‘Good for her,’ Daisy said sourly, failing to conceal her envy.
Olga read: ‘ “Miss Muriel Dixon, daughter of the late Charles ‘Chuck’ Dixon, who was killed in France during the war, will be presented at Buckingham Palace next Tuesday by the wife of the United States ambassador, Mrs Robert W. Bingham.” ’
Daisy had heard enough about Muffie Dixon. ‘I’ve been to Paris, but never London,’ she said to Eva. ‘What about you?’
‘Neither,’ said Eva. ‘The first time I left Germany was when I sailed to America.’
Olga suddenly said: ‘Oh, dear!’
‘What’s happened?’ Daisy asked.
Her mother crumpled the paper. ‘Your father took Gladys Angelus to the White House.’
‘Oh!’ Daisy felt as if she had been slapped. ‘But he said he would take me!’
President Roosevelt had invited a hundred businessmen to a reception in an attempt to win them over to his New Deal. Lev Peshkov thought Franklin D. Roosevelt was the next thing to a Communist, but he had been flattered to be asked to the White House. However, Olga had refused to accompany him, saying angrily: ‘I’m not willing to pretend to the President that we have a normal marriage.’
Lev officially lived here, in the stylish pre-war prairie home built by Grandfather Vyalov, but he spent more nights at the swanky downtown apartment where he kept his mistress of many years, Marga. On top of that everyone assumed he was having an affair with his studio’s biggest star, Gladys Angelus. Daisy understood why her mother felt spurned. Daisy, too, felt rejected when Lev drove off to spend his evenings with his other family.
She had been thrilled when he had asked her to accompany him to the White House instead of her mother. She had told everyone she was going. None of her friends had met the President, except the Dewar boys, whose father was a senator.
Lev had not told her the exact date, and she had assumed that he would let her know at the last minute, which was his usual style. But he had changed his mind, or perhaps just forgotten. Either way, he had rejected Daisy again.
‘I’m sorry, honey,’ said her mother. ‘But promises never did mean much to your father.’
Eva was looking sympathetic. Her pity stung Daisy. Eva’s father was thousands of miles away, and she might never see him again, but she felt sorry for Daisy, as if Daisy’s plight was worse.
It made Daisy feel defiant. She would not let this ruin her day. ‘Well, I’ll be the only girl in Buffalo who has been stood up for Gladys Angelus,’ she said. ‘Now, what shall I wear?’
Skirts were dramatically short this year in Paris, but the conservative Buffalo set followed fashion at a distance. However, Daisy had a knee-length tennis dress in a shade of baby-blue the same as her eyes. Maybe today was the day to bring it out. She slipped off her dress and put on the new one. ‘What do you think?’ she said.
Eva said: ‘Oh, Daisy, it’s beautiful, but . . .’
Olga said: ‘That’ll make their eyes pop.’ Olga liked it when Daisy dressed to kill. Perhaps it reminded her of her youth.
Eva said: ‘Daisy, if they’re all so snobbish, why do you want to go to the party?’
‘Charlie Farquharson will be there, and I’m thinking of marrying him,’ Daisy said.
‘Are you serious?’
Olga said emphatically: ‘He’s a great catch.’
Eva said: ‘What’s he like?’
‘Absolutely adorable,’ Daisy said. ‘Not the handsomest boy in Buffalo, but sweet and kind, and rather shy.’
‘He sounds very different from you.’
‘It’s the attraction of opposites.’
Olga spoke again. ‘The Farquharsons are among the oldest families in Buffalo.’
Eva raised her dark eyebrows. ‘Snobby?’
‘Very,’ Daisy said. ‘But Charlie’s father lost all his money in the Wall Street crash, then died – killed himself, some say – so they need to restore the family fortunes.’
Eva looked shocked. ‘You’re hoping he’ll marry you for your money?’
‘No. He’ll marry me because I will bewitch him. But his mother will accept me for my money.’
‘You say you
‘Not yet. But I think I might make a start this afternoon. Yes, this is definitely the right dress.’
Daisy wore the baby-blue and Eva the navy-and-white stripes. By the time they had got ready they were late.
Daisy’s mother would not have a chauffeur. ‘I married my father’s chauffeur, and it ruined my life,’ she sometimes said. She was terrified Daisy might do something similar – that was why she was so keen on Charlie Farquharson. If she needed to go anywhere in her creaking 1925 Stutz she made Henry, the gardener, take off his rubber boots and put on a
