Mallory checked her lipstick in her compact mirror. Whens Roger coming home anyway?
In a week. Maybe sooner.
Hes been away on business a long time. You must miss him.
Grace said nothing.
When hes home, youll forget all that nonsense. Now, have you got a belt you can wear? She rustled up behind her. Really! Didnt anyone explain to you that youre meant to gain weight in the first few years of marriage? How am I meant to become the spoiling godmother if you dont get down to the business of fattening up?
Something changed in Graces eyes. Inhaling hard, she turned away. I dont think I have a belt, she said quietly, looking through the dresses hanging in her wardrobe.
Mallory stared at Graces slim back.
Shed obviously hit a nerve.
Here, Mallory reached across, tugging a cummerbund of black velvet from another evening gown. This one will do just fine, she said, fitting it round Graces waist.
Grace looked small tonight, even younger than usual. She reminded Mallory of a little girl dressing up in her mothers clothes. It was the hairstyle, so conservative and staid; it wouldve suited an older woman but on Grace it only accentuated her youth. It made her eyes look even larger than normal; they were a very clear grey-green colour, wide set and almond-shaped.
Do you think this is all right? Grace examined her reflection in the mirror, tense.
It wasnt like Grace to care too much what others thought. Suddenly Mallory realized it was one of the things that secretly shed admired about her friend, despite their constant sparring.
Its perfect, she assured her. Now lets go or we shall miss the whole thing.
Coming down the stairs, Grace paused to check the second post on the hall table.
Oh look! She held up an envelope. Ive got airmail! From France. How exciting! She tore it open. Who do I know in France?
Is it from your uncle? Mallory pulled her coat on.
No, hes in America, lecturing. Grace unfolded a letter, began reading.
Mallory waited; tapped her foot impatiently. We must go. She took out her car keys. What is it anyway?
This doesnt make sense.
Is it in French?
No. No, its in English. Grace sat down on the hall chair. Theres an aeroplane ticket.
An aeroplane ticket? For where?
To Paris. Grace looked up, handing her the letter. This is a mistake. Some sort of very bizarre mistake.
Mallory took it.
It was typed on the kind of heavy, good quality paper that signaled official correspondence. In the corner she noted the name and address of a law firm in central Paris: Frank, Levin et Beaumont.
Dear Mrs Munroe,
Please accept our sincere sympathies for your recent loss. Our firm is handling the estate of the deceased Madame Eva dOrsey, and it is our duty to inform you that you are named as the chief beneficiary in her will. We request your presence at our offices at your earliest convenience, so that we may go through the details of your inheritance.
Again, we apologize for this intrusion on your time of grief and look forward to being of service to you in the near future.
Yours sincerely,
Edouard A. Tissot, Esquire
Oh! Mallory looked up. Im so sorry. I had no idea youd recently lost someone, Grace.
Graces face was unchanging. Neither had I.
I beg your pardon?
Mallory, Ive never met any Eva dOrsey. I have no idea who this woman is.
Vanessa Maxwell knew how to throw a party. It was her greatest contribution and would doubtless be her lasting legacy to those who had known, if not loved her, long after she was gone.
The first rule was that they were almost always held on the spur of the moment. Unlike some hostesses who sent out invitations a month in advance, Vanessa understood that the success of the entire venture depended upon the delicate relationship between anticipation and fulfilment; too long a wait between one and the other resulted only in indifference and boredom. And any event that didnt demand the frantic re-juggling of previous commitments, a trail of white lies and the testing of long-held personal loyalties wasnt worth attending.
Secondly, she was ruthless about whom she invited. She almost never returned an invitation with one of her own. In fact, she was famous for picking people shed only just met, pairing them up in unlikely, possibly incendiary ways. She tossed elder statesmen next to starlets, seated royalty across from working-class playwrights; once she sent her chauffeur to the Florida Club only to return with an entire jazz ensemble plucked off stage and half a dozen dancers from an all-male burlesque review in Soho to liven things up a bit.
Lastly, her events were held in rooms far too small, far too bright. People rubbed up against one another, jostled for space, occasionally landed in one anothers laps. While any other hostess would lull her guests into a coma with soft lights and deep comfortable sofas, Vanessa demanded that everyone, regardless of age or position, wedge themselves into a cramped pub in Shepherd Market, around the slippery border of a public swimming pool or onto the balcony of a private club. People shouted to be heard, grabbed at the drinks floating by on silver trays, eavesdropped shamelessly on intimate conversations as they allowed their hands to wander, brushing up against the warm limbs of strangers.
There was an air of danger to her gatherings; the frisson of mischief. At her most famous dinner party she hired a sprinkling of actors to pose as staff and one as an unfortunate guest who was then dramatically poisoned during the first course. It was then up to the remaining guests to solve the mystery before the police arrived or they themselves were eliminated through one heinous end or another.
It was just this kind of daring enterprise that had catapulted her and, by default, her husband, businessman and tobacconist Phillip Maxwell, to the top of the London social scene.
Grace had never been invited to one of Vanessas parties before; to say they didnt travel in the same circles was putting it kindly. Graces husband Roger knew Phillip Maxwell professionally and had known Vanessa before either of them were married. But Grace, coming from Oxford, was still an outsider.
Mallory, however, had been twice before; a distinction she both relished and pretended not to notice. Shed been the first to fall into the water at the famous midnight pool party and charmed everyone with the nonchalance with which she proceeded to wear her sopping wet gown, transparent and clinging to her admirable figure, for the rest of the evening.
Tonight, however, was a relatively simple affair by comparison. As loyal members of the Tory Party, the Maxwells were hosting a campaign fund-raiser aimed at securing Anthony Eden as prime minister. Eden, appointed Churchills natural successor upon his resignation, had called a general election for 26 May and his pledge that Peace comes first, always, struck a chord with a nation weary from sacrifice and loss.
To highlight this dawning age of prosperity, Vanessa had organized an impromptu Summer Fete in the Orangery of Kensington Palace, with traditional entertainment and food, including a coconut shy, dunk tank, horseshoes, egg and spoon races, jugglers and even pony rides, while vats of Pimms, strawberry ice, caviar tarts and champagne made the rounds. The only difference was that the tickets were purchased in pounds rather than pennies, and the stalls were manned by famous faces from the stage and screen.
As soon as they entered it was clear from the crush of bodies that most of fashionable London was in attendance. A large banner with the slogan United for Peace and Progress hung across the entrance. People were shouting and waving to one another across a sea of faces; smoke clouds hung thick and heavy; the constant throbbing tempo of a brass band could be heard pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the general roar.
Holding each others hands, the two girls slipped through the crowds.
Can you see her? Grace scanned the long gallery.
Shes over there! Mallory shouted back, waving to a small, dark-haired woman, surrounded by people on the other side of the room.
She dragged Grace through the throng.
Vanessa!
Vanessa turned round. Dressed in a gauzy evening gown of layered black chiffon, she had sharp, even features and rather small, deep brown eyes. Although not very tall, she was so delicate and perfectly proportioned that despite her unremarkable face she could only be described as exquisite. Next to her, other women appeared suddenly bedraggled and bovine. Her manner was relaxed; almost bored, as if she werent greeting her guests so much as auditioning them. And every detail of her person was flawlessly finished from the smooth centre-parting of her hair drawn back behind her ears to reveal a pair of magnificent emerald clips, to her long, slender fingers, accented with creamy, pale polish, the precise translucent shade of the small cluster of rosebuds that adorned her waist. Vanessa smiled, taking a long, slow drag of her cigarette. Welcome, ladies! I hope youre feeling lucky. Theres a tombola that includes a ladies gold watch from Asprey and the tickets are going like hot cakes. That new comedian Benny Hill is hosting the auction.
The one from the television? Mallorys eyes widened.
The very same. And let me tell you, hes nothing like that in real life!
How did you manage it?
The same way I manage anything through sheer unrelenting gall. She turned to Grace, looking at her steadily from beneath hooded lids. I dont believe weve had the pleasure.
Oh, I want you to meet my friend, Grace Munroe. Rogers wife.
Hello, Grace held out her hand. And thank you for having me. This is simply well incredible!
Vanessa received Graces fingertips with a squeeze, tilting her head to one side, So, youre Rogers wife. We were all wondering where hed disappeared to. Taking another deep drag, she regarded Grace with frank curiosity, as if she were a rare specimen on display in a museum. Youre related to Lord Royce, arent you?
Hes my second cousin on my mothers side. He inherited the title when my grandfather died.
I see. Vanessa exhaled, a long thin stream of smoke shooting from her nose. Youre quite pretty, arent you?
Grace blushed a little, feeling suddenly gauche; like a child whod been trotted out before bedtime to entertain older relatives with their good manners. Thank you.