I decided I would wear the dress I’d made for my eighteenth birthday party. It was the only formal evening gown I possessed.
‘If not, I could lend you something. You could soon alter it to fit you.’
‘Not if I’m going to have your gown ready on schedule.’
‘I’m looking forward to wearing that,’ Mary said. ‘How is it coming along? Have you done any more designs that might suit me?’
‘Yes, one or two. I’ll show them to you when you come for the final fitting.’
Since the subject had turned to fashion, we talked about various ideas. Mary had heard of Coco Chanel, of course, but her aunt did not approve of the French designer’s casual style.
‘I’m sure Aunt Emily would have me wearing whalebone corsets if she could,’ Mary said and laughed.
‘My mother thought my Chanel-style suit was too short at first, but my father bought it for me so she couldn’t forbid me to wear it.’
We talked about clothes until lunch, and then Mary took me inside. The house seemed dark and cold after the warmth of the sun, but despite the formality I could see that it was the home of a very wealthy man. There were antiques, silver and what I presumed were valuable paintings and huge mirrors in each of the rooms we passed through, and the dining table was set with beautiful crystal, china and silver.
The meal itself was very nice. We had iced soup with watercress to start, followed by fresh salmon poached in white wine with tiny new potatoes, minted peas and green beans. For dessert there was a choice of lemon meringue pie or chocolate cake and coffee. The white wine was chilled and delicious. I was careful to drink only one glass, because I was afraid it might make me giggle. I wasn’t used to drinking wine in the middle of the day, or at any time really.
After lunch, Mary put some jazz records on the gramophone and we practised a new dance that had just come from America.
‘Did you know there’s a craze for marathon dancing out there?’ she said. ‘They just go on and on for hours at a time.’
‘Yes, I know. I read about a new record for the amount of hours danced in the paper. It’s absolutely mad, isn’t it?’
‘My father goes to America sometimes,’ Mary said. ‘I went with him once on a huge liner. It was quite exciting. They have some marvellous shops in New York, and the women have fabulous furs and jewels. Daddy says he may retire there one day. I hope he doesn’t make me go with him; I don’t think I would like it.’
‘Oh, my uncle has gone out there to live with his new wife. Why didn’t you like it, Mary?’
‘It was nice for a holiday but I prefer the country. We have a lovely house in Hampshire, much nicer than this. You must come and stay with me for the whole weekend, Amy. We could go down in one of Daddy’s cars and stay there – just you and me.’
‘Would your father allow that?’
‘Oh yes, he scarcely ever goes there himself. It was my mother’s house really, left her by her grandmother. She lived there most of the time after … after she couldn’t have more children.’
‘It sounds nice, Mary, but I would have to have time off. I usually work on Saturday mornings.’
‘Miss O’Rourke would let you off for once,’ Mary said. ‘Especially if you were working on dresses for me.’ She gave me a wicked smile. ‘I could order several if I wanted – and tell all my acquaintances where I bought them.’
‘That’s blackmail, Mary.’ I was both amused and shocked by this revelation of another side of her character.
‘Well, why not? I’m not above using a little persuasion if it gets me what I want. Other people do it all the time.’
I wondered what kind of people she knew, but didn’t comment. I wasn’t sure I liked this side of Mary. I preferred the shy, gentle girl she seemed to be most of the time. But there appeared to be two sides to her, and I thought she was probably more like her cousin than she knew or admitted.
‘Matthew is coming next Saturday, and there’s your own party on Friday …’
‘We’ll go the week after,’ she said. ‘You speak to Miss O’Rourke and I’ll ask her very nicely when I come in for my final fitting.’
Mary looked at me with such appeal in her eyes that I gave in, and one part of me was very willing to go along with all she said. Mary’s friendship was opening up a new way of life for me, and I wanted it to continue for a while.
Lainie took me to see Lillian Gish in her latest film and we both wept all the way through the second half.
‘She certainly is the queen of tragedy,’ Lainie said afterwards. ‘I don’t know why I enjoy films like that, they always make me cry.’
‘Perhaps we should have gone to see Charlie Chaplin,’ I said, teasing her. She didn’t answer and I saw that she had gone quite pale, her eyes concentrated in a fixed stare as she looked across the road to the theatre that was hosting a new musical starring Fred and Adele Astaire. People were coming out at the end of the show, and many of them looked wealthy and richly dressed.
‘What’s wrong, Lainie? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at me and gave a little shake of the head as if trying to dismiss her thoughts. ‘In a way I have – a ghost from the past. Just someone I thought I had forgotten, that’s all.’
I was concerned for her. ‘Do you feel unwell? You looked as if you might faint for a moment.’
‘It was a bit of a shock,’ Lainie admitted. ‘Shall we have a drink before we go home? There’s something I want to tell you, Amy.’
‘Yes, of course.’ I took her arm, steering her towards a rather attractive-looking public house. ‘You should sit down for a few minutes. Give yourself time to recover.’
We went into the bar and found a table. Lainie sat down while I fetched us a drink – a small brandy for my aunt and a lemonade for me. A few eyebrows were raised as I was served; it was still frowned upon by some for ladies to enter a public house without a male escort. I reminded myself that this was 1923 and ignored the implied criticism in their looks as I carried the drinks back to Lainie.
‘I should have done that,’ she said. ‘People were staring because you’re so young to be in a public bar without an escort, Amy.’
‘Let them.’ I was defiant. ‘At art college we often went out as a crowd of girls. We didn’t need a male escort.’
‘That was different,’ Lainie said and smiled. ‘You went to places where you were known. Somewhere like this … Well, we’d better finish our drinks and leave.’
‘When you’re feeling better.’
She drank her brandy and stood up. I had hardly touched my lemonade. I followed her, feeling slightly annoyed that we were being driven out by unwarranted prejudice.
‘I don’t see why we had to leave so soon.’
Lainie hailed a taxi. She didn’t speak until we were safely inside.
‘A pub like that – in the centre of Theatreland – you could be taken for something you’re not, Amy.’ She pulled a rueful face as she saw I didn’t understand. ‘A prostitute. No, don’t look so shocked. It happens. And that is why you were stared at.’
‘I don’t look like a tart!’
‘No, of course you don’t look like a streetwalker, but there are high-class call girls, Amy. They dress well, speak well, and sell themselves only to wealthy clients.’
‘But that’s horrible,’ I said and a little shiver went down