‘You will most definitely have someone to dance with.’
Amber looked at him. ‘You mean you will be there?’ Her eyes sparkled.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Robert told her, realising as he said the words that they were true.
They were in Selfridges, and soon it would be time to leave since Amber had a fitting for her presentation dress. As always, though, she wanted to draw out the precious minutes she spent with Lord Robert and so she begged him, ‘Tell me again about the party when they had a treasure hunt and the clues had everyone running into Selfridges and jumping over the counters.’
Robert shook his head and laughed. ‘Those were foolish times – I should never have told you about them.’
‘I’m glad you did. They must have been such fun.’
‘Come now, it’s time you were back in Cadogan Place,’ Lord Robert told her firmly.
‘Are you ready yet?’ Louise asked Amber aggressively, ‘only I’m not waiting for you if you aren’t, and Mummy said to tell you that you’re to come with us to a tea party later.’
Amber didn’t mind so much about going for her gown fitting, but she would much rather not have been going to the tea party.
The gowns were being made by Reville in Hanover Square, the same court dressmaker who had not only made Lady Rutland’s own gown a generation before, but who had also been one of Queen Mary’s favourite dressmakers. Although Amber’s grandmother had been content to let Lady Rutland choose the dressmaker, she had insisted on selecting the fabric for Amber’s gown herself. It was de rigueur that débutantes wore only white or the palest of pastel-coloured gowns. For Amber’s gown her grandmother had chosen a silk for the underdress that was neither white nor cream but somewhere in between, over which was to go lace sewn with tiny pearls so that it looked as though the entire skirt of the overdress was made from mother-of-pearl. To complement the fabric Blanche had specified that the dress itself was to be made in the simplest of styles, little more than a narrow full-length shift at the front, but at the back from the base of Amber’s spine the overskirt was split to reveal a fan of plain satin pleats that formed a small train.
Louise had laughed mockingly when they had gone for their first fittings, twirling around in her own far more full-skirted and fussy gown, with its daringly peach underskirts showing through the heavy lace overdress, but now as they both watched the undeniable elegance of Amber’s gown emerging from the seamstress’s clever fingers, Louise’s mockery had given way to scowls.
Not that their presentation gowns were the only new clothes the girls had. Amber’s grandmother’s letters were full of detailed instructions about which shops Amber was to visit in order to be fitted for the outfits Blanche had already discussed by telephone with the shop manageresses. Invariably Louise too had a new outfit paid for by Blanche, but Louise’s choice was her own, and Amber was beginning to recognise that whilst her grandmother had ‘good taste’, Louise clearly did not.
Now as she brushed her hair, and thanked her maid for helping her, Amber acknowledged that she didn’t much care whether Louise waited for her or not.
She had had such a wonderful time this morning with Lord Robert. She hugged her pleasure to herself, wrapping it around her. What did Louise’s unkindness matter when she had such a wonderful friend in Lord Robert?
The fitting didn’t take very long, although Louise complained that her dress had been trimmed with the wrong lace. On their way back Amber insisted on calling in at Hatchards to order a copy of Evelyn Waugh’s new book.
It was only after she had completed giving her order that she realised that Louise was now in conversation with a man who must have come into the shop after them. Although she didn’t know why, something about the way Louise was behaving made Amber feel uneasy and uncomfortable. When Louise didn’t make any attempt to introduce Amber to her companion she felt relieved.
Louise was plainly enjoying the encounter, though, and in the end Amber left the shop without her and was several yards down the street when Louise finally caught up with her, out of breath but looking like the cat who’d got the cream.
The tea party was being given by Lady Wyesnaith at her Carlton Terrace home. Louise had chosen to wear a very close-fitting satin sleeveless dress in bright blue – almost the same shade as her eyes – with a deep V neckline, whilst Lady Rutland was wearing her customary rusty black beneath her furs.
Amber, without anyone to guide her, had asked her maid uncertainly, ‘What should I wear, do you think?’ and she had guessed from the pleased look Louise had given the softly draped, very simple pale amber frock, with its toning silk velvet jacket embroidered with amber bugle beads Amber had chosen, that Louise considered her own outfit to be far superior.
Since Lady Wyesnaith was presenting her own daughter at one of the court presentations, the tea party was one of those events, given by the sponsors of débutantes, ostensibly for the girls to get to know one another and the mothers to check diaries to ensure that no important débutante balls clashed, but in reality for the mothers to check out the competition their daughters might face amongst the other girls and to tailor their guest lists accordingly.
Amber, who had listened diligently whilst the Comtesse du Brissac instructed them on the importance of small talk and how one should engage in it, did her best when Lady Rutland abandoned her at a tea table with one spare seat without introducing her, but Amber knew from the silence that her intrusion was exactly that, which made the hand she felt on her arm and the familiar voice of her best friend from school, exclaiming happily, ‘Amber, I can’t believe it’s you. How wonderful!’ all the more welcome.
They had agreed, at Amber’s suggestion, during their final term together at school that they would not write to one another. Amber had believed then that their paths lay in very different directions and, knowing how conservative Beth was, she hadn’t wanted to embarrass her schoolfriend by clinging to their friendship when there was such a wide social divide between them. Now, of course, things were different – at least for the present, and whilst Amber was mixing in the same social circles as her schoolfriend.
Within seconds Amber was being spirited away to be introduced to Beth’s mother, who greeted her with such genuine kindness that Amber felt close to tears.
The Countess of Levington was an older and worldlier version of her daughter. They shared the same features, and good clear English skin, although Beth’s hair was fairer than her mother’s. Looking at Beth’s mother, Amber could see quite plainly what Beth herself would be in years to come. It was plain that the countess was a loving parent.
A brisk nod of her head confirmed that yes, the countess did indeed remember Beth talking about Amber, her friend from school.
‘Your father was, I believe, Russian?’ she questioned Beth, with practised ease.
‘What are you doing here?’ was Beth’s first question once they were on their own. ‘I thought you wanted to go to art school!’
‘I did. But my grandmother wouldn’t let me. She’s paid Louise’s mother to bring me out.’
There, she had said it, and she was holding her head high, even if inside she was dreading what Beth might think.
To her relief Beth’s only comment was a sympathetic, ‘It must be horrid for you, having to live with Louise.’
Amber gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘It is.’
Beth gave her arm a small squeeze. ‘Never mind. I’ll ask Mummy to make sure that we get invited to the same things. Finishing school in Paris was awful, worse than school, and now I still have to go to the Vacani School to learn to curtsy, and you know how clumsy I am.’
‘We’ve done that,’ said Amber. ‘I was hopeless at first.’
‘Oh,