‘They’ve loved each other for a very long time.’
‘I think,’ she said solemnly, ‘that religion gets in the way sometimes, don’t you? After all, there’s only one God, so why doesn’t everyone get together and worship Him in the same way?’
Henry smiled at the simplicity of the reasoning of the young. ‘If only they did,’ he said fervently, thinking of the recent terrible discoveries of Belsen, where thousands of Jews had perished at the hands of the Nazis.
‘Do you think Daniel’s family will ever want to meet Juliet?’ she asked curiously.
Henry thought about Daniel’s three children, whom Juliet had told him were now aged ten, twelve and fourteen years old. ‘They’re still very young, Charlotte, and it’s not really up to them, but perhaps in time…’ His voice drifted away. Their mother had fallen in love with someone else during the war and it had been her choice to ask Daniel for a divorce so why should she prevent the children seeing their father?
‘Perhaps they were too young to come to the wedding?’ Charlotte suggested hopefully.
‘I expect you’re right.’ But Henry felt uneasy. Daniel’s parents were dead, but what about his sister? Surely she’d have wanted him to be happy?
In their suite at Claridge’s, Juliet lay beside Daniel on the vast bed, a pulsating mass of emotional desire, wanting him again and again as if she could never have enough of him. As if she’d only dreamed they were together at last and needed to be reassured they were lovers once more, as they’d been on that weekend in Paris, so long ago. As they’d been in his Chelsea cottage when the air-raid siren had sounded and she’d conceived their baby. And as they’d been the day, earlier this year, when he’d returned to her as she sat in her bedroom over looking Hyde Park, believing her life was over and wishing herself dead.
Now, for the first time in her life, her sense of psychological self-protective reserve had been broken, and she was giving the whole of herself to him, not just physically, but heart, mind, and soul. She’d stripped herself of all pretence and artifice and the woman now in his arms had come a long way from the flirtatious virgin he’d first known.
‘I love you, Juliet.’ He spoke with a depths of passion she’d never heard before. His eyes were boring into hers with a profoundness that made her shiver; it was as if he was making a vow before God. ‘Now I’ve found you again I’m never going to let you go.’
‘And I’ll never let you go,’ she echoed feverishly. ‘I want to spend every moment of the rest of my life with you.’ She wrapped her arms and legs around his strong body. ‘I want all of you… I want your baby…’
He buried his face in the fragile hollow of her neck. ‘My darling… My darling… All the babies you want…’
But a sad little voice in her head reminded her of the little girl she’d lost, the baby daughter she and Daniel had never known.
‘Come in, my dear,’ Lady Anne greeted Henry as he entered her private chintzy inner sanctum when he returned from his walk. ‘Help yourself to sherry and you can pour one for me, too.’
Henry went over to the side table on which Warwick, creaky, ancient and suffering from bad feet, had placed a silver tray with glasses and a decanter. He’d been Lady Anne’s butler for nearly fifty years, having come to Hartley Hall as a boot boy when he’d been a seventeen-year-old orphan. Devoted to the family, he still struggled through each day without complaint. The Granvilles were the only family he’d ever had, and Hartley his only home and he clung on to his position because his greatest fear was that one day someone should suggest he retire.
‘Are you all right, Henry?’ his mother asked, as he took the chair opposite her by the smouldering log fire that gave out little heat.
‘I’m fine, Mama.’
‘You’re worried about Liza pining for London, aren’t you?’
He took a deep breath. ‘She needs to have something to keep her occupied,’ he replied loyally.
Lady Anne remained silent. Hartley was screaming out for another pair of hands to darn worn-out bed linen, mend frayed chair covers and curtains, spring clean rooms and shampoo carpets, turn out cupboards and get to grips with cleaning the silver. She did what she could, but she couldn’t do the heavy work any more, and neither could Warwick. Even Mrs Dobbs was struggling, at seventy-seven, to do all the cooking, single-handed. And now Rosie was engaged and living in London, she was no longer able to help as she’d done during the war.
And what did Liza do? Lady Anne asked herself. She wandered down at nine o’clock to get Mrs Dobbs to make her some tea and toast (breakfast on a tray in her room was a thing of the past much to her dismay), and then she spent the next three hours getting dressed and doing her face, writing letters, making phone calls and asking what was for luncheon. She never walked Rufus and Nelson, never collected vegetables or fruit from the garden, never lifted a duster or a dustpan and brush. Those jobs, along with looking after the hens, ducks and rabbits, were done by Amanda and Charlotte, for the time being. But what was going to happen when Amanda went to Oxford?
‘Perhaps it was a pity she gave up being in the WVS when the war ended?’ Lady Anne suggested generously.
‘She wasn’t interested in belonging to the Guildford branch; it was London or nothing, she said. And I’ve no intention of moving back to London,’ he added stubbornly.
‘The daily journey is a lot for you though, my dear. In the winter you leave Hartley in the dark, and you return at night in the dark. You don’t think…?’
‘Mama, I’d settle for a tiny flat in London during the week, but what I don’t want is to go out every night. I can’t do it any more, but if we were to return that’s what Liza would want. London itself isn’t the attraction, it’s the merry-go-round of people.’
‘Henry,’ she said dismayed, ‘you sound quite overwrought. Just be firm, my dear. Say it’s too much for you these days.’
He smiled sheepishly. ‘You’re right, Mama.’
‘I think you should have a check-up with your doctor. You’ve had a tough five years, and you could probably do with some vitamins or something. Everyone’s run down, and the fact that food rationing has got worse is too depressing for words. Sometimes it feels as if we’ve lost the war, instead of won it.’
He sighed again, and took a large sip of his sherry. ‘One thing is certain, we’ve lost the peace. Britain is bankrupt, for a start. Did you know we’re ten billion in debt? It will take us a decade or more to recover. And just when we should all be rejoicing, morale is very low in the country. The price of peace has been heavy.’
Too heavy for some, Lady Anne reflected, looking at her son. Henry was only fifty-seven but the last five years had taken their toll, and the last thing he needed was the nightly nagging from Liza when he returned to Hartley.
‘I don’t think Mr Attlee is getting on top of things the way Winston did in 1940,’ she observed. ‘One can only thank God Attlee wasn’t our PM then. He’s a nice little man, I suppose, but he’s got about as much charisma as one of our hens.’
Good old Ma, Henry thought, brightening. She was the one who had kept Hartley going when all had seemed lost. She was the one who gently chastized Liza and Rosie when they complained they couldn’t get make-up, shampoo, nail varnish or silk stockings. She was the one who told everyone to wear more clothes to keep warm when they ran out of fuel for the boiler. She was the one who assured the household that it wasn’t the end of the world when soap and floor polish was scarce, and when towels wore out and saucepans couldn’t be replaced. ‘It won’t last forever,’ she’d tell them all. Well, it hadn’t lasted forever, but the peace seemed to be proving almost more challenging than the war, and she was worried about her son. How much longer could he stand the strain of a marriage in deep trouble?
Four months later, the whole Granville family were gathered together again, this time for Rosie and Salton’s wedding, delayed so that his family could come over from America for the occasion.
His widowed mother, Mary-Beth Webb, arrived at the Savoy Hotel, where Salton was putting up his whole family, in a flurry of excitement. With her came her sons, Hank and Clint, with their respective wives, Donna and Lee, her daughter and son-in-law, June and Ronald Keating, and several nieces and nephews of assorted sexes.
‘It’ll cost you a fortune, darling,’ Rosie had pointed out, but Salton had smiled in his usual laid-back way and said, ‘Gee, honey, I can afford it and I want to give Mom and the others a good time. Remember we used to live in a trailer park when I was a kid. I kinda want them to see how far I’ve come; and this is the only wedding day I’ll ever have.’
Rosie, very touched, had kissed him warmly. He was really the most amazing man she’d ever met and she was longing to meet his family.
She was also desperate to impress them.
Juliet had offered to lend her house for the reception, but Rosie was having none of it. Nothing but the ballroom of the Dorchester would do, following the service at St Paul’s, Knightsbridge.
‘I don’t need to get married at Caxton Hall, like Juliet, because I’ve not been divorced,’ she added with a touch of smug malice when anyone expressed surprise that she was having what amounted to another white wedding.
‘How many people are you planning to invite?’ Henry asked nervously, seeing Liza’s fingerprints all over these plans.
Rosie shrugged her elegant shoulders. She and her mother had made a list of all their old friends, some of whom they hadn’t seen since before the war. ‘This is a way of getting back in,’ Liza had pointed out.
‘I suppose around four hundred,’ she told her father casually, then seeing his expression added quickly, ‘Salton has to ask so many people from the embassy, you know.’
‘Four hundred?’ he repeated in dismay.
‘We don’t want to look penny-pinching in front of his relatives,’ she said defensively. ‘After all they’re flying all the way over from America to be with us. And Salton is putting them all up at the Savoy!’
Liza’s excitement bordered on hysteria as the acceptances flowed in; Lady Diana Cooper, Chips Channon, Lady Violet Bonham-Carter, Countess Mountbatten. The King’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester and his wife… everyone who was anyone had accepted because to go to a lavish party these days was a treat in itself. Cecil Beaton was booked to take the photographs and Rosie went to Molyneux to get him to make her a long cream brocade dress and matching coat.
There was no doubt about it; the Webb family from Phoenix were going to be impressed out of their minds! Liza reflected with ecstasy.
She and Henry had been out of the limelight for far too long, but wasn’t it marvellous that they clearly hadn’t been forgotten? The thought spurred her on to insist that once the wedding was over, she and Henry simply must get another town house, where they could entertain in style.
Rosie became alarmed at her mother’s excitement. ‘For goodness sake, don’t patronize the Webbs,’ she implored. ‘It’s one thing to impress them but another to show off.’
Liza looked hurt. ‘I’ve never patronized anyone in my life,’ she protested. ‘I merely want to assure them that their son has found a suitable wife.’
At that moment, Rosie realized with a pang of horror that she was very like her mother; something Juliet had taunted her about for years.
Two days before the wedding Salton held a dinner party in a private room at the Hyde Park Hotel for the Granvilles to meet his family. A long table for eighteen guests and another table for nine – mainly for the kids, namely Salton’s nieces and nephews – had been set up in the elegant reception room overlooking the lush greenery of the park. Great vases of flowers had been arranged in the four corners, and smaller arrangements had been placed on the tables which were lit by tall white candles. The scene was set for a memorable evening and Salton had gone to great trouble to make sure every detail from the setting to the wine and menu was perfect.
Liza and Henry were the last to arrive and the moment she walked into the room she knew she was overdressed. Salton had stipulated it would be a black tie affair, and all the women, including his mother, sister and two sisters-in-law, not to mention Rosie, Juliet, Louise, Charlotte and Lady Anne were in simple classical dinner dresses with sleeves, and their jewellery was tasteful and discreet. Even Amanda looked half-decent in a long dark skirt and white silk blouse. But Liza had really gone to town, and even she didn’t quite know why, except that she was feeling insecure that night, and felt it necessary to make an impact on the assembled company.
In a swirl of off-the-shoulder gold satin with a slight train, and a blaze of emeralds and diamonds, she swept through the opened double doors and then stood uncertainly, like an actress who has mistaken her cue to go on stage and forgotten her lines.
Salton stepped swiftly forward, graciously presenting his mother as he did so.
‘How do you do, Mrs Webb,’ Liza extended her hand grandly.
‘Oh, please call me Mary-Beth.’ A pretty grey haired woman with a gentle expression and sincere eyes, clasped Liza’s hand in both of hers. ‘It’s great to meet you and we’re just so thrilled that Rosie is going to become part of our family,’ she continued earnestly. Her face was sweet and friendly, and her expression was warm. ‘Come and meet my daughter, June, and her husband, Ronald, and these are my beautiful daughters-in-law, Donna and Lee, with my sons, Hank and Clint.’ Then she waved her hand in the direction of a clutch of children between the ages of eleven and fifteen who were standing staring at Liza as if she was like someone from a travelling show. ‘These are my grandkids, but I won’t confuse you with all their names right now.’
‘And have you met…?’ Liza began, indicating her daughters with a sweep of her hand.
‘Sure.’ Mary-Beth sounded as if she thought Liza needed comforting. ‘Salton’s been a great host, and I just think you’ve got the most beautiful family. You must be very proud of them all.’
Liza blinked rapidly. Her eyes were suddenly pricking with the most unexpected and unwelcome tears. She looked around wildly for a moment and to her great relief a waiter stepped forward and offered her a glass of champagne. ‘Thank you,’ she said, grandly again, and took a swift gulp.
‘So… how are you enjoying London?’ she asked in her social voice.
Henry was engaged in easy conversation with Hank and Clint and their wives, and for a moment she felt betrayed. Why wasn’t he being supportive? She knew she looked overdone and vulgar and desperately nouveau riche, but she’d only wanted to impress these Americans, and now they were the ones who were looking and behaving like the aristocracy. For a moment she felt furious with Henry, especially when she saw Juliet’s eyes sweep over her gold evening dress with astonishment.
Rosie joined them at that moment in an obvious attempt to help things along. ‘Mummy, you look so glamorous,’ she said brightly, but there was pity in her deep blue eyes that cut Liza to the quick. ‘Look what Mrs Webb has given me; isn’t it beautiful?’ She held out her wrist, showing a fine gold chain bracelet. ‘It belonged to Salton’s grandmother.’
‘It’s beautiful, darling,’ Liza said in a choked voice. Tears were gathering in a rush now and she was hit by a wave of panic. To cry? In public? It was the most shaming thing she’d ever done, and why? Why?
Mary-Beth smiled understandingly, and taking Liza’s arm drew her gently aside. ‘It’s such an emotional time, isn’t it, when one’s children get married? I have to admit I howled like a dog when Salton told me he was engaged; I was just so happy for him, and he and Rosie are perfect for each other, aren’t they? And it’s not the best time for us is it – what with the Change and all that? If I’m not weeping I’m having hot flushes and palpitations!’ She laughed gaily as if it was all a part of This Wonderful Life. ‘At least they’re going to be living in London, so you’ll get to see your girl all the time,’ she continued consolingly.
Liza took an instant dislike to Mary-Beth for being kind to her.
Much later, in bed that night, Liza reflected she’d never had such a horrible evening. To be reminded that she was ending one cycle of her life, the best cycle, and from now on she’d be getting steadily older, was the final straw. The next two hours of that dinner party had been agonizing, as she tried to be bright and cheerful when she felt like dissolving into a puddle on the thick carpet of the Hyde Park Hotel. She’d drunk too much wine, but what the hell! At least she was rich enough, thanks to Henry, to be miserable in comfort.
By the day of the wedding, Liza had recovered some of her self-confidence, having taken Juliet’s advice on what to wear.
‘Not too big a hat, either,’ Juliet had warned. ‘We’re not in Westminster Abbey this time around.’
In the end everything went very smoothly, and Liza gloried in her day of being back where she considered she belonged. As she and Henry stood with Rosie, Salton and Mary-Beth, receiving their illustrious friends in the ballroom of the Dorchester she felt as if she ‘arrived’ all over again, just as she’d felt when she and Henry set up house in London.
But alas, if, as she’d hoped, the Webb family were knocked sideways by the calibre of her guests they certainly didn’t show it. In fact they seemed utterly underwhelmed by the cream of Debrett’s peerage.
Instead, rather to her annoyance, they seemed to concentrate their approval on the religious part of the proceedings, praising the choice of heartfelt prayers, appropriate readings and stirring music. They were also entranced by Rosie’s two children, Jonathan, who was now eight, and nine-year-old Sophia, who clutched Nanny Granville’s hand throughout the service and never said a word.
‘I don’t think they even noticed the flower arrangements,’ Liza remarked mystified, as they changed into evening dress that night. They were staying with Juliet and Daniel, and she’d invited the Webb family to dinner.
‘Rosie’s very lucky to have such nice in-laws, isn’t she?’ Henry remarked, doing up his mother-of-pearl and sapphire cufflinks.
‘Very nice.’ Liza didn’t really want to talk about the Webbs. They were so damn nice it was sickening. Christian, do-gooding, deeply moral and really very unexciting. She wondered what they thought of Juliet? A divorcee married to another divorcee? And what if they found out Louise had become pregnant when she’d been fifteen?
‘Wasn’t it great seeing so many of our friends today, darling?’ she asked instead, preferring to dwell on more pleasant matters.
Henry mumbled something about being glad it was all over bar the shouting, and she realized this was not the moment to suggest they return to town permanently.
In the master bedroom Juliet looked across at Daniel as he stood, feet apart and with his hands dug deeply into the trousers of his dinner jacket, looking out at Hyde Park in brooding silence. He’d been in a strange mood all day, ever since he’d opened his mail while they’d breakfasted.
‘Is everything all right, my darling?’ she said softly, coming up behind him and slipping her slim arms around his waist. He stiffened and glancing at his profile, she saw the angry line of his jaw.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked immediately, moving round so she could look into his face.
He seemed to be watching the heavy traffic moving below, creeping along Park Lane. ‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ he said shortly.
‘You would tell me… if you could, wouldn’t you?’
She knew his job at MI5 forbade him to talk about his work; the end of the war hadn’t changed that and never would, and sometimes she hated the fact that there were important parts of his life he could never share with her. It isolated him, forbidding him from taking her into his confidence. His gaze shifted to her face, and she could tell he was making an effort to appear light-hearted.
‘I sometimes wish we could get away from here.’
‘Away?’ she echoed in surprise. ‘What do you mean? Away to another country? Are Salton’s family making you wish you lived in America?’
He shook his head. ‘No, nothing like that.’ Then he leaned forward and kissed her very tenderly on the lips. ‘I just want to be wherever you are, sweetheart, and wherever you are is fine by me.’
Juliet kissed him hungrily. ‘Let’s hope we can get to bed early. I want you to make love to me all night.’ She pressed herself against him. ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned as she felt his arousal. ‘Can we…?’ she begged.
‘But you’re all dressed…’
‘So are you! So what?’ She backed him playfully towards her maharaja’s silver bed, and then pushed him down on to the purple velvet coverlet. A moment later she slipped out of her black satin evening dress. ‘Please, darling…’ she whispered seductively. ‘Make love to me now or I shall die.’
‘Juliet and Daniel should be down by now, the Webbs will be here in a minute,’ Liza fretted, pacing around Juliet’s drawing room, adjusting the black velvet cushions that Dudley had already plumped up on the white sofas. ‘Are you feeling all right, Louise?’
Louise was sitting down and looked pale. ‘I’m just tired, Mummy. I was standing at the reception for over two hours and now my back’s killing me.’
‘Thank God this is the last night of all this stupid socializing,’ Amanda exclaimed. ‘I can’t imagine what it’s cost you, Daddy, but I bet it’s enough to have kept a hundred families in food for a year.’
‘You’re going to want Daddy to give you just as good a wedding, when you get married,’ Liza told her crisply.
‘No, I won’t! It’s a complete waste of money. At least Juliet had her reception here, and not in some swish hotel! Anyway, I’ve no intention of ever getting married; it would get fearfully in the way of my political career.’
Liza looked nervous. Was Amanda going to be one of those women… who preferred other women? How would she explain that to her friends?
Lady Anne merely smiled. She’d heard it all before and when Amanda found the right man, she’d want all the trimmings, just like her sisters.
They heard the doorbell ring.
‘They’re here!’ Liza said, ‘Oh, it’s so rude of Juliet not to be down to greet them. What on earth can she be doing?’
But at that moment Juliet swanned into the drawing room, her neck covered with red blotches and her eyes glowing. ‘Hello, everyone. Sorry I’m late, my zip stuck and I couldn’t do up my dress! Never mind, I’ve made it just in time.’
‘What’s that rash?’ Charlotte asked in alarm. ‘You haven’t got measles, have you?’
They could hear Mary-Beth’s voice as the Webb family came up the stairs, before anyone had a chance to tell Charlotte to shut up. Mary-Beth was saying, ‘What a perfect example of art deco!’
Juliet was at the drawing-room door to greet her.
‘My dear, this is all exquisite!’ Mary-Beth said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘You’re too young to have been inspired by the Exposition Des Arts Decoratifs in Paris in 1925, but you’ve obviously studied the period to perfection!’
‘Thank you.’ Juliet smiled with pleasure. ‘I must show you my bedroom after dinner. It’s the real pièce de résistance of the place.’
Liza was staring at Mary-Beth, a jealous gleam in her eyes. How was it that this woman was so cultured? She frowned with irritation. Unless she exerted herself she was the one who was going to look as if she came from Hicksville, not Mary-Beth.
Within moments Lady Anne and Salton’s mother were greeting each other like old friends. In fact, everyone was getting on famously, with Charlotte talking to the teenage nephews and nieces, and Henry and Daniel discussing with Hank, Clint and Ronald how well the wedding had gone, while Juliet and the young American wives were discussing the London shops. In desperation Liza found herself trying to make conversation with Amanda who was in no mood for small talk.
‘I hope it’s not going to be a late night,’ Amanda grumbled. ‘I should be at college, studying.’
For a moment Liza wished that Rosie had stayed for this dinner instead of going on honeymoon. Her precious firstborn was always so supportive and the sudden longing for Rosie’s presence made her eyes sting. Damn, she thought, reaching for another glass of champagne. I’ll have to get something from the doctor if the Change is going to make me weepy all the time. Maybe a prescription for Bromide? That’s what they’d given Rosie when Charles was killed.