Diana had decided that she really didn’t like him at all. She had been charmed by him at first, glad he had been seated next to her as he was charming and attentive, and very good-looking.
They were at the St Luke’s Hospital ball, and had a really very nice table: Ned, of course, looking divinely handsome; Persephone and her boyfriend George Tilbury, a nice old buffer, handsome and with very nice manners; Wendelien and Ian Bellinger; Ludo and Cecily Manners; and one of the sisters from the hospital – there was a representative on every table – who was more beautiful and more charming than any sister had a right to be, called Anna Fitzwarren. The young man she had decided didn’t like, Ned’s registrar Philip Harrington, was another representative of the hospital. His father, Sir Digby Harrington, was on the board of governors of the hospital, and a distinguished surgeon himself.
Diana had taken enormous trouble over her appearance – partly because she liked the stir she caused, partly because she wanted Ned to admire her. She had borrowed a dress from Hardy Amies – one of the perks of her trade – it was red silk, with a great swooping skirt spilling from a tiny waist, and a particularly daring bodice, skin tight but parting just above the cleavage line, thus empasising her lovely breasts, and lest they might be missed, further embellished with gold and silver embroidery.
She had arrived on Ned’s arm, swathed in a great white fox stole, her hair swept up in a chignon, her make-up bold: heavy black eyeliner and brilliant red lipstick. She was at least six inches taller than any other woman in the room, partly because of a pair of four-inch heels endowed by Rayne. So lovely did she look, there was no one, male or female, in the room who did not stop whatever they were doing to stare at her. As she bent to kiss Persephone, who was already at the table, the staring focused on her breasts which threatened – or was it promised? – to spill out of their embroidered casing.
‘My darling, how beautiful you look,’ Persephone cried. ‘Ned, doesn’t she look just too, too amazing?’
And Ned, playing up to Diana’s game for once, said, ‘Truly amazing, yes.’ He looked her quite openly up and down before kissing her hand and settling her in her seat.
Philip Harrington had arrived rather rudely late, Diana thought. In her book, if you were to attend so glittering an affair, you made sure to get away hours before necessary. Then she chided herself as she shook out her napkin and smiled graciously at him. Perhaps registrars did not possess such powers over their lives. But she noticed that Sister Anna Fitzwarren had clearly made note of the late arrival and her eyebrows rose on her aristocratic forehead just for a moment. Good, thought Diana. He would suffer for it in the days to come.
But after that Philip made a great effort to be agreeable and charming, signalling to the waiter more than once that her glass was in need of refilling, or her napkin needed retrieving, having slithered yet again off the great expanse of her skirt.
It was quite far into the evening that he said it; dancing had begun and Diana was much in demand, first with Ned, to establish her position as guest of honour on his table, then Persephone’s beau, who had a rather showy style that amused her. And then of course Ian Bellinger and Ludo Manners; she was just sitting down, breathless and laughing, when Philip Harrington joined her.
‘I was going to ask you if you would do me the honour of dancing with me,’ he said, ‘but I can see you would rather sit this one out.’
‘I would indeed, and thank you for that piece of perception. What a wonderful occasion this is, isn’t it? Are you enjoying it?’
‘Oh, very much,’ he said.
‘And how long have you worked at St Luke’s?’
‘Oh, I got my job, as it’s called, a position at a hospital—’
‘Yes, I do know,’ said Diana coolly. ‘My brother is a consultant at the London and of course I’ve known Ned all my life, so I’m familiar with medical terminology.’
‘Well, I got my job here just about six months ago.’
‘And – you like it?’
‘Oh, very much. Paediatrics is quite a new field, but one I’m very interested in, and some of Mr Welles’s work is quite pioneering. So I’m very fortunate and appreciate it.’
‘Good. And your father works here, I believe.’
‘Yes, he’s over there,’ said Philip Harrington, indicating a stout, red-faced man dancing a rather inexpert foxtrot with a woman who would clearly have wished to be partnering almost anyone else in the room. ‘Would you like to meet him? I’m sure he’d be delighted to be introduced.’
‘Yes,’ said Diana bravely, thinking only of Ned and that this entire evening was, as far as she was concerned, in his best interests and to further his career and also to develop their friendship just a little. ‘Yes, I would very much. Thank you.’
Sir Digby proved exactly as she might have expected: pompous, overbearing and none too bright. Until her brother had qualified she had assumed doctors must all be brilliant people, but he had assured her they were not. ‘Everyone hero-worships them because they have the power of life and death in their hands, but honestly, it’s not a difficult subject, medicine, it’s all facts. You need a good memory and a facility to apply what you know to the case in hand.’
‘Well, I must be getting back to my table,’ she said as soon as she possibly could. ‘Mr Welles’s mother is on her own.’
‘Ah, is that who she is?’ said Sir Digby. ‘Pretty woman; I believe there was some scandal, long ago of course. Welles seems very devoted to her. Not many men would bring their mother to such an event, but then she does seem most delightful.’ And then, ‘Welles has never married, has he?’ said Harrington, with a suddenness that shocked her.
‘No, not yet. He was about to, about a year back, but it was broken off. In fact, I planned to marry him myself when I was very young. We were childhood sweethearts.’ May God forgive me, she thought, or rather Ned . . .
‘Did you, by Jove. So what changed your mind?’
‘Oh – common sense, I would say, on his part. I was only nineteen. But so much in love.’
‘And – is your husband here tonight? I see you are married.’ He nodded at the wedding ring and huge diamond on her left hand.
‘No, sadly, we’re divorced.’
‘Oh – pity. Now look, I see that Mrs Welles is dancing again and this is one of my favourites.’ The band had struck up with the old Astaire song ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. ‘Don’t suppose you’d do me the honour, would you?’
‘Of course,’ she said, summoning her warmest smile. Put up with it, Diana, stay friends with this one, it’s important.
She survived – just – then made her excuses and allowed him to lead her back to the table, where Philip Harrington was sitting alone. He stood up, pulled back a chair for her.
‘Hello. Hello, Father. Having a good time?’
‘Delightful, quite delightful. Goodnight for now at least, Mrs –?’
‘Gunning,’ said Diana. ‘Goodnight and thank you for the dance.’
‘My pleasure entirely. My regards to Welles. Tell him we’re very pleased with his work here, especially the new stuff.’