The Blue Rose (16 page)

When the woman came back Clare said that Rose would like to try on the black taffeta, the blue lace, the emerald satin and the copper-coloured wild silk. Rose’s own choice of a rather plainly cut print was curtly turned down. It was the only dress in the whole collection which she really liked but Clare dismissed it as “terribly English”.

They went into the fitting room and the four dresses were brought in. The woman pointed out what beautiful material they were made of and how exquisite the workmanship was. All this was true, but they were all very complicated and difficult to put on. Clare had said that “Madame” wanted something to wear that evening, and the saleswoman had said that as it was the end of the season she could have the models which would probably fit her as she had such a beautiful figure.

They did almost fit her, but they were too tight for comfort, especially the armholes, and she couldn’t walk freely or sit with ease in any of them. Both Clare and the woman assured her, however, that they were wonderfully smart and that she looked a dream in them. “You can’t expect to be comfortable
and
smart,” Clare assured her. “You must suffer to be beautiful
—souffrir pour etre belle.
It’s an old saying, but very true
...
Yes, I think we’ll have all four. You couldn’t do better. It’s marvellous that they don’t need any alteration. You could walk straight out in them
...”

“Except that I can hardly walk at all,” Rose protested.

“It will teach you to walk properly. You won’t be able to stride any more as if you were taking a dog out on the moors
...
I advise you to wear the black to-night. You look a completely different person in it.”

Rose looked at herself critically in the long dress. Yes, she did indeed look a different person. Would this black dress change her personality too? It wasn’t a dress she would ever grow to love, she felt sure. The neckline was cut much lower on one side than the other; there was no waist-line and it clung tightly to her figure almost down to her knees and then frou-froued out in ruffles edged with white and lined with stiff white muslin. It was the most uncomfortable of the four dresses, for the three-quarter length sleeves were skin tight as well as the bodice, and the neck was so low one side that she would probably have difficulty in pinning down her underclothes; and into the bargain she would never be able to get into it alone as it zipped the whole way up the back.

But Clare and the woman were in no doubt. An assistant took the dresses off to be packed up so that they could be delivered that afternoon, while Clare was giving Stephen’s name and address.

“Yes, that is where to send the account,” she said as Rose was getting back thankfully into her old, comfortable cotton frock. She did not even know how much the new dresses were going to be but when she asked, Clare replied: “Don’t you worry. I have an arrangement with Madame Celeste. They are no more than Stephen said I might go to. As a matter of fact you have been very lucky, for by taking the models you have got four dresses for the price of three.”

Even now Clare was not finished with her. The moment they got outside she said: “I have made an appointment for you with my own hairdresser. You must do something to your hair if the new dress is to look anything at all.”

“But I haven’t got time,” Rose protested. “I’ve still got to do the flowers for to-night.”

“You’ve got masses of time, but we must hurry because although it’s only just round the corner in Dover Street, I made the appointment for a quarter to four and it’s just on that now. I’ll take you there and introduce you to Henri who always does my hair.”

It was the first time Rose had ever been to a hairdresser
—
she had never had any occasion to go—and she was petrified at the atmosphere of the smart
salon.
There were no cubicles. It was one vast room containing about thirty basins, with the clients sitting close to each other with pink capes round their shoulders. Some were being shampooed, some tinted; some were having a permanent wave while others were under the dryer. The air was stiffing with conflicting perfumes.

Henri was taking the pins out of some woman’s hair when Clare introduced Rose to him. “You’ll do your best for her, won’t you?” she asked him. “We want something really smart—really different.” Henri promised that he would give her something startlingly new and said that he would be with her in a moment. He instructed his assistant, Pamela, to get her ready but not to start the shampoo until he had looked at her. Clare left her saying: “See you to-night, darling,” as Pamela sat her down in a swivel chair in front of a basin and tied a pink cape round her.

“It doesn’t really need washing,” Rose said timidly, as she took the pins out of her hair and let it fall round her shoulders. “I only washed it the day before yesterday.” Pamela gave her a contemptuous glance as she replied: “We always do a shampoo before a set here.”

Soon Henri came to her, brandishing his comb, but when he saw her long hair he put the comb in his pocket and took out his scissors instead. Silently he took up strand after strand of her hair and cut it to the nape of her neck. Only then did he speak. “You will have to have a permanent for the ends. You did not make an appointment but fortunately I can fit you in
...
Shampoo, Pamela.”

“Doesn’t it take an awfully long time?” Rose asked, but Pamela did not deign to reply as she swivelled her round and prepared to shampoo her backwards.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TWO and a half hours later Rose emerged feeling more dead than alive. There were crisp little curls at the nape of her neck and a great wave in front that seemed to rise up six inches or more, and Henri had put so much lacquer on it that she felt as stiff as a board. She had no idea how she was going to cope with it herself, and Henri had rather ominously advised her to make another appointment in a week’s time.

She had a great rush when she got home. The dresses had arrived, but they had to be unpacked and the three she was not wearing must be hung up. She put on the black dress, but, as she had suspected, she could not fasten it herself at the back. First she would do her face and then she would run down to the kitchen to ask Vittoria to help her, and then, if there was time, she would do the flowers. If there wasn’t time it couldn’t be helped. It really wasn’t her fault. She was glad that Stephen was going to be late; it would give her more time.

She certainly did look different. What would Stephen think of her new appearance? She made up her face with special care. Her new hair style seemed to call for a more sophisticated make-up. She found herself putting on more mascara than usual, and eye-shadow, which she never normally used, and much more lipstick. Her hair she did not have to touch because it had been lacquered into place and she would not have dared put a comb through it.

It was seven o’clock by the time she was ready and just as she was coming downstairs on her way to the basement to ask Vittoria to zip up her dress, the front door opened and Stephen came in. “Oh, good, it’s you; now you can help me,” she exclaimed. “Will you zip me up? I was just going to get Vittoria to do it,” and she turned her back to him. “Be careful, won’t you, not to catch my petticoat in it?”

He pulled up the long zip and fastened the little hook at the top. “How do you like it?” she asked.

“Turn round.”

She turned round a little shyly.

“Did Clare choose it for you?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose it’s very fashionable. But what on earth have you done to your hair?”

“Clare’s hairdresser.”

“Has he cut it off?”

“Yes, he said it was very
demode
as it was
...
Don’t you like it?”

“You look a completely different person. It will take some getting used to,” he said, but she believed she detected a new admiration, a new interest, in his voice. A completely different person: wasn’t that what she wanted him to find her?

“Thank goodness I haven’t got to change,” he said. “They’re not coming till half past seven, are they? Time to sit down. Come and talk to me.”

“Oh, I can’t. I’ve only just got in. The hairdresser kept me such ages. I haven’t done the flowers yet or looked at the table or anything. I haven’t even see Vittoria since this morning. I must go down and see everything’s all right.”

“Very well,” and he went into the study by himself and shut the door. She felt a pang but really she couldn’t help it.

First she went into the drawing-room. The french windows stood open to the little paved garden, and at that end of the room the table was laid with the best glass and china. Someone had already done the flowers—probably Antonio
—
and had done them charmingly. All was in order—there was nothing left for her to do. The thought passed through her mind: “Stephen could quite well have had this dinner party without me.”

She went down to the basement where Vittoria and Antonio were both busy in the kitchen. “I’m sorry I got in so late,” she said, “but I was kept at the hairdresser.” Vittoria glanced up and then exclaimed when she saw her new appearance. A stream of Italian words followed, and Rose gathered that the impression she had created was favourable when she distinguished the words
“bella”
and “
bellissima”
used several times.

“Thank you for doing the flowers,” she said to Antonio. “You’ve done them beautifully.”

“I did not do them,” Antonio replied. “It was la Signora Frenton, like in the old days. She called and said that you would be late, and that she would arrange them.”

Rose felt a surge of anger rising in her. What cheek on Clare’s part! And then she thought: “No, it was really very sweet of her. She knew how long Henri would keep me and that I probably wouldn’t have time to do them.” But had Clare always come “in the old days” to arrange the flowers for Stephen on dinner party nights? For some reason the thought hurt her. Did Antonio and Vittoria look back with longing to “the old days”?

She went back upstairs to the hall and quietly opened the door of the library; but Stephen was no longer there. No doubt he had gone upstairs to wash and change his shirt. She was just about to follow him up there when she heard the front door bell. The first guest—and annoyingly early too—but it might be Tony so she had better be there to greet him and put him at his ease.

She would have answered the door herself but she knew how much Antonio disliked her doing this, so she slipped across the hall and waited just inside the drawing-room door while Antonio came up from the basement. The door was opened and a voice said:
“Buona sera.”
She recognized it. It was Robin Johnson. He always spoke to Antonio in Italian.

She came out into the hall. “I’m afraid I’m terribly early,” Robin said. “I had to go to a cocktail party and I came straight on. It was so boring I couldn’t stay there a moment longer. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I’m afraid Stephen isn’t down yet. He had to go to some ‘do’ in the City but he won’t be long.”

“What on earth have you done to yourself?” Robin asked.

“Only changed my hair style,” she replied, blushing. “Don’t you like it?”

“You look simply ravishing. Let’s look at you properly.” He held out both his hands and took hold of hers and turned her round. “You really do look stunning, Rose.” She blushed from pleasure now, not from embarrassment. Praise from Stephen’s greatest friend was next best to praise from Stephen himself. She had always wanted Robin, just because he
was
Stephen’s friend, to like her and approve of her, but it was not until this moment that she realized that she had won his whole-hearted admiration. Was it because of her new appearance? If it had such an effect on Robin was it not also likely to have an effect on Stephen too? She felt suddenly extraordinarily happy and lighthearted—happier than she had felt since her illness.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.

“I do more than like it,” and she realized suddenly that he had no intention of letting go of her hands.

At that moment Stephen’s voice came quietly from the bottom of the stairs: “Good evening, Robin. So you are admiring my wife?”

“Yes, I was telling her that she looks stunning,” Robin replied, dropping her hands a little guiltily. “Don’t you think so?”

“I’m not used to her like that yet
...
How’s Gai?”

“Gai? Oh, Gai’s fine
...
No, as a matter of fact she isn’t. She’s got a go of flu, poor girl. But not too bad, I think.”

“Too bad,” Stephen said.

“What did you say?”

“I said ‘too bad’, unlike you who said ‘not too bad!’ ”

“That’s a bit cryptic for me, old chap. I’m a simple fellow.”

“Why are we standing in the hall?” Rose asked.

“Why indeed,” Stephen said. “Let’s go into the
drawing room
.”

The doorbell went again. The newcomer was Tony, and Rose could see the moment he came in that he was agon
i
zingly shy, but Stephen was charming to him and did everything possible to put him at his ease. The other guests arrived more or less together and they all went out into the garden for a cocktail. At one moment, when Rose found herself a little withdrawn from the others, standing beside Tony, he whispered to her: “I’ve never seen so many strangers. Even
you
are a complete stranger this evening. You look so different.”

“It’s only that I’ve done my hair differently. How do you like it?”

“I don’t like you changed in any way,” he replied. Clare came and joined them. “I must congratulate Henri,” she said. “He’s done wonders. He’s made a different person of you.”

“That’s just what I don’t like,” Tony said a little fiercely. Clare looked at him as if he had been something from under a stone as she replied: “Rose is no longer a schoolgirl with a horse-tail.”

“She never had a horse-tail.”

Antonio came to the top of the steps leading down into the garden and announced that dinner was served, and they all drifted back into the drawing-room. Rose by this time was accustomed to seating her guests but she found some difficulty in doing so this evening because she had not had time to give it any thought. She knew, however, than ten was one of the numbers that made it possible for her and Stephen to sit opposite each other, but there were six men and only four women which was a little awkward. While she was hesitating Clare came to her rescue and at once indicated the right place for everyone.