The passengers were summoned to dinner by bugle call, which was the tradition on the Olympic. Poppy had taken a nap after her time at the pool, while Delilah had been out and about socializing. But by seven o’clock they were both bathed and dressed and ready to make their grand entrance into the first-class dining room, down the majestic oak staircase. Poppy wore the same pale pink Jean-Charles Worth she had worn the night she and Daniel broke up. She’d thought twice about it, but in the end decided it was the best frock she had in her trunk and she wouldn’t let her emotions stop her from getting her money’s worth – even if she hadn’t paid for it!
Delilah wore a Madeleine Wallis leaf green silk and chiffon sleeveless evening gown with a silver lamé sash and silver shoes. It was brand new, from the 1921 House of Paquin spring collection. She’d bought it on a shopping trip to Paris. Unlike Poppy, whose budget restricted her to the department stores of Oxford Street, Delilah frequently popped over to Gay Paris whenever one of her favourite designers was showing a new collection. Poppy had to admit that Delilah looked divine, and whatever the price tag, she could no doubt afford it.
The two exquisitely dressed women, one petite and brunette, the other taller, blonde and slightly fuller-figured, stood at the top of the staircase and drew the eyes of nearly everyone in the dining room below.
“Just smile and pretend you do this every day,” whispered Delilah, who could feel Poppy tense beside her. Delilah squeezed Poppy’s hand warmly, then linked arms with her friend and led her down the stairs. Poppy held her breath and prayed her Cuban heels would not get caught in her Vandyked hem.
At the bottom of the stairs they were greeted by Rollo, who inserted his squat body between them and linked arms. “Ladies, you both look swell,” he declared, and steered them across the dance floor to the restaurant tables beyond. Already seated at a round table with a white damask table cloth were Aunt Dot and Miss King.
“Hello, you two! Delilah, darling, thank you again for giving up your suite for me. Gertrude and I have settled in very nicely, haven’t we, Gertrude?” Gertrude King nodded solemnly. She was looking a little green about the gills, Poppy thought.
As Rollo pulled out a chair for her, next to the older woman, Poppy asked quietly: “Are you all right, Miss King?”
Miss King cleared her throat and replied: “As well as a landlubber can be, I suppose.”
Poppy smiled at the dour woman’s attempt at humour. Sea sickness was a horrible thing, she’d heard. Fortunately, Poppy had found her sea legs quickly and thought the gentle lilting of the ocean liner soothing rather than stomach-churning. On her previous sea voyage she had been more concerned about a possible attempt on her life than any queasiness, so she had wondered how she would get on in more benign circumstances.
Aunt Dot, a frequent traveller, looked in rude health, her blonde curls piled high on her head and held in place by her best tiara. She was extolling the virtues of her luxury cabin to Delilah and asking what it was like “slumming it” in the cheaper cabin.
“It’s hardly a slum, Dot,” said Delilah. “Just not quite as luxurious as yours. It’s still first class. And of course,” she added, grinning at Poppy, “I’m bunking with a first-class cabin mate.”
Aunt Dot laughed. “What fun you girls are going to have!” And then, more wistfully, “What I’d give to be young, footloose, and fancy free again.”
“My dear Miz Denby, I’d take your age and beauty over these young flappers any day!” said Rollo, winking at Poppy and Delilah.
“You’d better watch out, Mr Rolandson, or I might just take you up on that,” said Aunt Dot with a melodramatic flutter of her false eyelashes. “And it will be interesting to see if you can outrun a wheelchair,” she added, and everyone at the table laughed.
Aunt Dot then went on to inquire after the health of Rollo’s sweetheart, Yasmin Reece-Lansdale. The newly appointed barrister – one of the first women in the country to hold the position – was an old associate of Aunt Dot’s from her days as a suffragette.
While Dot and Rollo were reminiscing, Poppy and Delilah took some menus from a hovering waiter and perused the culinary fayre. As Poppy was trying to decide between a soup or shellfish starter she heard a booming American voice call out: “Well, if it isn’t Rollo Rolandson! How are you, old sport?”
Poppy looked up to see a tuxedoed gentleman of around sixty, sporting a salt and pepper moustache under an aquiline nose. His grey hair was slicked back and his sideburns were sharply trimmed. Poppy’s heart started to race. The American man’s patrician looks had for a moment reminded her of Lord Melvyn Dorchester, the man who had nearly cost her her life during her first assignment for The Daily Globe. However, the American’s sparkling eyes were filled with good humour and he was pumping Rollo Rolandson’s arm up and down with bonhomie.
“How many years has it been, old chap?”
“Too many!” declared Rollo, who braced his legs to absorb the impact as his interlocutor slapped him on the back with his spare hand.
“You will, of course, remember my wife.”
The man let go of Rollo’s hand and took the arm of a splendidly attired brunette lady in her mid-fifties and edged her towards the editor. She wore a navy-blue crêpe velvet evening gown, cut to disguise the spreading figure of middle age while accentuating her elegant neck and shoulders, as well as an exquisite diamond choker. She too carried herself with the bearing of an aristocrat, and although she did not wear a tiara like Aunt Dot, Poppy realized this was a woman born and bred to wealth. She reached out a gloved hand and allowed Rollo to take it. He did so, with some reluctance, Poppy thought.
“Good evening, Miz Spencer,” said Rollo.
“Good evening, Mr Rolandson.” The woman withdrew her hand as soon as introductions were over, turning her body away from the diminutive editor. Hmmm, thought Poppy, noting the body language, there’s some history there.
“We-ell,” said her husband in what Poppy was to learn was known as the Long Island drawl, “you ce-ertainly are the thorn among the roses.” He nodded to the four ladies seated at the table.
Rollo preened like a rooster in a hen house. “That I am, Theo, that I am. Let me introduce you. Ladies, this is Theodore Spencer and his wife Amelia. Senator Spencer, I do believe he is now.”
Theodore nodded his assent.
“Theodore is an old friend of my family from Long Island.”
“Not that old, old sport!” laughed Theodore and bowed to the ladies. “Good evening, ladies.”
Mrs Spencer politely inclined her head too.
Rollo continued: “May I introduce Miz Dorothy Denby and her companion, Miz Gertrude King, from London. Miz Denby is –”
“Heavens above! It’s Dot Denby!” The previously subdued Amelia Spencer lit up like a Broadway stage. She stepped forward and thrust out her hand towards Aunt Dot. “I’m Amelia, Amelia Spencer. I’m sure – or at least I hope – Emmeline has told you all about me. I’ve been working with the sisters in New York to get the vote. And we finally have – glory hallelujah – we finally have!”
Aunt Dot’s West End countenance lit up too. “Amelia Spencer! Well I never! Of course Emmeline has told me all about you. The Pankhursts hold you in the highest regard, and any friend of the Pankhursts is a friend of mine. How delightful to meet you!”
Poppy thought for a moment that the two women might embrace, but they didn’t. Instead, Aunt Dot gestured to the other women at the table with a sweep of her plump white hand. “Let me finish Mr Rolandson’s introductions. My companion, Gertrude King, my niece, Poppy Denby – a lady journalist, no less – and Delilah Marconi, who is practically a daughter to me. Delilah’s mother was a sister too. I don’t know if you heard of Gloria Marconi on your side of the pond…”
Amelia nodded solemnly. “We did indeed. She was mourned as a martyr to the cause. I’m sorry for the loss of your mother, m’dear,” she said softly, “but she did not die in vain.”
Delilah’s large brown eyes grew wider and welled with tears. “Thank you,” she said softly and lowered her head.
An awkward momentary silence ensued, but was soon broken by Theodore’s loud and enthusiastic: “We-ell, we’re delighted to meet y’all. Aren’t we, m’dear?”
“We are,” agreed his wife with what appeared to be genuine warmth. Whatever chill Poppy had detected earlier in relation to Rollo had thawed.
“May we join you?” asked Theodore, indicating the five empty seats at the table.
“Of course!” said Rollo and Aunt Dot in unison.
“Two more will be joining us in a moment, if you don’t mind,” said Amelia as her husband pulled out her seat for her. She looked over to the stairs, as if expecting the latecomers to arrive imminently, then smiled as two dashingly handsome young men approached from across the dance floor.
Poppy and Delilah sat up a little straighter as Miles and Toby Spencer joined the party. Of course! thought Poppy. Spencer.
“Ah! There you are, boys!” declared Theodore, and proceeded to make introductions around the table.