Moonlight Over Paris(47)
“Thank you for today, and for dinner, and for Miss Stein’s. And most of all for showing me the newsroom.”
“You’re welcome, Ellie. I—”
“Sweet dreams. I’ll see you next Saturday.”
Chapter 18
“Dépêche-toi, Hélène! We were meant to be downstairs ten minutes ago.”
Helena stepped back from the pier glass in her dressing room and cast a final, critical eye over her appearance. Her Vionnet frock was enchanting, like so much golden spun sugar, and it fit her so perfectly that it was all but weightless.
When it had been delivered, the afternoon before, its box had also contained a gift: someone, likely one of the seamstresses, had fashioned a bandeau for her hair from the same gold charmeuse fabric as the frock, and finished it with a posy of lace flowers that echoed the gown’s metallic trim. It looked wonderful, far better than the simple diamanté clip she’d been planning to wear, and was so decorative that she decided against wearing any jewelry.
In deference to the occasion she’d applied, with advice and assistance from Mathilde, some rouge on her cheeks and lips, a sweep of cake mascara to darken her pale lashes, and just enough powder to blot the shine from her nose. Her mother would have swooned at the sight but Helena liked the way she looked—modern, confident, and striking.
Preparations for the party had begun before dawn, but when Helena had offered to help—it was a vague offer, as she hadn’t the practical skills to help with anything important—Agnes had laughed and sent her off to the studio for the day. At the end of the afternoon Mathilde and étienne had come home with her and, banished from the lower floors, the three of them had sought sanctuary in Helena’s bedchamber.
Daisy had arrived at half-past seven, a good hour before the party was set to begin, and although her frock was not to Helena’s own taste—it was an elaborate confection of pink chiffon that rather overwhelmed her friend’s delicate prettiness—her excitement was so infectious that she soon had the four of them seized with giddy anticipation.
“You’ve no idea how long it’s been since I had an evening out like this,” she’d said with a happy sigh. “Daddy insists on living so quietly, and we hardly ever entertain. So this is just wonderful.”
When it was time to change into their evening clothes, Helena had sent étienne and Mathilde off to two of the spare bedrooms, but both had returned at lightning speed while she was still buttoning the straps on her shoes.
It wasn’t fair to keep them and Daisy waiting, though, so with a last look at her transformed self, she gathered up her gloves and joined them in the corridor.
“What do you think?” she asked, suddenly nervous. “Will I do?”
“I have only one word,” said étienne. “Ravissante. All three of you are perfection.”
Mathilde had borrowed Helena’s turquoise and gold frock, which suited her very well; étienne, who didn’t own a dinner jacket, wore his usual dark suit, albeit with a freshly laundered shirt. His necktie was a startling shade of purple, however, which might not have passed inspection at the élysée Palace but wouldn’t be out of place among the rather bohemian crowd already gathered downstairs.
“Shall we go?” Helena suggested. “From the sounds of it most of the guests have landed already.”
It was a relief to enter the grand salon and have her friends—her allies—at her side. In the five years since the end of her engagement, she’d spent far too many evenings standing alone in corners, or trailing after her mother or siblings. This was a very different gathering, of course; although she didn’t know her aunt’s friends especially well, she was confident no one would deliberately shun her or whisper gleeful insults behind her back. And if they did? She would laugh in their face, and toast her newfound courage with her friends at her side.
The house’s reception rooms had been transformed, their furniture rearranged against the walls so guests might stand and circulate freely. On every table and mantel there were huge arrangements of orchids, lilies, and tuberose, and though the flowers were very pretty their scent, in the rising warmth of the rooms, was quite overpowering.
All told, there were thirty invited guests at dinner that evening. As Helena led her friends from room to room, she made introductions and, if guests were already engaged in conversation, supplied their names sotto voce to her friends.
She introduced them to Natalie Barney and Lily Gramont, then to Djuna Barnes and Thelma Wood; others received a smile and wave as they passed by. “That’s Mina Loy, just there, and Nancy Cunard . . . and Peggy Guggenheim is standing at the doorway. And there’s Romaine Brooks, the painter; you’ll have heard of her, I think. She’s the one wearing a man’s frock coat.”
“Who is that very handsome young man by the window?” étienne asked. “Fair, not too tall, standing with the dark-haired girl.”
Helena stood on tiptoe; it was difficult to see, as there was rather a crush of people in the library now. “Oh, that’s George Antheil and his—I suppose she’s his girlfriend. He’s a composer, and quite a radical one, from what I’ve heard. They live above Shakespeare and Company, the English bookstore on the rue de l’Odéon.”
“Where is Sam?” Daisy asked. “I thought you said he would be here.”