Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
It was then that a thought struck Christina… the thought that women needed clothes that were relaxed and loose, to allow for ease of movement and comfort. And several new ideas for her winter collection began to germinate in her fertile brain. This prescience to see ahead, to visualize what women would want, to forecast in her own mind coming trends, would prove to be another secret of her success. For it was her great vision that lifted Christina Crowther from the ranks of the merely talented designers into the stratosphere of the truly brilliant.
The ideas which had come to her at the ice rink in the Alps immediately went onto the drawing boards in her studio at the top of the Bruton Street house, when she returned to London. Christina was aware that her winter collection had to be in production by May, if it was to be ready for showing in September of that year. And so she kept her head down working hard all through the remainder of February and into March, as did Jane.
Jane’s career as a costume designer was flourishing.
The clothes she had designed for her mother and the rest of the cast in
Elizabeth Regina
had been highly acclaimed; she had gone on to design the costumes for another West End production. During the spring of 1956 she was busy at work on the entire wardrobe for a film soon to be shot at Elstree Studios, and once this was completed she was planning to go to New York for several months. She had recently signed a contract to design the costumes for a Broadway show, a musical that was apparently going to be spectacular. Not unnaturally, she considered this to be a great challenge and was looking forward to her sojourn on the other side of the Atlantic.
But in spite of all their work, the two friends managed to have a busy social life, and in many ways this was the most hectic spring and summer either of them had ever experienced.
At the beginning of May, Ralph Sedgewick invited them to come and stay at the villa he and Dulcie had rented in the South of France for the month of June.
‘Do let’s go,’ Jane said. ‘We both need a holiday, but especially you, and Beaulieu-sur-Mer is such a pretty place. And listen, Crowther, after we’ve had a few days of rest and recuperation we can take a car and drive up to Grasse, so you can investigate that perfume idea.’
‘Of course!’ Christina exclaimed, ‘what a wonderful suggestion that is, Janey. And I’d love to come. I’ll ring your father tomorrow, to thank him and accept.’
She did so, and for the next few weeks Christina turned her attention to the perfume she wished to market under the Christina label. Her name had already acquired cachet on both sides of the Atlantic, and she knew that a perfume would do well.
This had actually been the brainstorm of Giselle Roux, immediately after the immense success in January. ‘You
must have the
parfum
, Mademoiselle,’ the head
vendeuse
had told Christina. ‘That has always been the tradition with the grand
couturiers
… Dior, Chanel, Balmain, Balenciaga, Givenchy. Yes, yes, you must do it, you must, it is
important
, Mademoiselle.’
‘But how would I go about it?’ Christina had asked, her face alive with burgeoning interest. She had seized on the idea at once, seeing its tremendous possibilities.
‘First, Mademoiselle, you must consider the fragrances… the ones that give you pleasure… the special scent of
les fleurs
, your favourite flowers. Perhaps the rose… the lily of the valley… the jasmine. Then you must go to Grasse, Mademoiselle. Here is the centre of the French
parfumerie
industry, and here they will create for you the special Christina
parfum
, Mademoiselle.’
Christina had thanked her head
vendeuse
, and had promised to look into it. She had been far too busy designing her winter collection to follow it through immediately, although she had mentioned it in passing to Jane. But she had put it at the top of her list of important future projects.
Now with the trip to the South of France coming up in June, Christina asked Giselle to make arrangements for her to visit some of the men who created the scents, who were working in Grasse. The head
vendeuse
had written off to a contact in Paris at once.
***
‘
Gardenia
!’ Christina said to Jane as they sat in the rented car driving to Grasse, during the latter part of June. ‘It must be gardenia. That’s the one fragrance that I keep coming back to… it’s very evocative… perhaps because my mother always wore gardenia scent when I was a child. It was called Gardenia Flower Essence and Mrs Bell used to buy it for her at Harrods as a gift.’
‘I like the smell of gardenias too,’ Jane replied, ‘but
you’ve got to come up with a better name. You can’t call it just
gardenia
. That’s far too mundane. You must find a fancier name.’
‘
Blue Gardenia
,’ Christina suggested.
‘No, there was a movie with Alan Ladd called—’
‘That was
The Blue Dahlia
,’ Christina shot back, grinning. ‘Listen, Janey, I
do
like
Blue Gardenia
. It has a nice ring to it, and my mother does have the bluest of eyes…’
Jane smiled. ‘Then
Blue Gardenia
it must be. Actually, I like it, too, especially since you’re naming it for your lovely Mum.’ Jane suddenly began to sniff the air blowing in through the car windows. ‘Gosh, I can smell the flowers already. We must be nearly there,’ she said, slowing the car.
‘Yes, we are,’ Christina exclaimed, ‘look, there’s Grasse in the distance. I’d better keep my eyes open for the hotel when we get into the town… we’re staying at a place Giselle recommended—La Regent.’
Christina and Jane spent three days in the lovely little town of Grasse, which was situated in the Alpes Maritimes high above Cannes. It was a charming spot, ancient, and totally surrounded by field upon glorious field of flowers and magnificent rose gardens. Fragonard, the great French painter, had been born here, and there was a Fragonard Museum, which of course the girls gravitated to the first chance they had. They also spent time going around the splendid Gothic cathedral, and visiting the many famous gardens.
But mostly they were ensconced within the walls of the perfumeries, sniffing scents and talking to the chemists. In the end, Christina settled on two fragrances which would be created specially for her, to be marketed the following year. One would have gardenia as its base, the other roses, and their names would be
Blue Gardenia
and
Christina
respectively.
‘I don’t think I’ve seen Hadley Court ever looking quite as beautiful as it does tonight,’ Christina said, turning to Jane’s father, smiling at him. ‘The flowers and candlelight inside the house create such a magical effect, and the gardens out here… why they are
ethereal
in the reflected light from the house.’
The famous actor, tall, rangy, with the look of the professor about him, followed her gaze across the lawns of his country manor house in Aldington in Kent.
‘Yes, the gardens do have a special quality, especially when viewed from this terrace… they’re like a backcloth on the stage tonight, almost too perfect to be real. But I don’t suppose there is anything quite as lovely as an English summer evening, after a day of truly glorious weather,’ Ralph said, his mellifluous voice echoing on the warm air.
His was one of the most celebrated voices on the English stage and Christina never tired of listening to it.
Ralph continued, ‘You said
magical
, Christie, and I do believe the entire evening has had a touch of magic to it, everything has gone so beautifully. And out here, now, it’s so gentle and balmy, and there’s not a whisper of that frightful wind we often get down here. Yes, we’ve been lucky, it’s been perfect July weather for Janey’s party.’
Turning to look at Christina, Ralph Sedgewick adopted a fatherly manner towards her, asked, ‘Have you enjoyed yourself, my dear?’
‘Oh yes, I have, Ralph, thank you very much. It’s been a simply gorgeous evening, but I am a little sad that Jane’s going off to New York for four or five months—I’m going to miss her terribly. Oh gosh, that sounded so selfish! I know you and Dulcie are going to feel it too, when she’s gone.’
‘Yes, we are,’ he admitted, ‘but I’m hoping we might be lucky enough to do a play on Broadway whilst she’s there. David Merrick wants us for a new comedy, so our American agent tells us. Anyway, Christie, aren’t you planning to go over to the States for a visit in October? At least I think that’s what Dulcie said to me?’ He made this sound like a question. ‘Or am I mistaken?’
Christina suppressed a smile of amusement. Ralph’s absentmindedness was an old joke within the Sedgewick family and Jane was forever saying the only thing her father could remember was his part in a play.
‘No, no you’re not wrong, Ralph. I do hope to be going over to America then,’ Christie told him. ‘My clothes have done well in New York, and Bergdorf Goodman have invited me to show my winter collection, after it’s opened here in London, of course.’
‘Congratulations, Christie, that’s wonderful.’ He squeezed her arm, smiled at her through warm hazel eyes. ‘I must admit, I am extraordinarily proud of you and my little Janey… you’ve both done wonderfully well since you graduated from the Royal College and—’
‘There you are!’ Jane cried.
Christina and Ralph swung to face her.
She glided through the French doors and out onto the terrace, her feet barely touching the ground. She was
exceptionally happy tonight and she looked ravishing. Her
Christina
gown was made of tulle and lace, and it had a bouffant skirt decorated with lover’s knots picked out in silver and pearl sequins, and it floated around her like a soft hazy pink cloud shot through with iridescent lights.
‘I’ve been looking all over for the two of you. What a couple of fuddy-duddys you are, standing there, nursing your drinks… and
gossiping
, I’ve no doubt,’ Jane said. ‘What am I missing? No, don’t bother to tell me. You should both be inside, dancing and whirling around the floor.’
She grinned at them, tucked her arm through her father’s. ‘I must say, Daddy, that’s a really super band you found. They’ve got a fabulous beat, and they’ve got everybody really going at it, jiving it up. Come on, let’s go inside and shake a leg,’ she finished gaily, her voice and her face filled with her infectious girlish laughter.
Ralph gave her a loving, indulgent look. ‘I’m afraid I’m a little too old for that sort of thing,’ he announced. ‘And it’s jolly warm indoors, that’s why Christina and I came out here in the first place, to get a breath of fresh air.’
He swung to face the gardens again, put his brandy glass down on the stone wall of the terrace, reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and took out a gold cigarette case.
After lighting a cigarette, he asked, ‘Where’s your mother, by the way? Don’t tell me she’s jumping up and down like a mad thing… not in this heat, I hope, at her age.’
Jane giggled. ‘Honestly, father mine, you do make Mummy sound old. She’s only fifty-one, for God’s sake. But no, she’s not dancing, she’s talking to Miles, who
arrived a little while ago. And all on his little
own
too—’ Jane paused dramatically, rolled her eyes and made an ugly face.
‘Miles is here!’ Ralph sounded and looked extremely pleased.
‘He certainly is,’ a light, faintly amused voice said from the direction of the French doors.
‘Miles, old chap! How wonderful that you could make it after all!’ Ralph hurried forward, his hand outstretched.
The two men clasped hands, beamed at each other. They had only recently become friends, but they had liked each other immediately.
Miles said, ‘So sorry I wasn’t able to get here in time for supper, Ralph, but I got caught up in town… nothing I could do about it really…
you
know how it is… in my position…’ He allowed his voice to trail off, as if suggesting he had been detained by important Government business that could not be discussed. Top secret sort of stuff. Miles knew he had no need to explain his tardiness. Politicians were generally excused for this little social sin, if not for anything else they did.
Now he glanced at Jane, whom he had already greeted inside the house, and acknowledged her again with a slight nod, a half smile.
Ralph asked, ‘Are you quite positive you don’t want something to eat… a spot of cold supper? I know the buffet is still being served, Miles. And I must get you a drink. What would you like? A glass of—’ Ralph came to a stop as he realized that Miles was not really listening to him, that the other man’s attention was focused behind him.
Ralph swung around, apologetic. ‘How frightfully rude of me, Christina, my dear. Don’t hang back there. Do come and meet Miles.’
‘Yes, you must meet Miles,’ Miles said, stepping out into the middle of the terrace.
Jane said, ‘Excuse me, I’m going to get myself a glass of the old bubbly.’ She disappeared through the door, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Christina moved forward slowly, conscious of the blue radiance of the eyes fixed so intently on her. There was a sudden constriction in her chest.
As he watched her approach, Miles Sutherland thought he had never seen such a lovely young woman. Her chestnut hair was swept up on top of her head to form a crown of curls. It was an odd style, reminiscent of the 1940s, and yet it suited her. She was dressed in a simple gown. Chiffon. Pale grey, Grecian in style. One shoulder bare. She wore a choker of beads and earrings that matched. Grey stones, resembling those huge grey luminous eyes that seemed to fill her face. Opals? Moonstones? He wasn’t sure.
He smiled, sensing a certain shyness in her, wanting to put her at ease.
Ralph cleared his throat, ‘Christina, may I present Miles Sutherland, one of our most brilliant politicians, as I’m sure you’re aware. And Miles, this is Christina Crowther, Jane’s dearest friend and flat mate, whom we consider to be a member of the family, actually.’
‘How do you do,’ Christina said.
Miles took the cool, tapering hand in his and held it tightly. Slowly he increased the pressure of his fingers, not wishing to let go of it. He knew at once that he wanted her. He aimed to have her.