The dressing room was the car; it wasn’t easy, certainly not the skirt and blouse, and although there was a blind in the rear window, there was nothing in the others, and there were several moments when she was just sitting in the car in her slip, and various passers-by were waving and whistling, but she managed to not mind that simply by imagining the wicked witch was watching, and enjoying her outrage. When she got out of the car, and had tried on about six pairs of shoes and had three or four different hats plonked on her head, and Lorelei had put on some more mascara and wiped off some of the lipstick, replacing it with colourless gloss, she was sent off to stand by the pond.
‘Don’t look at the camera,’ Blanche said. ‘I want you to stare just beyond it, as if you’d seen someone you knew.’ She suddenly found she knew exactly what to do and changed her expression from pleased recognition to cool dislike and then suddenly a sexy stare straight into the camera, which seemed right in spite of Blanche’s instructions. Kirill said, ‘Good, good, now can we try a move, no, darling not forward, just a change of body position, no, you’re not a schoolgirl in a prayer meeting, it’s sex we want, just thrust a hip forward, that’s better, now raise that hand just a bit. Lorelei, have we got any pearls? Come on, quick, quick, we really haven’t got all day. Now, Diana, touch the pearls as if you’re checking they’re still there and look at me.’ And somehow, after a few false starts, as he directed her, he started saying, ‘Yes, that’s right, that’s good.’ She learned fast, moving just a few inches at a time, putting her weight on a different foot, her shoulders turned this way and then that, or even standing straight placing her feet slightly apart. It was heady stuff, like being able to sing in tune, or ride a bicycle for the first time, and Diana could see that Blanche had stopped frowning quite so much.
It was the longest day Diana could ever remember; they were shooting until after seven, dodging the clouds, then waiting until the light was gentler.
She wore six outfits, all tweeds, some with hats, some not, had her hair combed and tweaked and re-combed until her head was sore, her earrings pulled on and off until her ears were quite raw, her make-up changed over and over again, once taken right off because it was just too heavy. Once she had to change behind a bush, into a long tweed evening gown – she was past caring by then, would have stripped right off if she’d been asked. Her head ached, her feet throbbed, she was hungry, only allowed half a sandwich in case it made her stomach stick out, and terribly thirsty, because she didn’t dare drink much in case she wanted to pee. In fact, she did have to go once, behind a tree and did rather mind that, and couldn’t understand why nobody else wanted to, and then realised none of them had had babies. At the end of it, throbbing all over with exhaustion, she thought she had never enjoyed a day more in the whole of her life.
‘Well,’ said Blanche, smiling at her as she collapsed, shaking with weariness, into the back of the Riley. ‘I must say, Diana, that really wasn’t bad. For a first time. I think we’ve got some pretty good stuff there. Well done.’
‘I enjoyed it,’ said Diana truthfully. ‘Oh, God, look at the time, I had no idea. My mother will be worried to death, she’s been looking after my little boy all day.’ Then realising she hadn’t given Jamie more than a moment’s thought since early that morning, added, her voice stricken, ‘God, I hope he’s all right.’
He was of course: perfectly all right, fast asleep, and her mother was far from reproachful; and Nanny, a very down-to-earth Yorkshire girl, clearly felt it had all been rather exciting and wanted to know all about it when Diana went up to kiss Jamie goodnight.
She walked down to the drawing room where Caroline was waiting with a bottle of champagne.
She’d even been paid two guineas an hour. She thought now, as she sat in the drawing room, wolfing down supper from a tray, regaling her mother with the details of her day, that if today had gone well and she was asked to do some more work, she would be able to spend more time in London, and not only need fashionable clothes but be able to afford them for herself. But maybe that was too much to hope for. It didn’t even occur to her to ring Johnathan.
Blanche phoned in the morning and said the pictures were good and that Kirill was thrilled. She would certainly like to use Diana again if the right opportunity came up.
‘You look far more stylish than I dared hope,’ she said. ‘When I showed Miss Banham, the editor, she was really rather pleased. She said you looked a little tubby in some of them, but I’m sure you can deal with that before next time, and we can choose the shots carefully. Kirill has a marvellous printer whose forte is retouching. Kirill says he can shave your stomach outline quite easily.’
‘So you’ll definitely be using some of them then?’ Diana was unabashed by this insult, thinking she would go onto a complete starvation diet immediately if that was going to ensure her a future in this wonderful new world.
‘Well, of course we’ll be using them. We’re not going to waste a day’s shooting and all that expense. Now do give your phone number in Yorkshire to my secretary, won’t you, so I can contact you easily when I need to. I don’t suppose you have an agent yet – perhaps you should get one. Give Lucie Clayton a call, they might take you on.’
Diana didn’t even bother telling Johnathan about her day, or possible new future. But a moment of pure joy came, even greater than when the October edition of Style thumped through the letter box and there she was – or was it her, that aristocratic, fine-boned creature, looking as if she owned Hampstead Heath as she posed and smiled and scowled and strode across it?
Her mother-in-law appeared at her front door a week or two later and said she’d heard from a friend that there was someone who looked rather like her in a copy of Style magazine. ‘Not that I’d read it, obviously.’ Is it possible that they were one and the same?
Diana, smiling at her sweetly, said yes, they were indeed. Vanessa asked what Johnathan had felt about it. Diana said she hadn’t told him. Vanessa said that as his wife, Diana should have asked his permission. He might have felt unhappy or uncomfortable about it.
‘Vanessa,’ said Diana, smiling at her, ‘there’s only one picture where I’m not actually wearing gloves. I cannot imagine it making Johnathan uncomfortable. Would you like to see them for yourself? Just to be reassured?’
She was clearly rather shaken by the five pages of the magazine and had the grace to say that Diana did look quite smart, then said she had really come for the minutes of the AGM of the WI which were needed urgently for the local paper. She made it sound as if the front page of The Times was at stake.
A week later Diana received a call from Blanche asking her to come for some Christmas party fashion. ‘Can you be here for Thursday? Kirill has expressly asked for you. Several girls, of course, not just a solo turn.’