The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets (33 page)

She
grinned and pushed an errant roller back on top of her head. ‘Aunt Clare’s
dying to see you. She’s becoming more and more impossible as we near the end of
this blasted book. Oh, and she’s convinced that Harry’s madly in love with you,
which is why you’re always taking off to parties with him, so humour her, will
you? Pity you missed tea today. it was lemon shortbread. I would have saved you
a piece but I thought, well, you need to look as skinny as possible for
tonight. People stop eating when they fall in love. Think of me and A the T in
the caff and how I couldn’t even manage a plate of toast.’ Charlotte shook her
head in confusion at the memory.

Aunt
Clare was sipping champagne in her study.

‘Ah!
How are you, dear girl? Charlotte,
do
shout to Harry that she’s here.’

‘Hello,
Aunt Clare,’ I said, kissing her and breathing in the familiar rosewater scent.

‘He’s
been in such a state, you know, skipping about like a grasshopper all
afternoon, worried that you were going to let him down. Goodness, I can’t think
what
you’ve done to him,’ Penelope.’

‘Oh,
nothing at all, I should think,’ I said hastily.

‘I
haven’t seen him this animated since the old king died,’ went on Aunt Clare. ‘He
even asked Phoebe to polish his shoes this afternoon. You can imagine how well
that
went down.’

The
door opened, and Harry entered the room, fingers wrapped round something that
I, in my state of anxiety and confusion, took to be a magic wand. Phew, I
thought, I don’t want him at all, not one bit. He looked scruffier than ever,
his hair stood on end and his clothes were crumpled.

‘You’re
wearing odd socks,’ said Aunt Clare reprovingly.

‘They
match my eyes,” said Harry, grinning at me. He held out what I had thought was
the magic wand.

‘Cheese
straw?’

‘Oh, no
thanks.’

Then,
quite without warning, Harry crossed the room, held me close and kissed me
slowly and carefully on the mouth. Cheeks burning, I pulled away. too shocked
to respond with anything other than the briefest of squeaks. Aunt Clare’s face
softened, and I think her eyes must have welled up for she pulled out her
handkerchief and dabbed them.

‘Have a
wonderful night, darlings,’ she said thickly. ‘You know, during the war,
whenever we heard the wailing of sirens,’ we would head instinctively
Ritz-ward. I remember Chips Channon telling me how like a pantomime the war
felt once one was safely inside the Ritz for oysters at luncheon. Dear Chips, I
must write to him this evening. Make a note of that, Charlotte.’

Dear
Aunt Clare. If ever there was a tangent, she was off on it.

Charlotte
rescued me and dragged me upstairs to get ready.

‘Did
you see what he did?’ I asked her.

‘What?’
she demanded, rummaging in her bag for a lipstick.

‘Harry!
He kissed me!’

‘Oh,
that. Don’t worry, it’s all part of the act. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Well,
I think I do, really. That wasn’t in my contract,’ I added.

‘Your
contract wasn’t in your contract,’ said Charlotte blithely. ‘Now. Harry’s
leaving in half an hour,’ she said. ‘He’s meeting a couple of friends for a
drink first. He’s told me to make absolutely sure that you turn up after him,
and after
me,
for maximum impact.’ She looked at me, affection spilling
from her green eyes. ‘I hope you’ve found something to wear. Oh, Christmas,
Penelope!’ she cried, catching sight of the Black Watch coat. ‘Surely not?’

Surely
not, indeed. I ditched the coat and borrowed a slim-fitting but understated
black pea coat from Charlotte, who had in turn borrowed it from Aunt Clare.

‘She
need never know,’ said Charlotte breezily. ‘She hasn’t worn it in a decade and
a half.’

She
expressed delight and amazement over my dress and shoes. ‘Where on earth did
you find them?’ she gasped.

‘My
fairy godmother delivered them.’

‘Ah. I
see.’

That
was one of the best things about Charlotte. She accepted everything without
explanation.

She and I took a cab to
the Ritz together, but Charlotte went in ahead of me. ‘See you in five minutes,’
she said, sweeping in through the revolving doors.

I paid
the cab driver with shaking hands, and for a moment stood outside the Ritz,
trying to breathe deeply and fix a smile onto my face as they say you should do
when preparing to make your big entrance, but the doorman bowed to me and leapt
forward to help me through the door, so I wasn’t able to linger for long.
Inside, the hotel wrapped its charm round me like a cloak. I caught sight of a
sophisticated and beautiful woman in the mirror in reception and I realised
with a shock of recognition that it was me. I tottered briefly in my heels and
pulled my dress straight and beamed at the man behind the desk.

‘I’m
here for the Hamilton dinner,’ I said firmly. Half of me expected him to laugh
and tell me not to be so silly and I was still a little girl and where were my
parents?

‘Of
course, madam.’

He led
me down a long shiny corridor that made me feel as though I was stepping inside
a birthday card (it took all my self-control — and the knowledge that I would
most likely fall over —not to waltz) and we ended up outside a closed door
marked ‘Private’.

‘May I
take your name, miss?’

‘Oh.
Um, Penelope. Penelope Wallace. Miss Penelope Wallace. I am Penelope Wallace.’
What was wrong with me? I sounded deranged.

He
opened the door. ‘Miss Penelope Wallace!’ he announced, then melted off,
leaving me standing in the doorway like a faun in the headlamps of a speeding
car. In fact, nobody even heard the announcement of my name over the din of
corks popping and breathless chatter and jazz from the piano player in the
corner of the room.
Charlotte?
I thought helplessly. She was nowhere to
be seen. The combination of low lighting and swirling cigarette smoke made me
feel like an actress on a first night waiting for the rest of the cast to feed
me a line. I shuffled a few paces in, and fairly grabbed at the nearest glass
of champagne. George Rogerson, who was (according to Harry) a terrifically
committed host, spotted me and quickly disentangled himself from a crowd of
Marina’s friends and waded across the room towards me. But someone else got to
me first.

‘My
goodness! If it isn’t my little friend from the train, all grown up. I’ve been
worrying about you.’

And I
nearly passed out, for sauntering towards me, more wicked and delicious even
than I remembered, was Rocky.

A
silence followed his words — the sort of silence where you can hear everyone’s
brains whirring away as they tried to work out who on earth I was. He looked me
up and down and actually ran his hand down the side of my face.

‘Don’t
you look nice,’ he said, smiling softly.

‘I see
you two know each other. How terrific!’ exclaimed George, beaming.

‘We met
on the train,’ said Rocky. ‘She was worrying about something quite trivial,
weren’t you, Miss Wallace? Whether or not one should be oneself at dinner
parties, wasn’t it?’

‘I
shouldn’t bother, Penelope. Such a dreadful effort.’ George laughed.

‘Penelope.
Is that your name?’ asked Rocky. ‘How strangely fitting.’

‘What
does that mean?’ I widened my eyes and took a huge mouthful of champagne, and
quite ruined my previously sophisticated air by spilling some down the front of
my dress. Thank goodness, there was Charlotte, sitting down at the far end of
the room, talking to the Wentworth twins. I felt a wave of relief that they
were here; at least I would have a couple more people to say hello to.

‘Beautiful
shoes,’ said Rocky, trying to keep a straight face and glancing down at my
legs.

‘They’re
Dior.’

‘Damn.
I’d have thought girls who shop at Dior would be able to afford their own train
tickets.’

‘I
could!’ I bleated. ‘I lost my ticket! And I had every intention of paying you
back!’

Rocky
smiled and was distracted by a beauty in a dazzling yellow and black cocktail
dress.

‘Where’s
Harry?’ I asked George as calmly as I could.

‘Oh, he
and Marina have gone to find a pack of playing cards. Apparently Harry’s got
some fabulous new tricks up his sleeve. Missing him, are you? I’m just the same
with Marina. If she leaves the room for so much as a second, I start to fret.’

Knowing
what I knew about his future wife, I was hardly surprised. George turned back
to Rocky.

‘Penelope
and Harry have been inseparable since last Christmas. We’re all wondering when
we’re going to be hearing the chiming of church bells.’

‘Is
that so?’ asked Rocky, an amused smile playing on his lips.

‘Oh, I
don’t know—’

‘Don’t
be so coy, darling. He’s mad for you. Please excuse me; new arrivals. Ah! If
you want to talk books with someone, you must meet Nancy. Nancy!’ George
lumbered off.

Charlotte
was beside me in a flash. ‘You look radiant,’ she said. ‘And did I see Rocky
Dakota talking to you a moment ago?’

‘Yes,’
I admitted. ‘I met him on the train. I had no idea he was going to be here
tonight.’

‘Why in
the name of jumping Jeremiah didn’t you tell me you’d met him?’ hissed
Charlotte out of the corner of her mouth. ‘He’s not the sort of man you bump
into every day, is he? Christmas! You’ll be telling me later you had Sunday
lunch with James Dean.’

There
was a soft cough behind me. ‘Won’t you sit next to me at dinner?’ said Rocky,
sliding up to me. ‘I’m bored sick of everyone here but you.

‘Charmed!’
trilled Charlotte. He turned to her at once.

‘Hello.
I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,’ he said, holding out his hand. In her
heels, she was almost as tall as him.
Oh no,
I thought, heart hammering.
Please don’t let him fall for Charlotte.

‘Perhaps
I could sit between you two,’ suggested Rocky. ‘The Wentworth twins frighten
the hell outta me. You know Helena can bite her own toenails?’

‘That’s
nothing,’ said Charlotte quickly. ‘One of my friends was at school with Kate.
Apparently. she once slept-walked into the housemistress’s bedroom, took off
her pyjamas and got into bed with her. The only reason they all found out was
because the fire alarm went off two hours later and Kate emerged from Miss
Gregory’s bedroom like a furious cat.’

‘Lucky
Miss Gregory,’ said Rocky, looking at Charlotte with respect.

‘They’re
both far too pretty for the real world,’ went on Charlotte. ‘Looking like that
makes a girl very lazy. After all, no one’s going to care what you’re talking
about as long as your face is that good.’

‘Very
true,’ agreed Rocky.

Goodness, but looks like
his
were powerful stuff. He had the most divine way of making one feel like a
little girl and a thoroughly cosmopolitan woman at the same time, and I had
never known anyone make me feel like that. He was wearing an immaculate
charcoal grey and black suit with a bright green and pink silk shirt that no
Englishman — except perhaps Bunny Roger — could have got away with. His shoes,
I noted in amazement, were blue and black suede — Charlotte could barely tear
her eyes away from them. We relaxed under the spell of his intoxicating accent
to such an extent that when at last Harry reappeared, spraying cards into the
air with one hand and catching them in the other, I had almost forgotten about
him. I had also drunk three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.

‘Penelope!’
Harry spotted me and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw who I was talking
to. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Quite
fine, thank you.’ I managed a stiff smile. If Harry was going to go swanning
off with Marina before the night had even begun, then I was certainly going to
spend as much time as I could entertaining myself.

Rocky
stuck out his hand. ‘Rocky Dakota.’

Harry
gave him a wintery look and shook his hand. ‘How do you do?’ he said, then
frowned. ‘Ah! I’ve been looking for that. So sorry!’ He leaned forward and
plucked a potato from behind Rocky’s ear. I glared at him, but Rocky was
laughing.

‘That’s
real clever,’ he said. The uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by a
stout man in tails barging up to Rocky and dragging him across the room to meet
his wife. Harry and I were left alone.

‘Where’s
Marina?’ I asked pointedly.

‘I don’t
know. She said she needed some air.’ A shadow of despair crossed Harry’s face. ‘And
why on earth didn’t you tell me you were so thick with Rocky bloody Dakota?’

‘I’m
not.’ I blushed. ‘And how come everyone but me knows who he is?’

‘Oh,
Penelope, don’t you know anything?’ said Harry infuriatingly. ‘He’s an agent
and a producer. For actors, singers, that sort of thing.’