The room was filled with now-familiar people: Ottilie, the beauty editor, the accessories editor, Miss Dickens’s assistant. The desk was entirely covered with sheets of contacts. Miss Dickens was looking at them with a magnifying glass, occasionally pushing one towards Ottilie, and saying something in a low voice; she totally ignored Diana and Freddie as they came in. The silence was a long one; Diana was just beginning to think Freddie for once was right and she did hate the pictures when she put down the magnifying glass, looked at them over her half-moon glasses and smiled, a delighted child-like smile.
‘I adore them,’ she said. ‘Absolutely adore them. What a team you are. These are way, way beyond anything even Ottilie has produced before and I can tell you, that is something. This one with the taxi – and the trumpet – oh, and you practically falling off the Empire State, Diana – they’re just fantastic. I am thrilled. I’m giving them four spreads, not two. We can’t really afford it, but they’ll pull in a lot of advertising. Well done. Both of you. Now look, are you free tonight, because I want to dine with you.’
‘Miss Dickens, you’re having dinner with the Elizabeth Arden people tonight,’ said her assistant.
‘And Miss Arden herself might be there,’ said the beauty editor. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
‘Oh, I can’t help that,’ said Miss Dickens. ‘Tell them I died or something.’ But Diana, who had learned a great deal about advertisers and their importance, said, ‘Miss Dickens, we can meet you after dinner. Can’t we, Freddie?’
Freddie, who was planning to meet an old girlfriend for dinner and hoped to persuade her back to the Pierre for the rest of the night, hesitated, clearly dismayed, and then said yes, of course they could, asking hopefully if that mightn’t be a little late for Miss Dickens; she drew herself up to her full five feet and said she wasn’t senile yet and she’d meet them in the King Cole Bar at the St Regis at eleven.
They arrived early, as Freddie said Diana ought to have time to enjoy the famous Maxfield Parrish mural of Old King Cole, which she did, but was marginally more enchanted by the doorman’s brass booth at the entrance. They sat drinking what Diana remembered from her lunch with Leo Bennett to call Mimosas. She had hardly had time to think about him since, but found herself reflecting on him now with some pleasure and whether she might try and find some excuse to see him again when she got home.
Miss Dickens arrived late: she had clearly not considered the Elizabeth Arden people worth dressing up for and wore the same high-necked ankle-length tea dress as she had for her meeting with Diana and Freddie. She ordered some tea for herself, and sat back in a chair that was far too big for her, her tiny feet not even reaching the floor, and looked at them both intently.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I want to discuss something with you. I know we’ve only done one session, but it’s quite enough to convince me. As you know, I’m new at American Fashion and I’m still building my reputation and my team. I’d like to offer you a contract. The two of you working together, usually one feature a month, but you must be prepared to do two, to be shot generally over here. That’s because of the clothes, of course, no use featuring English clothes that the readers can’t get. But under exceptional circumstances, like a royal wedding – we do so love the royals – then it would be shot in England. Or you can go somewhere quite different, of course, providing the clothes were American: the Bahamas, or Ireland – wherever your inspired fancies took you. But this would have to be your base. What do you say?’
Persephone read Ned’s letter, and then read it again and then again, smiling more and more as she did so. This was beyond her wildest hopes for him; she found it hard to believe it could finally have happened.
I have found someone I love, he had written, and I wanted you to be the first person to know. Someone I am happy with, at peace with, someone who makes me laugh and talk and think. I’m not ready yet to tell you who, because we don’t want to go even slightly public with it yet; he has family considerations, and needs to think about it all carefully. I know you will find this extremely difficult (!) but it will do you no good to try and tease it out of me. I just wanted you to know. But it seems so wonderful, and I feel different, stronger, braver. God knows what we are to do about it – we can’t actually live together, of course – but the time we do spend together is so precious, so special, and such fun and I hope together we can work something out.
It was a sad little document in its way, Persephone thought – two adults finding love for one another, and unable to acknowledge it except to a very few people – but it was lovely to know Ned was so happy. She felt very happy herself, and was touched that he trusted her enough to tell her.
Alice woke up in the night from a horrible dream in which she was screaming and screaming – and then realised it was real, and it wasn’t her screaming, it was Kit. She rushed into his room and found him clutching his stomach, his legs drawn up in what was clearly agonising pain; as she took him onto her knee, shouting for Tom, Kit vomited all over her.
‘Tom! Tom! Ring Dr Redmond, would you? Now, quickly. There’s something terribly wrong.’
By the time Dr Redmond arrived, Kit was much calmer, the pain clearly easing, but pale and listless.
Alice liked Dr Redmond. He was the ideal, trust-inspiring family doctor, middle-aged, patient, kindly faced.
‘Right, young fellow-my-lad, let’s have a look at you. Put him on the bed, would you?’
He felt Kit’s tummy for a long time. Then he said, ‘His abdomen is still quite soft which is a good sign. I’d say it was a grumbling appendix. His symptoms are classic. Let’s see how he goes in the next few days. Keep him quiet, plenty of fluids. If it happens again, of course let me know. They used to rush them into surgery at the first symptom, now we leave it for a few days, see if it settles. All right? I’ll be getting back to bed, I think. I’d advise you to do the same.’
‘Right,’ said Tom. ‘Thank you so much for coming out at this terrible hour.’
‘Oh, it’s all part of the job.’
Dr Redmond followed Tom out of the room. Alice could hear him uttering calming clichés before the front door closed.
‘Nice chap,’ said Tom, coming back into the room. ‘Very good of him to come at this time of night.’
‘I suppose,’ said Alice. ‘It’s no more than he should do, though – this is your wonderful National Health Service we’re dealing with. I still don’t feel very happy, Tom. What if it’s something more than appendicitis? It just feels – wrong to me.’
‘Alice, he’s a very experienced doctor. And with respect, he knows a lot more than you do. Come on. Back to bed. You’re probably going to have a difficult day tomorrow.’
No change there then, thought Alice wearily.
Chapter 55