Flora dutifully repeated the facts and figures of the event and Mrs Keppel nodded approvingly.
‘It will be without doubt the event of the Season. And I shall be as proud as any mother as you walk down the aisle towards your intended. Now, Flora, I have something to put to you: I was wondering if it might be possible to drag you away for a few days next month to Biarritz? Violet, Sonia and I take an annual trip there and stay at Mr Cassel’s Villa Eugénie. The King is also in residence in the town at the H?tel du Palais. I think it would be restorative for you after such a long London winter. The sea air would put some colour in your cheeks before your wedding.’
‘Thank you, but I doubt the Countess would be happy if I took a holiday only a few weeks before the wedding. I could not in all faith leave her when there is so much to be done.’
‘Oh, she loves doing it. Besides, I have already secured her blessing. And Freddie’s.’
‘I see.’ Not for the first time, Flora felt that her life was not her own and she must bow to whatever her patron wished her to do. ‘Then, as it is decided, I would be happy to come.’
‘Wonderful! That is settled then. I am sure that Violet and Sonia will be very happy. You know how they both adore you. And Bertie, too, will be happy. Poor thing, I do worry so about him. He has been under such dreadful pressure from his government and his health continues to plague him. I . . .’
Flora saw a shimmer of tears well in Mrs Keppel’s eyes. Never before had she seen vulnerability in them.
‘I worry for him,’ she finished. Composing herself, she managed a weak smile. ‘It has been a long, cold winter this year and we are all feeling as grey as the sky outside. But spring is coming, and I just know you will love Biarritz. So now, tell me about Freddie.’
As Mrs Keppel had promised, Daphne sent Flora off to Biarritz with her blessing.
‘Of course you must go,’ she had said on her last visit to Portman Square. ‘Some sea air and good company can only make you bloom for your wedding day. And who knows? We may have to alter the seating plan to accommodate a further guest. We’ll be needing quite a large seat.’ Daphne had chuckled at her own private joke.
Freddie, too, had advocated the trip. ‘One must always bow to a higher cause,’ he’d said as he’d kissed her hand, ready to depart with his parents after dinner at Lord and Lady Darlington’s. ‘On the thirteenth of May, you will be mine. All mine,’ he’d added, with a lingering glance at her bodice.
Flora helped the girls pack for their journey. They were leaving a few days early to stay for a week in Paris first. She would join them later at the Villa Eugénie, where they would be guests of Sir Ernest Cassel, who was a regular visitor to Mrs Keppel and – so Nannie had informed her – chief financial advisor to the King himself.
The Keppel girls had a large trunk each, plus assorted baskets, to fill with their wardrobes and possessions. It looked as if they were leaving for six months rather than one.
‘Do you think Panther could hide in my basket the way he hid in yours when you left to come to London?’ asked Violet.
‘I think it would have to be his decision. Perhaps you should leave the lid open tonight and see what happens?’
‘Yes.’ Violet sank onto her bed, her face a picture of melancholy. ‘I’d like to take something I love with me at least.’
‘You will have Nannie, your sister and your mother, Violet. Surely you love them?’
‘Of course I do, but they’re family. They’re not . . . mine.’ Violet’s shoulders began to shake and tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
‘What on earth is the matter?’ Flora went to sit beside her.
‘Nothing . . . everything . . . Oh Flora! I love her so . . .’
‘Who?’
‘Mitya, of course! But Rosamund wants her too, and while I am away she will do her best to steal her from me. I can hardly bear it!’
More tears followed as Flora searched her memory for who this ‘Mitya’ could be. She certainly empathised with Violet’s distress.
‘Does Mitya love you back?’
‘Of course she does! Except she doesn’t realise it yet.’
‘Perhaps your being away will help. Sometimes it does.’
‘Do you think so?’ Violet looked up at her, naked desperation in her eyes.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Because, you see, I can never be happy without her.’
‘I understand, Violet.’
‘I know you do, and I am glad that you are coming to Biarritz.’
As Flora slipped into bed that night, she put two and two together and realised that ‘Mitya’ was Violet’s pet name for Vita Sackville-West, the sallow-faced girl who had come for lunch. Flora reflected on Violet’s obsession with her friend. She knew that crushes on other girls were relatively common, but Violet was fifteen and Vita two years older. She wondered if anyone else in the busy household was aware of it. Mrs Keppel was almost certainly far too preoccupied with her own circumstances to have noticed and Flora pondered if she should mention it to Nannie. But it was hardly the kind of thing one could discuss with a middle-aged Scottish spinster.
The following day, Flora watched a motor truck being loaded up in front of the house. Studded wardrobe trunks standing almost as tall as she, dozens of hat and shoe boxes and a travelling jewel case were packed into the truck, to depart for Victoria station. A palace courier was standing quietly in the front hall, his hands crossed in front of his uniform. He straightened as Mrs Keppel and the girls appeared, ready to leave for the station and the boat train to Dover.
‘Dearest Flora, we will see you in Biarritz. Moiselle will accompany you and keep you safe.’
‘Yes, Mrs Keppel. I hope you have a wonderful time.’ She could see her patron was tingling with excitement.
‘Thank you. Now come on, girls, we mustn’t delay the train.’
‘Goodbye, Flora, see you next week,’ said Sonia, looking utterly charming in her new pink travelling coat. ‘I am sad I can’t show you our very own private carriage that has proper chairs and tables in it and everything. They treat Mama like the Queen of England in France, you know.’
A week later, Flora and Moiselle also arrived in Biarritz. It had been a long journey across the Channel to Calais and down by train to the south-west of France. Flora felt utterly exhausted.
‘Bienvenue à Biarritz, mesdemoiselles!’