The Postcard (12 page)

Callie nodded in shock, unable to utter a word to defend herself or deny the allegations thrown at her with such venom. So this was a game he played with every batch of students. Was she no more
than a toy to be picked out to play with? How could he betray his fiancée, if this was the case? Callie felt sick at his cruelty.

‘Go and get dressed,’ the countess snapped.

‘Perhaps it would be better if I do not dine,’ Callie offered.

‘You will dine and show the stiff lip of a true English girl. Say nothing and do not make scenes you will later regret.’

Callie fled back to the bedroom. All the girls were gone, leaving her to fix her dress alone with shaking hands, and unravel her plaits so her hair fell down onto her shoulders in soft coils of
sun-bleached gold. She swallowed her tears, not quite believing what had just happened in the study. Now she must go down those stairs with her head held high and not give Ferrand the satisfaction
of knowing she knew his little game. She gathered herself, drew back her shoulders and left the room.

Everyone looked up at her entrance. The countess sat at the head of the table as usual, all charm itself.

‘Alors, chérie.
I see the sun has caught your face.’

Callie noticed an empty chair by her side. Ferrand was late too. The woman missed nothing and pointed to the empty chair. ‘Alas, my son had to return to his studies at the last moment. He
sends his apologies
. . . Il est très désolé,
but of course, duty comes first,
n’est-ce pas
? She was looking directly at Callie.

Callie ate the dinner in a daze of confusion and embarrassment. His
maman
had ticked him off and he’d departed promptly at her bidding without an apology or explanation. What a
wimp!

So she was nothing to him but a pleasant afternoon’s diversion. She felt so disappointed. It was then she understood what Ted Boardman had meant when he’d told her that the apple
doesn’t fall far from the tree. Perhaps she was more like her mother than she’d thought, recognizing the actress within herself too. It took every ounce of courage to smile and chat to
the other girls, giving not one hint of how much she was hurting inside. Let this be a lesson to you, she thought. Keep away from silly young men still tied to their mother’s apron strings.
You can do better than that.

When Caroline stepped off the boat train at Waterloo Station, Phoebe couldn’t believe the change in her. She was stretched out somehow, with sun-bleached hair, standing
tall and striding towards her with a new-found confidence. The gawky girl had been replaced by a stylish young lady in a smart linen two-piece, a jaunty trilby perched on her head.

‘At last,’ Phoebe cried, holding out her arms. ‘I was beginning to think you were never coming home.’ They pecked each other on the cheek.

‘There was so much to do with Marthe and her new baby. She’s an absolute darling and I am her godmother.’

Phoebe felt a pang of jealousy, knowing Marthe always came first with Callie, but she smiled and said, ‘You must tell me all about them when we get home.’

‘I thought we were going north?’

‘You need to unpack and draw breath after your travels. There’s been a change of plan, but come along.’ Phoebe didn’t want to go into things on the platform.
‘You’ll have time to see your new friends.’

‘I don’t have new friends.’

‘Surely you made some friends at that school?

‘No one special. Let’s find a taxi. I need a bath; it was so hot and sticky on the train.’ Caroline sighed, marching out of the station.

It was just like when Callie had returned from St Margaret’s, Phoebe thought. The schoolgirl dumped her case, jumped into the bath, then lounged on her bed with a book. But she was
eighteen now, and her whole future must be planned.

Once back at the flat, out poured laundry and presents, and on went the wireless. Phoebe’s sitting room was soon filled with dance music and cigarette smoke.

‘You’re not starting that filthy habit, are you?’ she asked.

‘Everyone smokes. I’ve bought an ivory holder. It’s the chic way to puff Caroline shrugged off her disapproval.

‘Is that all you learned abroad?’

‘I can mix a Gin Sling, cook a mean omelette, choose the best pearls and play poker.’ She saw the dismay on her mother’s face. ‘Only joking, but we had two American girls
who were wizards at card games. We used to play for make-up.’ She paused. ‘Aren’t you busy with another film?’

‘We’re all helping Maisie with the dance school. I’ve hit a bit of a slump. My agent’s always on the prowl but there’s nothing suitable just now. We’re giving
tea dances for beginners in the afternoons at the school, so I wondered if you could help us out.’

‘You know I have two left feet,’ Caroline dismissed her suggestion, picking up a magazine.

‘No . . . just in the office, telephone duty. It’s all a bit of a mess in there . . .’

‘But I’ve not done any secretarial work,’ Caroline replied, not interested in her mother’s news after all this time.

‘You’ll soon pick it up, just for a few weeks until it’s quiet. Everyone wants to learn new dances for the Season’s parties.’

‘But what about Dalradnor? Primmy’s supposed to be staying.’

‘Caroline, you’ve just been abroad for six months. Haven’t you had enough holidays?’ Phoebe didn’t mean to be sharp but the girl must learn there was a time to play
and a time to help out. It wasn’t good to loll about doing nothing.

‘Oh, I see, now I have to pay my dues.’ Caroline got up and walked to the kitchen. ‘Not back five minutes and it’s out with the shovel and spade.’ Already they were
sniping at each other.

‘You can go up there for a week, if you must, but it really would help Maisie out if you could give her some of your time. She’s not been well and Kitty’s quite worried,’
Phoebe explained.

Caroline turned round. ‘Why didn’t you say that in the first place? What’s wrong?’

‘Women’s troubles, a bit of a growth. They’ve taken everything away but it’s left her exhausted. Billy does what he can to cover for her but Kitty is afraid she might
need other treatments.’

‘I’m sorry, poor Maisie. Why didn’t you tell me? Honestly, I’m always the last to know. Of course I’ll help, but don’t expect me to do any dancing.’

Phoebe was relieved there’d be another person on board to help. Maisie had cancer, a bad one that no one wanted to address except Kitty. ‘As far as the other staff go, it’s
just a bowel complaint. Maisie must rest and not move around too much,’ Kitty had confided in Phoebe. ‘She’ll sit on a chair to conduct her classes. But I’m sure it’s
spread. Her face is liverish and her skin in sallow. We’re going to have to cover for her where we can.’

Phoebe couldn’t bear the thought of losing Maisie. Billy Demaine was doing his best to stand in and she was almost full time too. It would be good if Caroline was part of the business;
there was always the chance she might take it over one day. The annual visit to Dalradnor was a luxury they could ill afford this year. The old place would be safe in the hands of Nan Ibell and her
daughter, Mima Johnstone. It could wait. Caroline had had a year of fun and games; now it was time she went to work.

The Gibbons School of Dance was just off Kensington High Street, in a large town house that had seen better days, but which still had a ballroom on the first floor up a
gracious staircase. This was used as a studio, the walls covered with large gilt-framed mirrors. It had a sprung oak floor, which smelled of wood stain, and there were barres on two sides so
professional dancers could hire the room for morning classes. The anteroom was a changing area and the former library was an office and staff room.

Phee wasn’t joking when she said things were in a mess. There were bills and letters stuffed into the desk drawers, bills clipped together and pinned to the wall, unopened mail, piles of
the
Stage
gathering dust, coffee cups gathering mould, a rickety typewriter and a telephone on a large leather-topped desk ringed with ancient tea stains. A kettle and a tin of broken
biscuits made up the sum of office equipment. Callie was expected to work miracles. It was about as far away from the Château Grooten’s elegance and her lazy summer by the lake as it
was possible to get. Callie smiled, thinking of her fury at Ferrand’s dalliance until she’d got his abject letter of apology. She’d nearly thrown it unopened in the bin but she
was curious to see how he would wangle his way out his desertion.

There was no address to reply to, nor was one necessary. It was just a little romance in the summer sun, and now it was over. It was a relief to know he’d not been playing with her
affections, that her first impressions were true. He was just a young student flexing his wings, wanting to fly free. She almost felt sorry for the countess, whom she realized lived in a world of
fantasy and was in danger of losing all her children.

As she stared round the office, there was no doubting she was back to earth with a bump.

Callie was stuck with the daunting task of running the office out of duty for a few weeks, but once she saw how diminished Maisie was by her illness she knew she must not let her down.

Callie noticed how Phee’s long-time friends all stuck together in a crisis. They’d been through a war, suffered losses and disappointments, but still found time to laugh and smile.
How could you not admire their generation? She felt the draught of friendships in her own life. Primrose was up at Oxford now, and Callie went to spend two days with her as a guest in college. It
was like a glorified boarding school with golden stone lecture rooms. She tried hard not to be envious of Primmy making new friends while she was stuck with the oldies. They wrote to each other
regularly, but their paths were already separating.

One afternoon, a group of new clients burst into the studio for ballroom lessons. Callie was busy collecting names and telephone details in case of cancellations when a familiar voice from the
château rang out behind her.

‘Good Lord, it’s our dark horse,’ snorted Pamela Carluke. ‘Callie Boardman, what are you doing here?’

‘This is where I help out with my aunts,’ Callie flushed. How smart Pam and Clemmie looked in their winter coats and pretty hats. ‘I’m surprised you’re allowed out
on your own,’ she teased, knowing debs never went anywhere unescorted.

‘Safety in numbers, dear girl and we’re building up a head of steam for the coming-out parties. Must cut the mustard on the dance floor, if we’re to catch the best toffs . . .
And you? Did you ever see that gorgeous student boy again?’

‘What do you think?’ Callie winked, seeing Phee hovering. ‘Dragon mother had other plans.’

Pamela turned to her friends. ‘The countess was a Gorgon but clever with it. Callie and I will tell all later.’

Jem, employed to teach ballroom, soon barked orders to start the class, getting the girls to pair up and practise the steps while Callie watched with envy at their swift progress. He knew what
he was doing and took no cheek from them.

When it was over Pam dashed into the office. ‘We’re going for tea. Come and join us if you can.’

‘Go on, dear, you’ve earned a break,’ Phee was quick to respond ‘Nice to see you did make friends after all.’

Callie grabbed her hat and coat and followed the debs down the stairs, feeling nervous. She didn’t really know Clemmie and Pam well, or their set at all, but they had asked her and it was
such a relief to be out in the fresh air and in the company of girls, not old ladies. Suddenly, London wasn’t such a lonely place after all.

The after-class tea parties became regular events on Thursdays, and Callie started to join in the tango class. The music was just too inviting. Clemmie was a natural dancer, arching her back in
the poses that Jem demonstrated. Those months at the château had slimmed the girls down, so after an exhausting hour of dancing they allowed themselves to scoff French patisseries in a
wonderful tearoom close to Harrods.

‘You must come with us and try out the dancing at the 400 Club. They have the best bands in town. Do say you’ll come,’ Pam begged. ‘You’ll meet all the crowd. Tell
your aunt it’s quite safe. All our brothers and cousins are quite safe in taxis,’ she added with a wink.

‘What should one wear?’ Callie asked, knowing the debs would have loads of wonderful evening wear at their disposal.

‘Not too much – a bit steamy in there. You must show off ze snake ’ips,
mais non
? Do the dragon lady proud. It’ll be a hoot,’ said Clemmie.

Callie’s first outing with them took much preparation. She’d been given one of Maisie’s slinky blue slub satin evening dresses, cut on the bias, and altered by Phee so it
fitted like a glove. She had her hair waved and pinned in the latest salon style and borrowed Kitty’s old fur cape, which stank of camphor mothballs.

‘I wore that the night I met your father,’ said Phee, her mouth full of pins. ‘You are going to look so good in this.’ They were trying so hard to get along together but
it was difficult. Callie knew Phee wanted her to ask about their romance but she wasn’t playing ball on that one. She had no interest in how her mother and father met.

Callie was put in a taxi armed with her fare home, lipstick and spare stockings, comb and extra pins. Her anxiety mounted as she neared her destination.
What if nobody will dance with me?
What if the girls don’t show up?
She wished she hadn’t agreed to come.