claret, Liz?’
Lizzie replied: ‘I think it’s a bit thin, old boy. I’ve a notion Bing’s been watering it, don’t you know.’
All through dinner Daisy kept catching Boy staring at her. He did not resemble his handsome father, but, all the same, he was good-looking, with his mother’s blue eyes. She began to feel embarrassed, as if he were ogling her breasts. To break the spell she said: ‘And have you been taking exams, Boy?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ he said.
His father said: ‘Too busy flying his plane to study much.’ This was phrased as a criticism, but it sounded as if Fitz was actually proud of his elder son.
Boy pretended to be outraged. ‘A slander!’ he said.
Eva was mystified. ‘Why are you at the university if you don’t wish to study?’
Lindy explained: ‘Some of the boys don’t bother to graduate, especially if they’re not academic types.’
Lizzie added: ‘Especially if they’re rich and lazy.’
‘I do study!’ Boy protested. ‘But I don’t intend actually to sit the exams. It’s not as if I’m hoping to make a living as a doctor, or something.’ Boy would inherit one of the largest fortunes in England when Fitz died.
And his lucky wife would be Countess Fitzherbert.
Daisy said: ‘Wait a minute. Do you really have your own airplane?’
‘Yes, I do. A Hornet Moth. I belong to the University Aero Club. We use a little airfield outside the town.’
‘But that’s wonderful! You must take me up!’
Daisy’s mother said: ‘Oh, dear, no!’
Boy said to Daisy: ‘Wouldn’t you be nervous?’
‘Not a bit!’
‘Then I will take you.’ He turned to Olga. ‘It’s perfectly safe, Mrs Peshkov. I promise I’ll bring her back in one piece.’
Daisy was thrilled.
The conversation moved on to this summer’s favourite topic: England’s stylish new King, Edward VIII, and his romance with Wallis Simpson, an American woman separated from her second husband. The London newspapers said nothing about it, except to include Mrs Simpson on lists of guests at royal events; but Daisy’s mother got the American papers sent over, and they were full of speculation that Wallis would divorce Mr Simpson and marry the King.
‘Completely out of the question,’ said Fitz severely. ‘The King is the head of the Church of England. He cannot possibly marry a divorcee.’
When the ladies retired, leaving the men to port and cigars, the girls hurried to change. Daisy decided to emphasize how very feminine she really was, and chose a ball dress of pink silk patterned with tiny flowers that had a matching jacket with puffed short sleeves.
Eva wore a dramatically simple black silk gown with no sleeves. In the past year she had lost weight, changed her hair, and learned – under Daisy’s tuition – to dress in an unfussy tailored style that flattered her. Eva had become like one of the family, and Olga delighted in buying clothes for her. Daisy regarded her as the sister she had never had.
It was still light when they all climbed into cars and carriages and drove the five miles into the town centre.
Daisy thought Cambridge was the quaintest place she had ever seen, with its winding little streets and elegant college buildings. They got out at Trinity and Daisy gazed up at the statue of its founder, King Henry VIII. When they passed through the sixteenth-century brick gatehouse, Daisy gasped with pleasure at the sight that met her eyes: a large quadrangle, its trimmed green lawn crossed by cobbled paths, with an elaborate architectural fountain in the middle. On all four sides, timeworn buildings of golden stone formed the backdrop against which young men in tailcoats danced with gorgeously dressed girls, and dozens of waiters in evening dress offered trays crowded with glasses of champagne. Daisy clapped her hands with joy: this was just the kind of thing she loved.
She danced with Boy, then Jimmy Murray, then Bing, who held her close and let his right hand drift from the small of her back down to the swell of her hips. She decided not to protest. The English band played a watery imitation of American jazz, but they were loud and fast, and they knew all the latest hits.
Night fell, and the quadrangle was illuminated with blazing torches. Daisy took a break to check on Eva, who was not so self-confident and sometimes needed to be introduced around. However, she need not have worried: she found Eva talking to a strikingly handsome student in a suit too big for him. Eva introduced him as Lloyd Williams. ‘We’ve been talking about Fascism in Germany,’ Lloyd said, as if Daisy might want to join in the discussion.
‘How extraordinarily dull of you,’ Daisy said.
Lloyd seemed not to hear that. ‘I was in Berlin three years ago, when Hitler came to power. I didn’t meet Eva then, but it turns out we have some acquaintances in common.’
Jimmy Murray appeared and asked Eva to dance. Lloyd was visibly disappointed to see her go, but summoned his manners and graciously asked Daisy, and they moved closer to the band. ‘What an interesting person your friend Eva is,’ he said.
‘Why, Mr Williams, that’s what every girl longs to hear from her dancing partner,’ Daisy replied. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted sounding shrewish.
