Crimson (27 page)

The month before the release date, Sam flew to Los Angeles to plan the publicity campaign and link the trailer, the TV ads, the print and PR campaign. As usual Clare accompanied him to the airport. Seeing her sad little face as yet again she waved him off, Sam turned back and leaned over the barrier.

“Anything to see you smile,” he said.

“I’ll break our news to your grandmother after the British premiere.”

MONDAY, 3 NOVEMBER 1958

Like most men, Sam looked his best in a dinner jacket, so he was at his most charismatic when he arrived at Elinor’s Chester Terrace flat to take the O’Dares to the Odeon, Leicester Square. Sam’s blue eyes sparkled with anticipation of the movie’s success: word of mouth was good, so were bookings, and the advance publicity for Grain Race had been a rising wave of adulation.

In her bedroom before leaving for the theatre, Elinor slipped a crimson evening wrap over her black lace gown and murmured to Buzz, “Of course, he’s too old for Clare, but he’s very good-looking.” Buzz said, “I can see why Clare might like a mature man. She’s never known one.” Two hours earlier, Clare had confided in Buzz, who realized that twice-divorced Sam wasn’t the dashing young earl for whom Elinor had hoped. Buzz had promised to soften up her old friend, but there was undoubtedly going to be a big row because Clare was almost as stubborn as Elinor.

After the premiere, Sam was greeted by applause from the theatre supper crowd as he and his large party entered the Ivy. Now he could relax. He would wait up all night to read the reviews in the morning papers, but the tense silence during Grain Race and the loud clapping at the end had foretold a hit.

Two hours later, Sam insisted on interrupting his party to escort Elinor and Buzz back to Chester Terrace; there he spoke alone to Elinor and told her that Clare and he were to be married.

Elinor was speechless, even though Buzz had warned her ahead of time dating him was one thing, but marrying him quite another.

“But you’re too … But Clare’s far too young!” she gasped.

P-la are doesn’t think so,” Sam said gently.

“She’ll be ty soon. How old were you when you married?” “That’s got nothing to do with it,” Elinor said, a hundred questions whirling through her mind.

“I suppose you can took after Clare … financially?”

“Very well,” Sam promised cheerfully. He was established end respected in a way that few young men could match.

“It’s too late tonight for me to think clearly,” Elinor mid, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“I’ll talk to Clare in the morning.” Five minutes later, she shook Buzz awake.

“You caWt imagine what that man’s just told me!”

Buzz mumbled, “He wants to marry Clare.”

“So she told you!”

“Yes, because she was frightened to tell you. Don’t worry too much, Elinor. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” Elinor shook Buzz again.

“I won’t sleep a wink! I must talk about it now. It’s so unexpected! What does she know about this man? Where are his family? What is she walking into.

Buzz sat-up.

“I seem to remember that I said that to you before you married Billy. And did you take any notice? No! Clare’s just as stubborn as you are, so you’d better not ask those questions if you don’t want to see them marry. Because he’s a real charmer.”

“Yes,” Elinor said, “but what does he see in Clare? She’s aot the glamorous type, not sophisticated. Sam clearly isn’t interested in improving the world for a future generation; he isn’t the bookish type, like Clare. I can’t help wondering 1ow long it will last. These Hollywood types seem to get married again and again. I don’t want that for Clare.” Firmly Buzz said, “Why not try looking on the bright side, and just be glad that Clare is happy? If you object, you’ll lose her even faster.”

The following morning, Elinor knocked, on Clare’s door. As there was no reply, she entered, and saw that the bed had not been slept in.

Just before lunch, white-faced from lack of sleep, Clare quietly pushed open the front door and started to tiptoe across the hall.

“Is that you, darling?” Elinor called from her study.

“Would you come here, ClareT Clare blushed as she entered the room; she stiff wore the hyacinth chiffon gown, now very crumpled, that she had worn the previous evening.

“Sit down, darling.” Elinor cheerfully patted the place beside her on the sofa.

“I want to tell you how much I like Sam: such drive, such force, such self-assurance and authority. I’m so glad you’ve chosen someone older who clearly knows his way around the world and can protect you from it.” Clare’s eyes shone with astonishment and pleasure. “I’m so glad you can see why I think he’s wonderful! I feel so … safe and happy when I’m with him.”

“I hope and pray that you always will, darling. Now run along and change.” SATURDAY, 28 FEBRUARY 1959 “It’s beautiful,” sighed Miranda. She wore dead-white makeup, ghostly pearlized lips, black-outlined eyes; her orange hair was plaited into a coronet.

“I wish Id had a proper wedding gown!” Annabel cried, having foregone a formal marriage ceremony in her rush to marry Scott.

In Clare’s bedroom at the Chester Terrace apartment, the two sisters gazed at the bride: she wore a high-collared, tight-wasted, full-skirted, calf-length dress of cream satin by Norman Hartnell; her hair was dressed in a Grecian knot, cross-bound with cream satin ribbon.

bly,” said Clare.

“I think I’m going to cry feel wob Not on your wedding day!” Annabel pleaded. Although looked love she was almost outshone by Annabel, ly who wore a crimson silk suit and an air of triumph. Avanti’s campaign “Do you dare to wear Avant iT had not been as successful as Revlon’s Fire and Ice campaign, but it had been successful enough to shoot Annabel into the headlines. American women had been surprised that an English girl traditionally mouse burger material should project such sensuality. Annabel seemed to epitomize the surprising emergence of London, as that once stodgy city metamorphosed into the fashion leader of pop culture.

Miranda looked at her sisters and gave a mock scowl.

“How do you suppose I feel? You’ve both gone and left me without a backward look! Off you dash with your glamorous husbands I’m the one who should be crying!” Nevertheless, it was tough to look forlorn in the pale pink sat inbound tweed coat dress by Sybil Connolly.

“Nobody’s going to cry,” Annabel said firmly.

“We’re still sisters, and when we meet, we’ll still feel the same way and do the same things.”

“What sort of thing sT Clare’s voice wobbled.

“Everything from a night at the opera to toe-in-mouth competitions,” Annabel said cheerfully.

Miranda jeered, “You two old married ladies couldn’t get your toes in your mouths now.”

“Bet I can,” said Annabel, sitting on the carpet.

“Bet you two can’t,” she added as she pulled off her crimson slippers.

Miranda immediately kicked off her shoes, sat on the floor, grabbed her big toe, and guided it towards her mouth, but couldn’t get it closer than six inches from her Ups. She giggled.

“I’m a bit stiff.” Clare started to laugh.

“You both look idiotic!” Removing one slipper and carefully smoothing her dress beneath her, Clare sat on the carpet and took hold of her big toe.

“I’ve nearly done itV Miranda gasped. Annabel mumbled, “I’ve done iv, As he opened the bedroom door, Sam said, “Honey, I know I’m not supposed to see you yet, but is there any chance of a Bloody Mary … What the hell is going on in he re?”

The three sisters collapsed on the floor, shrieking with laughter.

Before the reception at Claridge’s, the small wedding group posed on the steps of Caxton Hall Registry office for photographers. Besides being twice divorced, Sam was Jewish and thus not eligible for an Anglican church wedding. The photographers were unable to persuade Clare to smile; having been very disappointed by the brisk civil ceremony, which had about as much romance as a buff envelope, she now felt even more wobbly and close to tears.

SATURDAY, 23 MAY 1959

“She won’t allow me to do anything that’s fun!” Miranda complained to Buzz.

“If you mean flying lessons Buzz said, “You’ll never convince her that it ain’t dangerous. She’ll never allow it.” “I’m sick, sick, sick of being treated like a baby! I’m more likely to hurt myself skiing than flying.”

“You ain’t likely to kill yourself skiing.”

“Other grandmothers don’t hover like she does!”

Elinor, severely depressed by the suddenness with which she had been deprived of Annabel and then Clare, now lavished affection on Miranda, to whom it was a claustrophobic burden.

“I feel guilty if I’m not with her,” Miranda added, “and guilty when I am because I long to get away. She doesn’t ly like the sort of things I like, she only pretends. I can because she gets the names wrong Pelvis the Elvis and Buddy Holiday indeed!”

They sat in Miranda’s bedroom at Starlings listening to the thumping rhythm pumped out by Miranda’s new stereophonic speakers, surrounded by wall posters of rock heroes Buddy Holly swathed in black net and the better-looking revolutionary leaders.

Hopefully Miranda asked, “Do you think Gran might ever get married again? That would take her mind off me!”

Buzz shook her head.

“She falls in love with her heroes, and they ruin ordinary men for her.”

“I don’t mean that sort of love!” Miranda said, confident that passion could not be felt by those over thirty.

“I mean … companionship.”

“A husband likes a lot of attention,” Buzz said.

“And when would Nell find time for that? She’s writing in the morning, and still has her head in the clouds when she gardens in the afternoon. Then there are the tea parties, and if she ain’t going out in the evening, she’s doing research in a library or going to bed early with a pile of galleys. That’s the life she likes, and what husband would put up with it? “Another writer?” “He’d expect to be pampered. And what man would put up Iwith the fuss Nell makes over you and your sisters? Annabel lifts her little finger and your gran pops across the Atlantic to visit, pretending she’s off to see her American publisher. And since Clare got back from the West Indies, Nell drives to London every week to help her buy things for that little house. If she had a husband, your gran wouldn’t be able to drop everything when you three call her. Men are used to ruling the roost. Nell would never knuckle under again.” In a wheedling voice, Miranda said, “Then, Buzz, darling

Buzz, will you help me do something? Just this once?” Buzz know that this always meant, “Will you gently break my news to Gran, and be on my sid eT “Wilot is it this time, Miranda?” rant to be trained as a beautician,” Miranda said excitedly- “It’s a one-year course in London, and it starts next roonth. I’ve already put my name down, but now they want a deposit. I thought of flogging my pearls, but what’s the paijnt? I’ll have to tell her sometime.” you mean a manicurist, a massoower? She ain’t going to like that one bit she likes to think of her girls being on the receiving end of all that!” “I suppose I’ll have that “lady” rubbish flung at me again. I Miranda bit her lower lip.

“I’ve told her I hate those parties.” yot, met that nice Angus at a deb dance,” Buzz reminded- “And he’s on the List.” The List was prepared by an ageing, sycophantic gossip columnist and circulated among ambitious mothers with eligible daughters: it fisted young Iven whose birth, wealth, and position made them suitable escorts or husbands.

Miraoda blushed; then, from beneath heavily mascaraed eyelashes, a lopsided smile slowly spread across her face. She said, “AOgus would never waste his time at deb dances, but he had to t1irn up at that one: it was his sister’s coming-out ball.” She bad met him shortly after Clare’s wedding. Miranda, who 100gcd to leave the overheated ballroom, had refused another dance, yawned, looked at her wristwatch, and reckoned she could leave in half an hour. If she stayed awake that 10119” She had opened the French windows and slipped on to t11C terrace for a little fresh air.

After the smoky fug of the ballroom, the dark night was quiet’ crisp and refreshingly cold. Before her, Miranda could Only see the brown lace outline of the huge chestnut trees lioing Rotten Row. From behind her came a scent that rejoinded her of Lifebuoy soap and flannel pyJamas.

turned sharply.

“Who are you?” “I’m Fiona’s brother, Angus.” As Miranda’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw a large man in a dinner jacket leaning against the wall, in the shadows, smoking a cigar. He said, “I was about to leave. C Jrot to get to work in the morning. Here, take my jacket or die of pneumonia before I get a chance to know M%11” Hie laconic speech sounded like a paratroop commander sending his troops into battle.

When they went back to the ballroom, Miranda turned to look at Angus Maclayne; he returned her glance with an ice-blue stare from a face that appeared to have been rough-hewn from rock, although his hair was Viking gold and his moustache was ginger.

As soon as Fiona had recovered from her hangover, Miranda hauled her out to lunch. She discovered that Angus had been Captain of Boats and had ended his school career as Captain of the Oppidans. He had also edited the Eton College Chronicle; at Oxford, where he had been a rowing blue, he read politics, philosophy, and economics, after which he worked for two years in New York as a trainee banker. Angus had then gone to Paris for a year, as a trader on the Credit Suisse foreign exchange desk, after which he spent a year in Hong Kong, and then a further year in New York before returning to London, where he worked for Chase Manhattan. He liked salmon-fishing and playing poker, and it was difficult to make him lose his temper.

“Honestly, there’s nothing else to tell you,” Fiona said when pressed for further information.

“Nobody knows much about their own brothers. Angus is … all right. If you want to know him better, why not come up to Scotland for a weekend at Eas terT “Thanks, but I can’t manage it at the moment,” said

Miranda; she didn’t want Fiona to think she was that keen on her brother; Miranda preferred to wait until the invitation came from Angus.

Angus now frequently took Miranda to an evening at the cinema or theatre, after which they ate at Wiltons, Rules, or other London hotels that provided at great expense the food of Angus’s youth: sausages and mashed potatoes, toad-in-the-hole, milk puddings, steamed puddings, treacle pudding, or jam roll.