Debutantes: In Love (13 page)

‘Of course you will. And you’ll fall in love, get married and have lots of lovely little blond babies,’ he said softly.

Or dark-haired little boys, with wonderful brown eyes, she thought to herself and quickly his lips found hers again. He was very, very good at kissing, she thought, almost feeling slightly dizzy. Eventually she had to break away and gulp for air and then felt embarrassed. Surely there was a better way of managing. In films people seemed to kiss for a very long time and when they came apart it was a slow, graceful procedure as they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. Perhaps she should practise more.

‘Thank you for a wonderful day,’ he said politely when he got out of the taxi. To her disappointment he did not invite her into his mother’s house, nor did he accompany her up the steps, but just waved in a friendly fashion and went off briskly.

Morgan was washing the car in the mews and she wandered down there.

She wanted to talk to him about Charles, but didn’t know where to start. Morgan was looking at her, waiting for her to say something. She smiled a bit as she remembered Joan being lyrical about his lovely eyes. They were rather intriguing, she thought. They seemed to change in different lights. Now in the gleam of the sunlight they were the colour of a chestnut newly peeled from its shell.

‘Do you like London, Morgan?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I enjoy it for a break, but I’m a countryman at heart.’

‘Were you brought up in the country?’ she asked. It seemed funny that she knew so little about him.

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m a Londoner, in truth, but my mother was from Kent. She died when I was young, but I have memories of her telling me about Kent and about bluebells in the woods. That’s why I applied for the job when your father advertised it. I liked the name of the place, Beech Grove Manor, and after the war I wanted to get away from London – hated the place. Still, the big money is up here in town. Young Baz could make a thing of this jazz-club,’ he went on, ‘but he’s a bit under the influence of that sister of his, and she is in with a very wild crowd. I thought of having a talk with him this morning, but then I thought I would leave it until later.’

‘So what did you do this morning?’ asked Daisy.

He hesitated for a long time and then said, ‘Well, when Lady Elaine said that she would not need the car this morning I walked down to the Strand and went into Somerset House.’

Daisy felt the colour drain from her face and she stared at him. She remembered the time when she and Poppy had gone there the year before and had found that only one baby, a little girl named Poppy, had been born to the Lady Mary Derrington on 11 October 1906. Had he guessed her secret?

‘I thought about Maud finding out about herself there,’ he went on, hardly seeming to notice her expression, ‘and I thought I should like to find out about my parents – I never knew my father, but I just about remember my mother – actually it was that silly business yesterday with Lady Joan calling me St Clair that made me think about her.’

‘She, your mother – she told you that your middle name was St Clair?’ Daisy’s voice was soft. Poor fellow; he must have grown up feeling very lonely in the orphanage. She was much luckier. She had grown up with the conviction that she had three sisters, a mother and a father. She said nothing however. It was not her secret to tell; Elaine would have to be happy for her to reveal the truth before she could share her history with her friends.

The chauffeur frowned. ‘That’s the strange thing about it,’ he said. ‘My mother told me that my middle name was St Clair, and another thing she told me was that I was born in June – “Born in June, silver spoon”; she used to sing a little song about that.’

‘And did you find your birth certificate?’

‘Well, yes, but on there it was noted, “Thought to be born in December 1900” and Robert St Clair wasn’t my name – it said Edward Robert Morgan, son of Annie Morgan. And that’s odd too, because the name “Annie” meant nothing to me. Still, I was only a little fellow when she died.’

‘She didn’t register you?’

He smiled. ‘Apparently not. It’s the old, old story, I suppose. I perhaps never had a father, or at least he didn’t stick around to see me born.’

‘Who registered your birth then?’ asked Daisy.

‘It seems that it was the orphanage. And the funny thing is that they didn’t register me until I was almost three years old. I must have come into their care then. Perhaps my mum got herself another man and dumped me.’ He sounded depressed.

‘But you remember her – you remember her telling you about Kent, and singing songs to you about “born in June”, and telling you about your stylish middle name – it sounds as though she was fond of you,’ urged Daisy. ‘If I were you, I would go to that orphanage that registered your birth and try to find out some more details about yourself. Where was it?’

‘In Bethnal Green . . .’ began Morgan and then stopped as the butler came to the back door. ‘You’d better go,’ he said curtly.

Well, at least Elaine didn’t put me in an orphanage, considered Daisy as she made her way back into the house. Her mind went to an earlier thought that she had had. What if Elaine, aged only seventeen at the time of the tragic death of the boy that she had loved, had gone to London and had her baby there under an assumed name. Would she have kept her, or would she perhaps have put her in an orphanage? Instead of being Lady Daisy, the daughter of an earl, she might now be Daisy the scullery maid.

‘Elaine,’ she said when she went in, ‘would it be all right if I phoned Father? I’d like to talk to him. He was very depressed when we left.’

Without Michael Derrington’s generous offer to rear her as his own daughter, what might have happened to the child of a weak-willed, rather self-centred seventeen-year-old?

Chapter Thirteen

Thursday 3 April 1924

‘Don’t look so disappointed, darling. Michael is always bad on the phone,’ said Elaine when Daisy put down the handset after a brief conversation. She gave a little laugh. ‘He thinks a phone is like a telegram – the more brief you are, the better.’

‘He does sound low.’ Daisy gave a sigh. It was hard to know what she could do. The phone call had seemed just to annoy him and he had seemed eager to finish.

‘Let’s go shopping, just the two of us. Shall we? It will be fun.’ Elaine looked at her so anxiously that Daisy felt guilty.

‘Yes, let’s,’ said Daisy, trying to summon up some enthusiasm. It was true that the Earl was never very good on the phone – he tended to worry about the cost, not just to himself but to anyone that called him, and so he was tense and gave one-word answers. He had sounded depressed though, even for him, and she felt worried.

And then there was Charles.

She turned impulsively to her mother. ‘I really want to talk to you,’ she said.

‘Yes, of course, darling,’ said Elaine. ‘Just run upstairs and freshen yourself up and we’ll have tea at Harrods and then look at the clothes. It will be lovely to have a chat together.’

Daisy did what she was told, and by the time she came back downstairs again, Morgan, very smart in his uniform, was at the door, ready to usher them into the car.

‘We’ll have some tea first before we exhaust ourselves,’ said Elaine as they got out of the car at the stately entrance. ‘Come back in couple of hours, Morgan.’

She hardly looked at the chauffeur as she spoke, and Daisy, after a quick smile at him, followed her up the steps. It was odd, she thought, how dismissive Elaine and Jack were of Morgan. For a moment she half wished that he would join them over tea, wished that she could ask his advice, certainly about her father, and perhaps he might have some useful thoughts on Charles also. He might laugh at her though, for being interested in Charles. Instinctively she felt that Charles would not fit in well with the jazz-band boys.

‘So how was your morning, darling?’ asked Elaine as Daisy bit into a cinnamon-sprinkled piece of shortcake and sipped the fragrant tea.

‘Fun,’ said Daisy, after a moment’s pause. Elaine was but yet wasn’t her mother. Daisy wondered whether to talk to her about kissing Charles. Looking back on it, perhaps it did seem a bit fast. Elaine might be shocked at her behaviour. ‘Charles came to the studio too,’ she said after a minute. ‘He’d like to earn his living as a film star, I think.’

‘Funny idea,’ said Elaine. ‘I wonder why he would want to bother. I got the impression from Jack that he was one of those rich, idle young men. Of course, Jack and his mother are only second cousins – or even further distant; I’m not sure. Jack doesn’t have much time for Charles – they’re not very alike. Jack is so dynamic and so hard-working – but I always found Charles perfectly amiable. Do you like him, darling?’

‘Do you?’ countered Daisy.

‘Oh, of course; he is charming. And you have such strength of character. They talk about marrying someone like yourself, but I always think that the secret of a happy marriage is to marry your opposite. Look at us! We are so happy, Jack and myself!’

‘And do you think that Charles and I would be happy?’ Daisy asked, trying to laugh. She suddenly found herself feeling very self-conscious. Elaine seemed to have jumped to conclusions very quickly, she thought, and wondered guiltily where she had given herself away.

‘What do you think, darling?’ asked Elaine, holding Daisy’s hand affectionately. She looked closely at her daughter. ‘You’re blushing,’ she said with an amused smile. ‘Don’t say that—’

‘I did kiss him,’ whispered Daisy, ‘but . . .’

‘Well!’ exclaimed Elaine. ‘You modern girls. I must say that was very quick. Don’t tell Jack that. He’ll be shocked!’

Daisy giggled and after a moment Elaine giggled too. It was almost as if they were two girls out together, talking about young men. There was, thought Daisy, not much more than seventeen years between them.

‘Tell me about my father, Elaine,’ she said softly. ‘Did you adore him from the moment that you met, or did you just gradually grow together? You would have grown up with him, wouldn’t you? You were at Beech Grove with your Aunt Lizzie and he was over at Staplecourt. Justin Pennington used to stay at Staplecourt, too, didn’t he? He was Clifford’s nephew. I remember him telling us about it.’ She prattled on, waiting until Elaine’s colour came back. Perhaps, thought Daisy, I should not have mentioned my father like that, but we have never spoken of him and we should. She could imagine, though, the shock that it must have been to a pregnant seventeen-year-old to hear the terrible news that the boy who was father to her unborn child had been killed on the hunting field. She poured another cup of tea from the delicate china pot and handed the cup to her mother.

‘You mustn’t make the mistake that I made,’ said Elaine after a minute.

Which mistake? wondered Daisy. Was it the mistake of allowing herself to be loved by someone, to become pregnant by him, or was it the mistake of giving her baby away and allowing her aunt to force her into a loveless marriage in order to stop the gossips’ tongues?

‘It’s just been a kiss,’ she said after a minute.

‘A kiss can lead to other things – sometimes very quickly,’ said Elaine with a sigh. ‘I suppose that is why girls have to be chaperoned so closely.’ She bit her lip and stared with unseeing eyes across the restaurant.

‘It’s natural at your age to think that people like Great-Aunt Lizzie fuss too much,’ she said after a minute, ‘but don’t forget that these rules and regulations are there for a purpose. When you meet a new young man, don’t be too forthcoming, Daisy, will you?’

‘I suppose you saw a lot of Charles in India,’ said Daisy, suddenly desperate to change the subject. ‘Did he have a girlfriend there?’ She could tell from her mother’s expression that Elaine did not want to talk about Clifford Pennington, and in any case, she was interested in the answer to that.

Elaine brightened. ‘Not that I remember,’ she said. ‘He’s about twenty-four, I think. A perfect age for marriage,’ she added jokingly. ‘He’ll probably want to settle down soon now that he is back in England. And don’t say anything to him, but Jack feels that he might be able to do something for him. I’m sure that if, well . . . if there is any question of an engagement, then Jack will move heaven and earth to get him a position in the Foreign Office. Jack,’ she said earnestly, ‘thinks it’s very bad for a man to have nothing to do, no matter how wealthy he is.’ Then she looked at her daughter with a smile. ‘And are you really interested in Charles then, darling?’

‘Well,’ said Daisy, trying to sound as though it were all a joke, ‘since he looks like a Greek god, kisses like . . .’ she ran a quick check of male film stars and ended with, ‘kisses like Douglas Fairbanks, is incredibly rich and will be found a position in the Foreign Office by Jack – how on earth could I resist him?’

That, she thought, had struck the right note. Elaine laughed and said, ‘How wonderful it is to have this time to chat with you. Now let’s go and look at some frocks. We need to think carefully about what you will need for your season.’

‘I did see, as we came up the stairs, a lovely tea gown in black and silver . . .’ Daisy knew her mother would be happier shopping for clothes than discussing serious matters – especially if they involved past history, and so it proved. They had a wonderful afternoon, with Elaine flushed and animated, and there were dozens of boxes for Morgan to load into the car by the time that they finally finished.