Charlotte stepped lightly along Bond Street in her high heels, the long full skirt of her Dior ‘New Look’ outfit swirling around her slim legs. Oblivious of admiring glances from passers-by at her tiny nipped-in waist and small round breasts, she glanced into the shop windows with interest. Staying with Juliet for the past week had been a revelation and she’d been encouraged to buy all sorts of clothes her mother would think were too old, too sophisticated and too theatrical for her coming out.
‘What’s Mummy going to say?’ Charlotte asked, after their first day shopping in Knightsbridge. In the spare room of 99, Park Lane, her bed was piled high with chic off-the-shoulder cocktail dresses, wasp-waisted suits, little flower or feather hats, and high-heeled shoes with platform soles and ankle straps that she couldn’t stop gazing at.
‘They’re so divine!’ she crowed ecstatically.
‘As Mummy’s stuck down at Hartley with a broken ankle, she can’t say anything.’ Juliet grinned. ‘Anyway, she can’t complain because Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret wear clothes exactly like these; and even the Queen’s wearing platform shoes. They’re the latest thing.’
‘Thank God for Dior,’ Charlotte breathed. ‘I feel like a film star in all this stuff. Was it terribly expensive?’ she added anxiously.
‘Call it my early present to you for your birthday, darling.’ Juliet stood up. ‘How about a new hairstyle to go with your new wardrobe?’ she suggested.
‘What do you suggest?’ Charlotte asked, looking at herself in the big mirror that hung on the wall between the two windows.
‘Let’s go through Vogue for some ideas.’
Juliet had continued to take Charlotte around for the rest of the week, buying more clothes, and taking her to Elizabeth Arden’s salon to have her hair cut in a short stylish fashion.
Now, as she continued her perambulations along Bond Street, while Juliet was having a manicure and pedicure, Charlotte paused to look in the window of Asprey’s. There was a magnificent display of jewellery and her eyes marvelled at the size of some of the stones. She was just thinking how she’d give anything to wear the aquamarine and diamond necklace and matching earrings that lay on a black velvet cushion, when she heard a discreet clearing of the throat just behind her.
Turning, she saw a slim young man, dressed as if for the country in grey flannel trousers and a tweed jacket. His hair was untidy, but his smile was warm and wide.
‘Excuse me,’ he said diffidently, ‘but I couldn’t help seeing you walking along the street just now. Are you a model?’
Charlotte raised her eyebrows and blushed. ‘A model?’ she repeated.
He nodded. ‘I’m a fashion photographer. My name’s Simon Franks. I work on Vogue magazine and I wondered if you’d posed for any fashion shots?’
‘No-no. You’ve got the wrong person!’ she stammered, feeling slightly alarmed. She moved to walk on, but he stepped in front of her, his eyes exploring her face as if he was examining a rare work of art.
‘You’ve got the most exquisite features,’ he said dreamily. ‘I’ve never seen such perfect bone structure. Surely you’ve been photographed?’
‘No, really…!’ she protested. All her mother’s warnings about talking to strange men came flooding back. She wished Juliet was with her; she’d know how to get rid of this strange but pleasant-looking young man, whose accent was almost cockney but not quite.
He started searching in his pockets, producing bits of paper some of which dropped to the pavement. ‘Here!’ he said at last. Triumphantly he showed her a slightly battered business card.
Simon Franks, she read. Underneath it said Photographer. Printed in one corner was his address. Charlotte caught the word Chelsea, and remembered her mother saying no one lived in Chelsea. It was full of artists and the like and was not really a respectable area.
‘Take this,’ he urged, thrusting the card into her hand.
‘No, really…’ she said again, not wanting to be rude but anxious to get away.
He started scribbling a telephone number on the back of the card. ‘Listen, ring this number.’ He sounded agitated. ‘Why don’t you speak to the fashion editor of Vogue. Tell her I’ve seen you and I think you’d be perfect for the June issue. We’re doing evening dresses by Mainbocher, Schiaparelli and Molyneux…’
He gabbled on while Charlotte stood, no longer taking in what he said so bemused was she by his offer. She’d always secretly hankered to be a film star, but it had been a dream, one which started when a friend of Mummy had said she’d end up in Hollywood, and she’d never considered it seriously. But now…?
‘What’s your name?’ she heard him ask.
‘Charlotte,’ she answered automatically, without thinking.
He repeated her name almost reverently. ‘Charlotte. It’s a beautiful name. Have you heard of Barbara Goalen?’
‘No.’
He looked surprised. ‘Oh! Well, anyway, you’re going to be bigger than Barbara Goalen. You’re going to be the face of the decade. Believe me, Charlotte, I know what I’m talking about. What’s your phone number?’
She drew back nervously. ‘I, umm, I’m staying with my sister, I don’t remember her number. Now, I really must go.’ At that moment an empty taxi drove up Bond Street, and she hailed it and, jumping in quickly, gave the driver Juliet’s address.
As it drew away from the kerb she sneaked a look out of the back window; Simon what-ever-he-was-called was watching the receding cab, and at the same time writing something down. Charlotte turned her head quickly away, blushing at being caught looking at him.
When she got back to Park Lane, Juliet was still out, so she went to the table where the magazines were kept in the drawing room, and started flipping through the pages of the latest Vogue. Sure enough, under the most stunning photographs of models in a feature headed ‘Spring Wardrobe’ there was the name Simon Franks. So he really was a bona fide photographer and not some serial rapist!
When Juliet returned, ordering Dudley to bring them tea, Charlotte spoke with studied casualness. ‘Have you heard of someone called Barbara Goalen?’
‘Have I heard of Barbara Goalen?’ Juliet asked incredulously. ‘Everyone’s heard of her. She’s the most marvellous model. What a face! What a figure! I believe her waist really is only eighteen inches, and she wears incredible clothes and terrifically high heels. Why?’
Charlotte drew a deep breath and handed her Simon Franks’ card.
‘He stopped me in the street today. He said he wanted to photograph me for Vogue.’
‘What?’ Juliet sat upright, her hand clasping her swollen stomach.
‘What did you say?’
‘I told him I wasn’t a model.’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘Well, Mummy wouldn’t let me, would she?’
Juliet waved her hand airily. ‘Don’t worry about Mummy. I’ll talk to her. You must do it, darling. It’s a tremendous compliment, you know. Tell me exactly what he said?’
Charlotte gave a little giggle of embarrassment. ‘He said I was going to be bigger than Barbara Goalen. He said I was going to be the face of the decade. Do you think he meant it? I mean he only saw me walking along…’
‘Charlotte, this could be your future,’ Juliet said, her voice serious. ‘It’s the most marvellous opportunity. Don’t you realize what it means? You’ll become a famous beauty. Your picture will be everywhere. You’ll get to wear the most wonderful clothes… you’ll travel and be treated like royalty, and you’ll make a lot of money. Your own money; not just a dress allowance from Mummy and Daddy.’ She was walking two and fro now, up and down the black carpet of the drawing room, gesticulating excitedly.
‘But Mummy has always talked about models as if they were no better than… than prostitutes!’ Charlotte burst out anxiously. ‘She’ll go mad!’
Juliet came and sat down again beside her sister.
‘Listen, Mummy’s talking about the Dark Ages. Barbara Goalen has made modelling utterly acceptable and is genuinely admired and invited everywhere. She’s a lady from a good background; I believe her husband was killed in the war. If this photographer thinks you’re half as good as her, then you’re made. Believe me, I would stop you doing this if I thought it would ruin your reputation,’ she added forcefully.
‘So what shall I do?’ Charlotte asked, bewildered. Everything seemed to have gone skew-whiff in the last few minutes, like shaking a kaleidoscope and seeing all the coloured patterns change. ‘What about my being a deb?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Do both,’ Juliet advised. ‘Vogue would love that. “Clothes modelled by a debutante who is also a great beauty.” Darling, I’m so proud of you. Ring him up right away. Say you’ll do it. I’ll go with you to the studio the first time if you’re nervous. And it means you can stay here, with Daniel and me; won’t that be fun?’
Charlotte started laughing as she hugged her sister. ‘It’s all madness!’ she exclaimed. ‘Promise me you’ll be the one to tell Mummy?’
Liza took the news like a tragedy queen being told her daughter was doomed.
‘How could you let this happen?’ she raged accusingly at Juliet, who had taken the precaution of breaking the news over the telephone. ‘I had such high hopes for Charlotte, but who will want her now? No decent girl becomes a model…’
‘Mummy…’
‘She’ll be looked upon as a tart…’
‘Please listen…’
‘Plastered in make-up like a street walker—’
‘Mama!’ Juliet shouted, exasperated. ‘Things have changed.’
‘Being an actress is bad enough, but a model?’
‘She’ll only model couture clothes, for God’s sake!’
‘She’ll be ruined if she does this. I should never have let her stay with you and all your raffish friends,’ Liza exploded.
‘Charlotte can be a deb and a model,’ Juliet replied angrily. ‘It’s not like it used to be. Barbara Goalen has changed the face of modelling; it’s now a respectable and much admired profession, so for goodness sake calm down. Do you think I want Charlotte to get a bad reputation? I look upon this as a wonderful opportunity and she can stay with me and—’
Liza cut in furiously, ‘She’ll stay with me, in Princes Court. At least I’ll be able to keep an eye on her. If she stays with you and Daniel, God knows what will become of her.’
Juliet’s tone was cold. ‘I resent that. You know perfectly well I would never let her come to any harm.’
‘You’ll be too busy with your baby, anyway,’ Liza remarked sourly, knowing perfectly well that Charlotte would prefer to stay at Juliet’s, where the house was lively with the coming and going of their friends.
‘Thank heavens Mummy’s still at Hartley,’ Charlotte said to Juliet the following week. She’d been told to arrive at Simon Franks’ studio in Elm Park Gardens at ten o’clock, and Juliet had promised to accompany her.
‘Come as you are,’ Simon had said. ‘You’ll have your hair and make-up done when you arrive, so you needn’t bring anything.’
Juliet smiled. ‘Mama’s furious she still can’t walk on her ankle. I think she’ll be staying down at Hartley for several weeks yet.’
Charlotte gave a little shudder. ‘I’m scared enough as it is, but if she were with me, with all her embarrassing remarks, it would be ghastly!’
‘Don’t worry, darling. You’ll be fine. Before you know it, you’ll be rushing off on your own, being photographed on locations all over the place and your picture will be in every glossy magazine.’
When they entered the basement studio, it was as if a reception party had been formed to greet them. The fashion editor of Vogue and two of her assistants had arrived, with armfuls of ball gowns, boxes of jewellery and bags of high-heeled gold and silver kid evening shoes. In a corner a hairdresser and a make-up artist had laid out all their paraphernalia on a table and there was a high stool waiting for her to sit on.
Simon Franks greeted her as if she was an old friend, and immediately introduced his assistants to her. Charlotte’s face became transformed, her skin glowing and her eyes wide and bright with delight. It was as if she’d accidentally found what she’d always been searching for. This was where I really belong, she thought in wonder. Everyone was looking at her rapt expression, and Simon Franks was grinning from ear to ear, knowing a ‘natural’ when he saw one.
She felt a rush of confidence. ‘Isn’t this fun?’ Her light voice was childish in its enthusiasm. In the last few minutes she’d found a new, loving family, who were ready to embrace and make a fuss of her as if she was precious to them. ‘This is my sister, Juliet Lawrence,’ she explained.
Simon shook Juliet’s hand. ‘How do you do, Mrs Lawrence? I know you from the many photographs I’ve seen of you in magazines and newspapers.’ He smiled at them both. ‘My goodness, beauty really does run in your family, doesn’t it? Come and sit down. There’s a chair over here,’ he suggested.
Juliet looked at Charlotte. ‘I’ve only come to drop her off,’ she began, realizing her sister did not need to be chaperoned now she’d seen the set-up.
‘Oh, do stay for a bit,’ Charlotte said, but she also relaxed, showing that she knew she was going to be fine.
‘Yes, do stay and watch,’ Simon coaxed. ‘Can we get you a cup of coffee? Or tea?’
Juliet chose tea, and settled in the comfortable chair to watch, fascinated, as Charlotte was transformed from a lovely unspoilt seventeen-year-old girl from the country into a stunningly exquisite young beauty, groomed, chic and poised. When she appeared from the changing room wearing a pale pink silk crinoline, with a drift of fine chiffon around her bare shoulders and a jewelled belt clinching her tiny waist, there was an audible gasp from the fashion editor.
Charlotte glided forward, a playful smile hovering on her lips and a glint of pure happiness in her blue eyes. It was obvious she was enjoying herself and pleased with the way she looked.
Juliet beamed and nodded in approval.
For a moment Simon looked as if he’d been hypnotized. His eyes were wide and his mouth gaped in sheer amazement. Stunned, he turned to his assistants. ‘Let’s get on with it, then,’ he told them, his voice shaking.
As Juliet watched, she saw Charlotte really was a natural. She moved so easily from position to position, taking Simon’s directing as if she’d done it all her life. She was as graceful as a ballet dancer, or like a living figure from a Fragonard painting. The atmosphere in the studio was electrifying.
The whole session lasted several hours, as Charlotte put on dress after dress, most of them inspired by Dior’s version of the romantic 1880s. Some were in fine white lace threaded with blue satin ribbon, others were in taffeta or satin which lay over a froth of tulle petticoats. All had tiny waistlines, huge crinoline style skirts, and bodices that revealed her smooth white shoulders.
At last they were finished, and everyone was exhausted except for Charlotte, who seemed to have been energized by the whole experience.
With his face white and drawn with exhaustion, Simon thanked her solemnly. ‘I’ll see you very soon,’ he said quietly as the sisters left.
The fashion editor and her assistants said the same thing in gushing voices, and the make-up artist and hairdresser gave her their business cards and told her to ring them when ever she wanted.
‘Was it really all right?’ Charlotte whispered to Juliet, as they got into the car.
‘Darling, you were bloody marvellous,’ Juliet said succinctly. ‘You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?’
Charlotte clasped her hands together. ‘I adored it!’ she breathed ecstatically. ‘When do you think they’ll want me again?’
That night Juliet went into labour early. ‘It’s all the excitement,’ she gasped between the contractions which were rapidly escalating.
Daniel, sitting by her bed in St George’s Hospital, held her hand tenderly. ‘You’re so brave, my darling. I wish they’d let me stay with you so I could share some of the pain.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m glad it’s not allowed.’ Another wave of pain took her breath away. ‘Having a baby is not exactly dignified.’ She had to stop again, biting her bottom lip before she could continue. ‘I wouldn’t want you to see me looking a mess.’
‘I’ll be waiting outside the door,’ he promised. ‘And the minute it’s over, I’ll be right back beside you.’
‘That’ll be lovely.’ She screwed up her eyes with agony, and the midwife who had been hovering for the past two hours stepped up to the bed.
‘Come along now, Mr Lawrence,’ she said in a kindly voice. ‘Your wife’s going to be very busy for the next hour or so, so go and get yourself a cup of tea and we’ll let you know as soon as the baby arrives.’
Daniel kissed Juliet, reluctant to leave her, wishing that doctors allowed fathers to stay.
But when he’d gone Juliet was relieved. He’d have hated to see her suffer, and she intended to be sitting up in bed, looking pretty in a new nightdress and bed jacket with the baby in her arms, when he eventually came back into the room. But it was wonderful to know that he’d be waiting outside, she reflected. Memories of the last time she’d been here in this very hospital when she’d lost their baby and she didn’t know where Daniel was, or if she’d ever see him again, still haunted her.
‘You’re doing fine, Mrs Lawrence,’ the midwife announced, after examining her. ‘This is not your first baby, is it?’
Tears slid down Juliet’s cheeks. ‘No,’ she whispered throatily, turning her face to the wall. How old would their daughter have been by now? Eight years old. A little girl, going to her school, having dancing lessons, playing in the garden of Hartley.
‘Could I have something… for the pain?’ Juliet wept. But it wasn’t the pain of childbirth she wanted to banish; it was the pain in her heart.
Three hours later Juliet was delivered of a healthy little boy weighing seven pounds and two ounces. And as she’d promised herself, she’d had a bed bath and was dressed in a pale blue satin nightgown and a blue chiffon bed jacket, trimmed with white marabou feathers when Daniel was ushered back into the room. His face was radiant and he went straight to her and folded his arms around her.
‘My darling girl,’ he kept whispering, as he covered her face in kisses. ‘Are you all right?’
She lay back contentedly. ‘I’m fine. Isn’t he beautiful?’
‘He’s wonderful. And quite big, too. Did you have a dreadful time, darling?’ He gazed anxiously into her eyes.
‘Actually, it was overshadowed by the excitement of his arrival,’ she replied candidly. And it was true. The pain had paled to nothing once she’d seen their baby son. Then she giggled. ‘He looks just like you, doesn’t he? Lucky boy!’
‘So… it’s Tristan Lawrence?’
Juliet nodded happily. They’d already decided if it was a boy they’d call him Tristan, and if it had been a girl, Madeline.
Daniel kissed her again, gently and lovingly. ‘You get some sleep now, sweetheart. I’ll phone The Times and the Telegraph to announce he’s arrived, then I’ll ring round the rest of the family.’
As Juliet drifted off to sleep she thought about her baby, and for the first time in years a sense of completeness swept over her. Now she had the beginnings of her own family, and it was a wonderfully secure feeling.
Rosie and Salton had recently moved into a much bigger house, in Chapel Street, Belgravia. ‘We’re going to need more space,’ she told everyone, ‘for when we have a baby.’
Sadly, there was still no sign of a baby, and as month after month passed, and Jonathan and Sophia grew bigger, Rosie’s frustration was reaching a fever pitch. It was all she could think about. All she could talk about. Her disappointment every month was crushing. Her medical bill, as she went from one Harley Street doctor to another, was beginning to alarm Salton. He’d already taken a test to make sure it wasn’t his fault, and they’d shown he was fertile. The problem lay with Rosie, but nobody seemed to know what it was.
When she heard Juliet’s baby had been born she took to her bed, swamped by feelings of defeat. What was the use? she asked herself. It was hard enough that Charlotte now had a career as a model who everyone was talking about, and Louise now had Daisy to replace Rupert and even Amanda was having a wonderful time at Oxford. It all made it harder to accept that her own life was so blighted. Rosie began to feel that she was jinxed.
From the moment she’d made her debut in 1935 everything had gone wrong. Her memory trawled over all the young men she’d known; only Alastair had fallen for her, until Juliet stole him away. Charles had married her for her money, and Freddie had left her for a fiancée she didn’t even know about. She’s also had to bring up Sophia and Jonathan on her own, and although Salton was wonderful with them, he too wanted them to have their own baby.
So deep was Rosie’s despair, she couldn’t even find pleasure in her beautiful new home. Even though Salton had got them a cook and they already had two daily cleaners, as well as Nanny, she felt herself burdened by life.
Knowing she should be more grateful to Salton for providing her with everything she’d asked for, she couldn’t help despising him at times, for being so easily manipulated. His easy going nature maddened her. She could twist him around her little finger and then twist him some more. Then she’d feel terribly guilty and spent days fearful that he might leave her.
‘I wish I could be happy,’ she confided to one of the specialists she consulted. He’d previously suggested her failure to get pregnant was being caused by her state of anxiety and that if she relaxed there was no medical reason why she shouldn’t have another baby.
‘What are you unhappy about, specifically?’ he enquired, looking at her face, thinking how her prettiness was spoiled by her discontented expression.
‘Nothing’s ever as good as I think it’s going to be,’ she admitted tearfully. ‘Mummy always said I’d have a marvellous life, make a brilliant marriage, be a great society beauty, and have anything I wanted… and it hasn’t happened.’
‘Maybe your mother gave you too great a sense of expectation?’ he suggested carefully. ‘Are any of your sisters unhappy?’
‘None of them,’ she said swiftly, her voice full of resentment.
The specialist had advised her to get a hobby, some interest that would take her mind off her worries, and then sent her on her way.
‘Such rubbish!’ Rosie scoffed afterwards. ‘As if some hobby could be a magic wand that could change everything.’
Nanny knocked on her bedroom door as she lay there feeling sorry for herself, and then barged in before Rosie had time to say anything.
‘Do you intend to spend the whole day in bed?’ Nanny asked, as if Rosie had still been a small child. ‘Jonathan wants to go to the zoo this afternoon, and Sophia’s dying to see Juliet’s baby. I’ll take him to the zoo, but why don’t you go with Sophia to see Tristan?’
‘I don’t feel well,’ Rosie complained.
‘Nonsense,’ Nanny snapped. ‘You’re just wallowing in self-pity. It’s time you stopped behaving like a spoilt child and started looking after your husband and children.’
Rosie sat up in bed angrily. ‘You can’t speak to me like that!’
‘I can and I will, because it’s for your own good,’ Nanny retorted. ‘I’ve looked after you since you were born and mark my words I’m not going to let you get away with laziness. You’re letting yourself go, and it’s not fair on the children. Count your blessings for once, Rosie. You’ve got a really nice husband who you don’t appreciate, and this lovely big house, and I’ll grant you, another baby would be lovely, but if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. Some women can never have children, but they don’t mope all over the place! Jonathan is a fine little fellow, and he’ll keep the Padmore title going, and Sophia is a gem! What more do you want?’ She stood in her navy blue uniform with a white apron, and a belt with a silver buckle, glaring down at Rosie’s recumbent figure aggressively.
Rosie wilted against the pillows under Nanny’s onslaught.
Nanny had one more card to play. ‘No matter what happened, you’d never find Lady Anne lounging about, feeling sorry for herself, would you?’
Rosie blushed. ‘No,’ she said in a small voice.
Nanny’s booming voice filled the room. ‘Then get up and get on! I’ll have Sophia nicely dressed and ready to go with you to see Juliet and the baby at half past two.’ With that she strode out of the bedroom, and closed the door noisily behind her.
Shortly before three o’clock Rosie and Sophia arrived at St George’s Hospital bearing a large bouquet of flowers and a little white teddy bear for Tristan.
Surprised, Juliet exclaimed, ‘How lovely to see you! You look good, Rosie. I love your outfit.’
Rosie had made a great effort with her make-up and had put on a new coral and white silk dress over which she wore a fine wool coral coloured coat. As a finishing touch she’d put on a small hat covered in white and coral flowers.
Sophia, holding her mother’s hand shyly, had been dressed by Nanny in exactly the same way she’d dressed all the Granville girls when they’d been small before the war. She didn’t approve of the new ‘casual’ style of children’s clothes so Sophia was wearing a pale blue linen coat under which she wore a cream Viyella hand smocked dress and a blue ribbon bow holding her long blonde hair back.
‘Hello, darling,’ Juliet greeted the child affectionately. ‘Have you come to see your little cousin?’
Sophia, who was the image of Rosie, nodded. ‘We’ve brought him a present from Harrods,’ she whispered.
‘That is so kind. Thank you very much. And flowers, too.’
‘Coals to Newcastle,’ Rosie observed, glancing around at the bouquets that stood on every surface and all along the floor down one side of the room.
‘Do you want to hold Tristan?’ Juliet asked with studied casualness, knowing how painful this moment must be for Rosie.
Tristan lay in a cot by the side of Juliet’s bed, wrapped in a Shetland shawl. His soft black hair was a fluffy halo and his rosebud mouth worked as he dreamed of sucking milk.
‘He’s asleep. I don’t think we should disturb him, do you?’ There was something about Rosie’s voice that was as brittle as dried flowers.
‘Maybe later then.’ Juliet lay back, longing for her afternoon nap. ‘How’s the new house? Is it nicer than the other one? You didn’t stay more than five minutes there, did you?’
Rosie spoke dismissively. ‘It was too small. We should never have taken it. When you’re up and about you must come and see it.’
‘Right now I’m so tired I don’t think I’ll ever move again.’ Juliet chuckled. ‘It’s the night feeds that are such a killer, coming on top of actually giving birth. I still feel as if I’ve been shifting boulders!’
‘You don’t have to feed him yourself.’ Rosie kept looking at the baby surreptitiously, pretending all the while she wasn’t that interested, but her whole body was wrenched with such longing she felt sick.
‘But I want to. At least for the first few months.’
‘Mummy never fed any of us herself, did she?’
Juliet gave an amused smile. ‘It would have got terribly in the way of her social life. You can’t very well take a baby with you to Buckingham Palace, and then start breastfeeding him in the middle of a court ball, can you?’
‘Mummy misses those days,’ Rosie said thoughtfully. ‘She and Daddy have never become friends with this King and Queen, as they did with the old King and Queen. They were always being invited to the Palace then, weren’t they?’
‘Mummy wearing every bit of jewellery she’d ever possessed.’
Rosie smiled, remembering how she and Juliet had watched from the nursery landing their parents setting off to various royal functions. Those had been such happy days! Safe and cosy, protected from outside forces and with the rest of their lives before them. If she’d known then how things would turn out and what deep disappointments she’d have to cope with, she wouldn’t have wanted to grow up, she reflected bitterly.
At that moment, a buxom young junior nurse came into the room, bearing two large bunches of flowers.
‘These have just arrived for you, Mrs Lawrence. You’ll soon be able to start a florist’s shop, won’t you?’ she added, laughing. ‘You should be having your rest, you know. Tristan is going to wake up in an hour or so, and then there’ll be no rest for the wicked!’ With a saucy waggle of her forefinger she plonked the bouquets on Juliet’s feet and bounced out of the room again.
‘Oh, God! I’m going to have so many thank-you letters to write, aren’t I?’ Juliet reached for the nearest bouquet and plucked from it the tiny envelope containing a card. ‘Open the other one for me, will you, Rosie? It’s all getting a bit too much. Oh, these are from Candida and Andrew! How kind.’ Juliet lay down again. ‘Who are the red roses from? They’re a bit flamboyant, aren’t they?’ she giggled weakly.
Rosie, having glanced at the other card, stuffed it back into the bunch of crimson roses, and carried it to the side table just inside the doorway. She pushed the other vases to one side to make more room, so the roses made a magnificent central arrangement.
‘I can’t make out the writing. Something about “many congratulations” and a squiggly signature.’ She came back to Juliet’s bedside. ‘Sophia and I ought to be off now so you can get some sleep. Come along, darling.’ She took Sophia’s hand.
‘Do we have to go? I want to see Tristan when he’s awake.’
‘We’ve got people coming to dinner tonight, and there’s still a lot to do.’
‘Then come to tea when I’m home again,’ Juliet suggested. ‘That would be fun, wouldn’t it?’ She smiled at Sophia. ‘Perhaps you could help me bathe Tristan?’
Sophia’s small chest heaved with delight. ‘Could I really? Mummy, Aunty Juliet says I can…’
‘Yes, darling,’ Rosie replied evenly. ‘Bye now, Juliet. Have a good sleep. You need to keep up your strength.’
‘Thanks.’
After they’d gone, Juliet curled up on her side and quickly sank into a deep untroubled sleep. It was to be the last time she’d speak to Rosie for over two years.