“Why Maxim’s?” asked Rose plaintively. “We are tired and hoped to have a simple supper in the rooms.”
“Nonsense. Captain Cathcart says that the French lawyer won’t give us the direction of this Madame de Peurey. All the famous belles coquettes go to Maxim’s. Someone is bound to have heard of her.” She stood aside and ushered a petite little woman into the room. “This is your lady’s maid, Odette. We shall all meet in Le Salon des Aigles on the first floor in two hours. But not you, Miss Levine. After your recent adventures, I feel sure that you would be better remaining quietly here.”
“She means I’m not good enough,” said Daisy when the duchess had retired. “I may as well tell you, Rose, that I have spoken to Becket and we’re going to set up that dress salon with Miss Friendly. We’re going to get married and we’ll be our own bosses.”
Rose was dismayed. She realized in that moment how much she relied on Daisy’s chirpy company. “I shall miss you,” she said. Then she rallied. “Of course I shall buy all my gowns from you.”
Odette turned out to have some words of English and Rose had learned enough French from her governess to communicate with her. She felt lowered by the look of dismay on the maid’s face as she pulled out gown after gown. “What about the Worth gown?” she asked.
“Too, how you say, out of fashion. But I work quickly.” She pulled out a long white satin gown and then a blue one. She opened a large sewing box and got busily to work, cutting and pinning and sewing.
Daisy began to worry. Was Miss Friendly really that good?
As Rose and Daisy watched the little maid working away, they were unaware that Rose had been in the society pages of the Daily Mail in London that day, describing her trip to Paris with the duchess and also with her ex-fiancé.
But Harry got the news from Becket and swore under his breath. Becket had found some English newspapers in the front hall of the hotel. Harry decided he would need to be sure that he was with Rose at all times and that she did not wander off. He knew she had bought a guidebook to Paris at the station and had voiced a desire to see Notre Dame, among other places.
When he entered Le Salon des Aigles later to meet the rest of the party, he decided not to tell Rose she had been featured in the newspaper. She would only worry. The salon got its name from the medallions depicting Fortitude, Truth, Wisdom and Abundance, each flanked by large eagles.
He stood up as Rose entered the room, thinking she had never looked so beautiful. Her white gown was cut low and clung to her figure in the new long, soft line. It was decorated round the neck and down the front with blue fleurs-de-lis. A collar of pearls set off the whiteness of her throat, and pearls were woven into her brown hair. Over one gloved arm, she carried a ruffled chiffon cape of the same blue as the fleurs-de-lis. She moved gracefully towards him over the Aubusson carpets.
He kissed her gloved hand. “I have never seen you look so fine,” he said.
Rose smiled but reflected she had never felt so uncomfortable. Odette had lashed her tightly into a long corset and she wished she could escape somewhere and loosen the ties.
The duchess made her entrance. She was wearing a grey silk gown laden down with jewels. Again, she had so many diamonds on her head, her neck and about her person that Rose wondered how she could even move. Her jewels sparked fire from the Bohemian crystal objects which decorated the room.
“So we are all present?” said the Duchess. “Good. We’re off to Maxim’s.”
♦
They could have walked because Maxim’s also fronted on the Place de la Concorde, but Becket was waiting for them in a newly hired Panhard.
The swing doors of the famous restaurant were held open for them. Hands relieved them of their wraps, although in the case of the duchess it took some time because her diamonds had become caught in her various scarves and stoles.
They made their way past the buffet with its elegant fringe of gilded youth, past the long line of tables to the end of the room, where there was an open space with more tables. A little farther and up two steps, and there was a section set about for dining with a view of the lower floor.
This was where they were to take supper. This is where the best-dressed and wittiest women dined with their male relatives and friends. Down below, a red-coated band was playing waltzes as couples whirled around. The whole restaurant seemed infused with a restless gaiety.
“I do not think any of the ladies dining around us are the type to know someone like Madame de Peurey,” said Rose.
“No, they’re not. But I see an old friend of mine. I shall wave. Ah, he’s coming over.”
An elderly roué bent over the duchess’s hand, his corsets creaking.
“You look ravishing,” he said. “You will take Paris by storm.”
The duchess introduced Harry and Rose, naming her elderly admirer as Lord Featherstone.
“Do sit for a minute, Jumbo,” she said. “Have some champagne.”
“Gladly. I shall feast my eyes on the divinity that is Lady Rose.”
“I wouldn’t do that, you naughty old thing. The captain here would call you out. I need to find a certain Madame de Peurey.”
“Zuzu? That takes me back. What a wonder she was. They fought duels over her.”
“And where is she now?”
He cast an anxious glance at a formidable matron at his table. The duchess followed his glance. “I did not know you were married.”
“I’m not, yet. Postage-stamp heiress. Widowed. Wants the title and I want her money. I’d better get back.”
“Madame de Peurey. She was one of yours for a bit. Where is she?”
“Have you a piece of paper?”
Harry produced a small notebook and pencil. Featherstone scribbled an address. “Right, I’m off. I can feel my postage stamps disappearing by the minute.”
“You see?” said the duchess triumphantly. “I knew it would be easy. Now, let’s eat.”
Rose began to feel light-headed towards the end of the meal. Parisian gaiety frothed around her. Down on the floor, couples swung around in the waltz. The duchess broke off eating to greet old friends who had come up to her table.
“I never thought I knew so many people in Paris,” she said cheerfully. “I was sure they must all be dead.”
The supper consisted of eight courses. By the time the brandies and petits fours were served, Rose glanced at an elegant bronze clock on the wall. Four in the morning! Lucky Daisy. She would have been asleep for hours.
∨ Our Lady of Pain ∧
Six
The Dowager Duchess carried an air of solid assurance which belonged to a less uneasy age. That slightly raucous note of defiance was absent from her pronouncements. She did not protest; she merely ignored. Nothing unpleasant ever ruffled her serenity, because she simply failed to notice it.
– Vita Sackville-West
Two bottles of champagne, seclusion and a magnificent double bed proved to be too much for Daisy and Becket. They were to be married, after all.
Daisy, despite her chorus-girl background, was still a virgin, but as she confided, giggling, to Becket, a dance number where she had to perform the splits five times a night in the past had no doubt eased the way to losing it painlessly.
The gaiety of Paris, the excited feeling that everything goes, had entered into them and they made a happy night of it. Even when Daisy dimly heard the party returning, she did not leap up in alarm but snuggled closer to Becket and closed her eyes in contented sleep.
♦
They set out after lunch on the following day. Rose was delighted to see Daisy look so glowing and happy. Harry, on the other hand, eyed her narrowly, and hoped the wretched girl had not been doing anything she ought not to do.