It was reassuring, of course, to know that, in the unlikely event of a real crisis, the world and resourceful Florian was there. On the other hand, she remembered with some disquiet those casual questions about Philip—and with even more disquiet, his almost genial remark that he took an intelligent interest in the affairs of his staff.
CHAPTER FIVE
DURING the next few days, Loraine’s life began to settle into the most enjoyable routine. Mimi was an admirable housekeeper, so that Loraine had no domestic cares at all. And few are the people who could not be satisfied with a flat in Paris in those circumstances, allied to a fascinating job in one of the great dress houses.
At work the whole tempo was quickening daily—Loraine sometimes thought hourly—and the first faint wind of change and challenge was beginning to blow through the place. Now no one talked of anything but the new Collection and, although jealousies, slights and crises, tearful or otherwise, were still very much part of life in the mannequins’ dressing-room, there was also a sort of corporate loyalty which bound them all together in the great enterprise of staking the claim of their dress house against all others, in the ever-recurring battle for success.
It was impossible to remain immune from the fever of ambition and determination. And, like all the others, Loraine found herself ready to put aside weariness—or, indeed, almost any other personal consideration—if she could thus contribute in the smallest degree to the brilliance of The Day.
All the same, Monday evening shone brightly in prospect, and she ran out eagerly enough when Philip appeared, as arranged, to collect her.
“I’m taking you to Mother’s hotel 'first,” he explained, “and leaving you there while I go for Elinor. Then we’ll all dine there and go on afterwards to this new Russian variety show which everyone seems to think is so marvellous.”
“It sounds a lovely arrangement,” Loraine said. And, indeed, it did meet with her approval, for she was glad to have the opportunity of a few words with Mrs. Otway before the more general meeting took place.
At the hotel—one of the most expensive and exclusive in Paris, Loraine noted, because she was beginning to understand about these things—she discovered that Mrs. Otway had a very pleasant suite. Evidently it was not part of her plan to do herself anything but well while in the process of overseeing her son’s matrimonial affairs.
“Come and sit down, darling. I suppose you’re exhausted with standing all day. But how pretty you look, just the same.” Mrs. Otway smiled approvingly at Loraine, in a charming way which had the subtle, and altogether acceptable, effect of making her feel her best. “I never realized the child was going to grow into such a beauty, did you, Phil?”
“I always thought her a beauty,” was his calm reply. “But now she is a more self-possessed beauty, with a delightful touch of the unexpected about her. Have fun gossiping, you two. I’ll be back in less than half an hour.”
“That’s just what we mean to have, isn’t it, dear?” Mrs. Otway declared mischievously, as the door closed behind him. “How did the luncheon date go?”
Immediately Loraine felt that faintly uncomfortable sensation which Mrs. Otway’s conspiratorial air had induced in her before.
“It was lovely.” She tried to sound extremely matter-of-fact, but was afraid she only succeeded in sounding slightly secretive. “Quite short, of course. But at least we had time to catch up on each other’s news. I think Philip was a good deal amused to hear about my Florian job.”
“And, in return, told you all about his engagement?”
“Among other things—yes. Not all about it. He just told me the bare fact and—described her.”
But Mrs. Otway was not at all prepared to let it go at that. Like a good general reviewing the various aspects of a campaign, she said pleasantly:
“Philip tells me that you actually know Elinor’s first fiancé. Such a coincidence!”
“Ye-es. At any rate, I’ve met him.” Once again instinct told her that she must not confide to any degree in this charming, inquisitive woman.
“And you like him—according to Philip.”
“I do like what I’ve seen of Paul Cardine, and I said so quite frankly. I’m afraid I rather gave Philip the impression that I was—taking sides, in some way. Of course I wasn’t. It was just that I know Paul and I don’t know her. I suppose I naturally tended to sound as though my sympathies were with him.”
“You don’t need to apologize, my dear. You know where my sympathies lie.” And Mrs. Otway gave a wry little smile. “I expect she treated the poor man pretty badly. She’s rather a ruthless young woman, as you will see for yourself.”
“Oh—please! I’d much rather not talk about her beforehand,” Loraine said uncomfortably. “It will make me feel dreadfully self-conscious when she arrives. Can’t we talk about something else?”
“If that’s how you feel.” The older woman seemed amused rather than offended—possibly because she felt she had already found out all she wanted to know. “How are all the plans for the new Collection going?”
“Oh, wonderfully, I’m sure.” Loraine turned to the fresh subject with relief. “Not, of course, that I have anything but a very scrappy knowledge of things. But the general drive and excitement is quite thrilling. And Monsieur Florian himself looks so coolly confident that we all feel everything will be fine.”
“I expect he has his frantic moments, all the same,” Mrs. Otway said a little callously.
“After all these years of success?” Loraine looked doubtful.
“All the more because of his years of success.” Mrs. Otway gave a knowledgeable little shake of her head. “When you’ve clawed your way to the top, the really harrowing test is to stay there. Imagine a Florian show that was not a success.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!” Loraine turned quite pale at the thought. “Particularly the very first one I was in. I can’t tell you how much I want it to be a triumph for him.”
“Yes? They say he inspires all his staff with that almost fanatical loyalty.” Mrs. Otway gave her an amused, considering glance. “Well, darling, I shall certainly be there on the first day, to cheer you on.”
“Thank you.”
“But that reminds me—I don’t imagine telephone calls will be very popular at the salon during the coming weeks. You’d better give me your home number, dear child, so that I can get in touch with you more easily.”
For a moment, Loraine experienced one of those moments of panic which were the penalty of trying to keep one half of her life divorced from the other. Then her common sense told her that Paul’s telephone number could have no significance for Mrs. Otway, and it was in the remotest degree improbable that she would have occasion to discuss it with Elinor, of all people.
So, with an air of great candor, she said, “It’s Palais Four-Three-Three-Two,” and congratulated herself on the fact that this inquiry had so fortunately been made before Elinor herself came on the scene.
“I’ll write it down now,” Mrs. Otway declared, and she proceeded to do so, in a very elegant little white and gold kid notebook, which she returned to her handbag (to Loraine’s relief) just as the door opened to admit Philip and Elinor Roye.
It was not an easy encounter for Loraine. It could not have been in any circumstances. For she might entertain what hopes she liked—even give reluctant ear to Mrs. Otway’s wishful thinking—but the fact remained that this was the girl Philip had asked to marry him.
In addition, Elinor Roye was not a girl who made other girls feel their best. She was almost disconcertingly lovely and well groomed, with a cool loveliness which made other noses feel shiny and other hair untidy. Her smile was charming, and her voice exceedingly well pitched. But these qualities somehow combined to give an air of graciousness and, although graciousness exalts the dispenser, it frequently abashes the recipient.
From the moment Elinor smiled calmly and said, “How do you do?” with full value on each syllable Loraine felt two inches shorter and three years younge
r than she had before.
Mrs. Otway, of course, managed everything beautifully and contrived to give the general impression that this was the meeting she had been longing for for years. But although throughout dinner she sought to stimulate Loraine to great liveliness and what she would undoubtedly have characterized as intelligent competition, Loraine instinctively withdrew more and more into herself and became very much the shy young friend from the undistinguished past.
She must, she feared, have been a considerable disappointment to Mrs. Otway.
Things were somewhat easier once they arrived at the theatre, for at least there was no need for scintillating conversation except during the intervals. But just as Loraine was beginning to recover her poise a little she made the agitating discovery that Florian and his wife were sitting not far away.
Nothing, of course, could have been more correct and proper than the family party in which she found herself. But, all the same, Loraine could not help feeling a certain degree of self-consciousness when, in the second interval, her employer stood up, glanced carelessly round the theatre and immediately noticed her.
He bowed politely to Mrs. Otway and herself. Then his glance travelled on speculatively for a moment, to rest on Philip and Elinor. She knew Philip could be no more than “Mr. Otway” to him. They had probably exchanged no more than a dozen words when he accompanied his mother to the salon. And yet—as though Philip had his name embroidered on his shirt-front—she saw the knowledge leap into her employer’s mind that here was the man with whom she had had the important lunch date.
Fortunately, there was no attempt at conversation between the two parties during this interval or the next. But as they were slowly making their way out of the theatre at the end of the performance Loraine was not very much surprised to find Florian at her elbow.
“Did you enjoy yourself, petite?” he inquired quite kindly.
“Very much, thank you. Did you?” She had become a little separated from the others, and that helped her to be more at ease.
“As much as I ever enjoy anything when I have the Collection on my mind,” Florian said with a slight grimace.
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“You don't need to be. One must pay some sort of price for success,” the great designer conceded frankly. “And Monsieur Philippe—did he enjoy himself?”
She was exasperated, but she was also reluctantly amused by his tactics.
“I think so.”
“The lady who completed your party is very charming.”
“Mrs. Otway, do you mean?” said Loraine, thinking that he deserved that.
“No.” He pinched her ear sharply. “The other one. Who is she?”
She thought of saying it was her maiden aunt. But then she decided that one must not take too many liberties with Florian, even when he was in a good mood. So she said a trifle sulkily:
“Monsieur Philippe’s finance. And I shouldn’t be surprised if she comes to the opening day with Mrs. Otway in order to choose some of her trousseau.”
“Ah,” said her employer reflectively, “then we must try to find something to please her. But not the wedding dress, I think. That will express a very different personality.”
Then he bade Loraine goodnight and went away, leaving her curiously excited about the wedding dress—and the way it would express the personality of the one who wore it.
As she rejoined her own party, Mrs. Otway was just saying that it would be too dull to go straight home—that, in fact (and how right she was!), half the fun of going to a good show is to sit and discuss it afterwards in congenial company.
“All Continental cafe life is built round that excellent principle,” she declared. “And the fact that British catering persistently ignores it accounts for the dreariness of half the cities in England.”
So, in vindication of her views, they all went on to a gay and charming restaurant, and Loraine began to feel her confidence and natural good spirits returning. Whether it was what Florian had said about the wedding dress or not, she could not have said, but she suddenly found herself able to smile and talk and hold her own, even when Elinor’s coolly reflective glance rested on her—as it did once or twice—for an embarrassing length of time.
It was Philip who finally said:
“We mustn’t forget that our Loraine is a working girl, Mother. It’s time she was home and in bed.”
And not until that moment did Loraine realize that the process of depositing her at home involved a considerable degree of risk—even disaster if Elinor should accompany her and see where she was living.
For a second she felt blank. Then, with an air of decision which Elinor herself could not have improved upon, she said:
“You take Elinor home, Philip. Your mother and I will have a taxi. I can drop her off at her hotel and go on.”
“Or I can drop you off, dear.” The faint edge in Mrs. Otway’s usually pleasing speaking voice was the only sign of her extreme annoyance at being forestalled on the question of home-going arrangements. “Or why don’t we—?”
“We can settle that in the taxi.” Loraine smiled, but with a pleasant firmness there was no gainsaying. “And now I really must go. I had no idea it was so late.”
The party broke up, while Philip was still saying something about being perfectly able to take everyone home. But Loraine patted his arm in something commendably like a sisterly way and said:
“Don’t be silly. You and Elinor want some time alone together, I’m sure.”
A remark which Mrs. Otway evidently considered so foolishly unco-operative that she could hardly conceal her irritation. With an effort, however, she produced her sweetest smile and declared firmly that they must see dear Loraine again very soon.
“Yes, indeed!” In spite of Elinor’s presence, Philip did not conceal his eagerness about that. “I’ll phone you at Florian’s.”
“Better make it her home address,” suggested his mother. “Telephone calls will be taboo at Florian’s during the next few weeks, I imagine.”
“Of course—” He turned to Loraine. “What’s the number?”
“I have it.” And before Loraine could invent a new number or resort to any other desperate remedy, Mrs. Otway opened her bag and produced the white and gold notebook. “It’s—she flicked over the pages—“Palais Four-Three-Three-Two.”
“Palais Four-Three-Three-Two,” repeated Philip, scribbling it down on the back of the restaurant bill.
And—“Palais Four-Three-Three-Two?” repeated Elinor softly, but on a rising note of query. Her eyes met Loraine’s widened, frightened ones. Then she just dropped her glance and murmured, “How—odd.” But so quietly that only Loraine heard.
“The taxi is here, monsieur,” said the waiter, coming up at that moment. And never, it seemed to Loraine, had sweeter, more intelligent words been uttered.
By hurrying through the goodnights at top speed, she contrived to avoid Elinor’s speculative glance again—and at last she was safely in the taxi with Mrs. Otway, though so limp with suppressed nervousness that presently her companion said:
“How quiet you are, darling. I hope it wasn’t in some ways a disappointing evening for you.”
“No, of course not!” Loraine roused herself determinedly. “It was a perfectly lovely evening. The show was just as good as the report said and—”
“Oh, the show—” Mrs. Otway did not seem to consider that of much importance in the evening’s programme. “I was thinking of more personal things.” Then she added, with the faintest touch of asperity. “If you had left the home-going arrangements to me, Loraine, it would have been better. I intended Elinor to share my taxi and Philip to take you home.”
“I think the other way worked very well,” replied Loraine.
Mrs. Otway seemed to find this too silly and inexplicable to be even worthy of comment, so they lapsed into silence. And only when the taxi began to slow down outside the handsome house in which Paul Cardine had his apartment did she lean forward with
interest and say:
“So this is where you live, Loraine? A very pleasant situation.”
“It’s very convenient for my work,” Loraine explained, as though that were her sole reason for living in one of the most distinguished parts of the city. “I’m able to walk there and back.”
“Very nice,” commented her companion. But she glanced at Loraine as though it struck her for the first time that perhaps she was not handling quite such simple material as she had supposed.
However, she kissed Loraine very kindly, bade her goodnight and watched from the taxi until she was safely inside the doorway—an attention which Loraine appreciated, even though the unworthy thought passed through her mind that Mrs. Otway was possibly just making quite sure that she did live there.
“I’m just thinking nasty things because I’m so scared about what has happened,” Loraine told herself, as she fumbled for her key and quietly let herself into the flat.
Mimi would have gone to bed long ago, she knew, and it was a completely deserted place into which she stepped. But, even so, in some inexplicable way, the atmosphere of her guardian’s home closed round her with a suggestion of reassurance and comfort.
It was partly the contrast of warmth, after coming in out of the cool night air, she supposed. But it was also the subtle feeling that here, in some indefinable sense, she belonged and was safe.
But when she reached her room she could not immediately go to bed. She walked about softly, talking to herself under her breath in a stream of agitated question and answer.
“What will Elinor do about it? Will she have told Philip even now, on the way home, that my telephone number is inexplicably the same as Paul’s? And what will Philip think? Oh, why didn’t I tell him the truth from the very beginning? It would have been so much simpler, really. Except that he might have decided regretfully to see no more of me. Only now, if she wants to make trouble, I’ve simply handed her the ammunition on a plate.”
The Wedding Dress Page 8
