The Wedding Dress

by Mary Burchell

  “At least it was something you very much wanted to happen wasn’t it?” she countered quickly, and she found that she was holding her breath for his answer.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “It was something I wanted more than anything else in the world.”

  He made the statement completely without emphasis, but she guessed that he was having some difficulty in controlling his feelings at that moment. She wished that she herself could have felt more enthusiastic about the whole thing. But, rather naturally, the thought of Elinor in connection with anyone close to her was unacceptable.

  However—whatever the ulterior motive—her guardian had certainly bestirred himself well on her behalf, and it was only right that she should now show some friendly interest in his affairs.

  “I gather they just decided that the engagement had been a mistake,” she explained carefully.

  But her guardian merely said drily, “Very interesting.” So she decided not to pursue the matter further and bade him goodnight at this point and went to bed.

  For no reason she could define, she felt faintly depressed perhaps as a reaction from all the emotional excitement of the evening. But then she remembered that everything was all right with Philip once more and that the future beckoned brightly. And on that happy reflection, she fell asleep.

  Loraine had rather expected that, once the important first displays of the Collection were over, life would become a trifle less demanding. But nothing could have been further from the case.

  As a result of the fantastic success, yet again, of the Florian Collection, customers crowded the salon daily.

  And, in addition to the showing of the full Collection, which took place every afternoon, there was endless work in connection with individual customers.

  From Madame Moisant’s brusque but satisfied manner and, still more, from the occasional Olympian nod she received from Florian, Loraine gathered that she was fulfilling her role with credit. But she still regarded herself very much as the new girl, and did not expect to be chosen for any of the big social or charity events where Florian models went on unofficial display, as it were.

  She was all the more flattered and pleased, therefore, when Florian summoned her one morning and said: “Loraine, I think it is time we used you for an outside assignment. In your naive way, you have become to a certain extent fashion news. You dance, I take it?”

  “Yes, certainly, monsieur.”

  “I remember now—you said something about some ballet training, though this will not be necessary. At least,” he looked at her as though a new and pleasing thought had struck him, “one might use for a minuet, I suppose. Could you learn that, if necessary?”

  She laughed.

  “I could dance a minuet when I was fourteen, monsieur. One does not forget anything so lovely in so short a time.”

  “True,” he agreed, with some approval. “How would you like to go to the Fete du Roi Soleil on the first of next month?”

  “Monsieur Florian! It’s—the event of the season almost, isn’t it?” She was breathless with excitement and delight.

  “One could call it that, I suppose. It is not often that a new theatre is opened in Paris, and this will celebrate the opening of the Monique.”

  “It’s also a tremendous charity affair, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. Everything on which one spends a great deal of money is termed a charity affair,” Florian agreed cynically. “And sometimes charity even benefits thereby.”

  “Monsieur Florian, I should adore to go! Please tell me some more,” Loraine begged. And her youthful enthusiasm was so infectious that the great designer smiled indulgently, and, leaning back in his chair, looked more relaxed than she had seen him look since the new Collection opened.

  “Well, as the title implies, the actual stage spectacle will be cast in the mould of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,” Florian explained. “That does not concern us. That is something for the theatre World. But, when the performance is over, there will be a bail—”

  “On stage?” interjected Loraine eagerly.

  “On the stage,” Florian assured her. “Possibly this will include set, period dances, with picked dancers—and there we might include you, chérie—though that I will decide later. In general, all you do is attend the Fete wearing a Florian design, which will attract a certain amount of attention,” he added, without false modesty. “And so that no one shall give the credit to any of my rivals, you will be in my party.”

  “Oh, monsieur, how lovely!” her eyes sparkled. “Who else will be there?”

  “My wife, of course. Possibly Marianne and Roger Senloe, as they may be in Paris at that time. And,” again that indulgent smile, “I have no doubt you would like to choose your own partner for the occasion.”

  “You mean I can bring someone else?”

  “Of course.”

  “They—he wouldn’t have to wear fancy dress, would he?” She could not quite see Philip submitting to satins and laces.

  “Oh, no!” Florian’s expression suggested that he had no intention of submitting either. “But, in compliment to the event, your dress and my wife’s dress will naturally have some suggestion of the period. A fascinating possibility,” he murmured, half to himself, and already she could see him pencilling absently on the block in front of him.

  “Monsieur Florian, I think it’s the most wonderful idea,” Loraine told him. “And I can’t thank you enough for choosing me. It was kind of you.”

  “It was also good judgement on my part, chérie,” he replied, as he went on sketching. “You are the one I can see in a dress reminiscent of the period.”

  But he was smiling, she noticed, and she guessed he was not displeased to give her this treat—which was handsome of him, she reflected, when she remembered the scene of insubordination which had taken place in this very room on the morning of the opening day.

  “Monsieur Florian,” Loraine said on impulse, “I never really thanked you for the—the very kind way you helped me on the opening day of the Collection.”

  “I do not recall, Loraine, that you left me much choice,” he retorted, with some humor.

  “Oh, I—I know. I’m terribly sorry. But—I thought you might like to know, monsieur—that...” She hesitated for the right words and compromised with a safe generality—that everything is all right now.”

  “You are indeed fortunate, petite. I congratulate you,” Florian said a little sardonically. “It is seldom that everything is all right with any of us. Pray tell me just what happened.”

  “Oh, well—” she had not quite bargained for a detailed statement, and now slightly regretted the impulse to express her gratitude by making this artless confidence. “You remember you were kind enough to promise me a very personal success when I wore the wedding dress?”

  “What I said was that every man present would see in you the perfect—the inevitable bride,” he corrected her firmly.

  She laughed a little self-consciously.

  “I thought you might like to know that the wedding dress had what might be called the right effect on the right person.”

  “You are remarkably cautious in your statements, mon chère.” Florian was still sketching. “May I be indiscreet enough to ask you who the right person was?”

  “I think—you know. You saw him at the theatre.”

  “Monsieur Philippe?” Florian looked up suddenly and straight across at her. “So you thought I was interested in the effect of the wedding dress on Monsieur Philippe?”

  “I—you were kind enough to imply something of the kind.”

  “You are mistaken, chérie,” he said, but quite gently. “Monsieur Philippe did not enter into my calculations, except as a minor counter-player. The man whose reactions interested me profoundly was your guardian.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “MY guardian, Monsieur Florian?” repeated Loraine in astonishment. “Why should you be interested in the way he reacted when he saw me in the wedding dress?”


  “You didn’t find his reactions interesting?”

  “Well—” she began. Then she stopped. For with extraordinary poignancy she recaptured the moment when Paul had risen to his feet and murmured, “You darling!” as she passed. And she remembered how, inexplicably, this had brought tears into her eyes.

  “I was very—gratified, of course, by his pleasure and admiration,” she said at last.

  “Gratified?” Florian made a disparaging little grimace. “Gratification is not a warm or an endearing emotion, Loraine. My impression was that you were greatly moved.”

  “Well, yes—I was,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “By the occasion?—or by the unexpected tribute?”

  “By both, I suppose,” Loraine said slowly. “It wasn’t at all what I had expected.”

  “No? I remember,” Florian reflectively pencilled in a few extra lines on his sketch, “you said something very odd to me afterwards in the dressing-room. You said—'I didn’t look at Philip, after all. I looked at Paul.’ Perhaps that also was unexpected?”

  Loraine looked faintly startled, and began to explain eagerly. But Florian glanced suddenly at his watch and exclaimed:

  “You must go, ma chère, or you will be late for the afternoon Show, and then Madame Moisant will be very angry with me as well as you.”

  There was no question of lingering after that, to explain her reactions at length. He had already been generous with his time. So Loraine thanked him once more for the invitation to the Fete du Roi Soleil, and made her way down to the dressing-room in a somewhat thoughtful state of mind.

  “Well?” Madame Moisant greeted her with a mixture of sharpness and indulgence. “It was interesting, what Monsieur Florian had to say?”

  “Yes, indeed, madame! Did you know that he had chosen me to go to the big Fete at the Monique in three weeks’ time?”

  “Of course.” Madame Moisant smiled with faintly acid amusement at the idea of her not knowing everything which went on under the roof of Florian’s. “It was I who spoke up for you when we were discussing who would be suitable.”

  “Oh, madame, you darling!”

  In her exuberant delight, Loraine flung her arms round the astonished directrice and hugged her—a tribute which had probably never before been paid to Madame Moisant.

  “Come, come, Loraine, we will not be sentimental about it,” she said, though in a tone of great good humor. “All is business in these matters. You were the most suitable and I said so. Voila tout!”

  “As you like.” Loraine smiled almost affectionately at Madame Moisant. And then they were both caught up in the demands of the afternoon Show, and no more conversation was possible.

  Not until Loraine was on her way home did she have much time to reflect on her conversation with Florian. And, even then, she naturally thought more of the exciting assignment for which he had chosen her than his odd insistence on the fact that Paul’s reactions to the wedding dress had been of anything more than passing interest.

  “It was a pity I didn’t have time to explain that Paul is too much in love with Elinor to have interesting reactions about anyone else,” she thought amusedly. “Particularly now she’s no longer engaged to Philip.”

  Even so, Florian’s words came back to her with some force when she entered the flat and found Paul—who had apparently preceded her by minutes only—standing by the hall table, turning over the one or two letters there.

  He had been sweet about the wedding dress and, in fresh gratitude for his affectionate admiration on that great occasion, she went over and put her arm round him.

  “Hallo, Paul!”

  “Hallo, my dear.” He put down the letters and gave her a light, guardianly kiss. “You’re home early, aren’t you?”

  “For present time, yes. I don’t know if I was just lucky or whether we’re beginning to revert to normal.”

  “Time things were a little easier,” he declared with some emphasis. “Florian’s a slave-driver. He’s been working you to death.”

  She thought of telling him that Florian had spoken up well for him that afternoon and that he might display a little respectful gratitude. But suddenly she felt that, for some reason, the joke might fall a trifle flat. And so she just said something general about having to pay some sort of penalty for success.

  “Very likely. But since you have an early evening for once, let’s have a drink and then go out somewhere for dinner,” he suggested. “It’s too lovely an evening to stay in. I know a charming place about eight or ten miles along the river. What do you say?”

  “That’s an inspiration!” Loraine declared. “Just wait while I change and we’ll go.”

  She ran to her room and quickly changed into the simple but infinitely becoming dress which Paul had once mistaken for a Florian model. And by the time she rejoined him in the drawing-room, he had already poured out a glass of her favorite sherry.

  Over their drinks she began to tell him about Florian’s decision to include her in his party for the famous Fete at the Monique. And then, in the middle of her description of her interview, Mimi came in to say that she was wanted on the telephone.

  “Tell whoever it is not to keep you too long,” Paul called after her, “or the best of the evening will be gone.” Loraine took care not to answer that specifically, because she knew it was at least extremely probable that her roller was Philip. And, sure enough, as soon as she lifted the receiver, she heard that well-pitched, attractive voice which always made him sound as though he were smiling slightly.

  “Darling Loraine! It’s my lucky evening, I see. I hardly dared hope to find you in yet.”

  “We weren’t quite so madly busy today, and I got away at something more like my usual time.”

  “Good for you. Let’s celebrate the fact by going out somewhere together. I’ll come and collect you in fifteen minutes, and meanwhile, you think out just where you’d like to go.”

  “Oh, Philip, I’m terribly sorry.” She slightly lowered her voice, although, with the drawing-room door shut, Paul could certainly not hear what she was saying. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Why not?” he wanted to know.

  “I’ve just arranged to go out with Paul.”

  “Can’t you cancel that?”

  “Well—no.”

  “Do you mean it’s a long-standing arrangement, or just a spur-of-the-moment idea?”

  “We both thought it was such a lovely evening, and as I was home early—”

  “But I find it a lovely evening too,” Philip interrupted, on a note of imperious good humor, “and I also would like to take advantage of the fact that you’re home early.”

  “But, Philip—he asked me first.”

  “Good lord, just explain to him that you have a more acceptable offer. A guardian isn’t much more than a fill-in in one’s social life, surely?”

  “That’s not at all the way I regard Paul,” she said indignantly. “I couldn’t think of saying such a thing to him.”

  “No?” Philip sounded amused, but also slightly irritated, by what he evidently regarded as excessive consideration for Paul’s feelings. “Well, then, tell him you forgot you had a prior engagement with me, and that I’ve just rung up to remind you of the fact.”

  “But that isn’t true.”

  “Don’t be a darling little prig. It wouldn’t be the first fib you’ve told him,” was the laughing retort.

  “I don’t know what you mean by that, exactly.”

  “Only that you couldn’t have skated over all the thin ice of the last few weeks without telling him a few lies,” was the careless reply.

  “I didn’t tell him any lies! I only—”

  “Well, don’t let’s split hairs about that now, sweetheart—” This time there was an unmistakably impatient note in Philip’s voice. “Tell him whatever your imagination and your conscience will permit, and be ready for me in a quarter of an hour.”

  “I’m sorry—I can’t.” For the first time in her life, s
he felt a little spurt of genuine anger where Philip was concerned. “I’ve told you. I can’t alter my present arrangement.”

  There was a very slight pause, during which she wondered apprehensively if she had made him really angry in his turn. But perhaps he had heard the unusual note in her voice. At any rate, when his reply came, it was not at all what she expected. He said, gently and persuasively.

  “Loraine dear, I’ve something very important to say to you. Can you really not find time for me?”

  “Oh, Philip—any time but tonight! You have no idea how sorry I am to say ‘no’. But,” she lowered her voice still further, “it would be a sort of slap in the face to Paul.”

  “I could bear that,” he replied callously.

  “Well, I couldn’t,” stated Loraine flatly. And then, as though to soften that—”The very next day early evening I can manage—”

  “That might be too late.” His voice was unbelievably a trifle cold. “I’m going back to England soon.”

  “Going back to England!” She was aghast. “But you can’t. I was just going to tell you—Florian wants me to join his party for the Fete at the Monique, and he said I could bring my own partner, and—and of course I want to have you.”

  He laughed at that. A much more indulgent, Philip-like laugh. But he said teasingly:

  “Why don’t you take your guardian, if he’s so important to you?”

  “Because I want you,” she said simply.

  “Darling Loraine!” He laughed again, and this time sounded exactly like his old self. “Well, I’ll forgive you for this evening’s defection then, and tell you I shan’t be longer than a week in England. So I shall be back in time for the Fete.”

  “I’m so—glad.” She actually gulped in her relief. “But I’d like to see you before you go, if possible. Can’t we manage anything, Philip?”

  “When will you be finished tomorrow?”