Discovering Daisy

Desmond said importantly, ‘I’m tied up for the rest of this week, but I’ll see you on Saturday. Be ready by eight o’clock.’

When he rang off, she stood for a moment, happy once more, planning to buy a dress fit for the occasion. Her father paid her a salary for working in the shop and she had saved most of it… She went to find her mother to tell her.

There was only a handful of dress shops in the town, and since her father didn’t have a car, and the bus service, now that the season was over, had shrunk to market day and Saturday, Totnes and Plymouth were out of the question. Daisy visited each of the boutiques in the high street and to her relief found a dress—red, and not, she considered, quite her style, but red was what Desmond wanted…

She took it home and tried it on again—and wished she hadn’t bought it; it was far too short, and hardly decent—not her kind of a dress at all. When she showed it to her mother she could see that that lady thought the same. But Mrs Gillard loved her daughter, and wanted her to be happy. She observed that the dress was just right for an evening out and prayed silently that Desmond, whom she didn’t like, would be sent by his firm, whoever they were, to the other end of the country.

Saturday came, and Daisy, in a glow of excitement, dressed for the evening, did her face carefully and pinned her hair into a topknot more suitable for a sober schoolteacher’s outfit than the red dress, then went downstairs to wait for Desmond.

He kept her waiting for ten minutes, for which he offered no apology, and her mother and father, greeting him civilly, wished that Daisy could have fallen in love with any man but he. He made a great business of studying the dress. ‘Quite OK,’ he told her airily, and then frowned. ‘Of course your hair is all wrong, but it’s too late to do anything to it now…’

There were a great many people at the hotel, milling around waiting to go into dinner, and several of them hailed Desmond as they joined them. When Desmond introduced her, they nodded casually, then ignored her. Not that she minded that. She stood quietly listening to Desmond. He was a clever talker, knowing how to keep his listeners interested, and she could see that he was charming them.

She took the glass of wine she was offered and they made their way through the crowded foyer, stopping from time to time to greet someone Desmond knew, sometimes so briefly that he didn’t bother to introduce her. They sat with a party of eight in the restaurant, and presently Desmond, already dominating the talk at the table, made no attempt to include her in it. The man on her other side was young, with a loud voice, and he asked her who she was.

‘Came with Des? Not his usual type, are you? Cunning rascal wants to catch the eye of the guest of honour—he’s an influential old fellow, very strait-laced—thinks all young men should marry and settle down with a little woman and a horde of children. The plainer the better.’ He laughed. ‘You’re just the ticket, if I may say so.’

Daisy gave him a long, cold stare, suppressed a desire to slap his face, and instead chose a morsel of whatever it was on her plate and popped it in her mouth. If it hadn’t been for Desmond’s presence beside her she would have got up and walked out but he had impressed upon her the importance of the evening; his chance to meet the right people…

She sat through dinner, ignoring the awful man on her left and wishing that Desmond would speak to her. Only he was deep in conversation with the elegant woman on his right, and, from time to time, joining in talk with other people at the table. Perhaps it would be better once they started the dancing…

Only it wasn’t. True, he danced the first dance with her, whirling her around in a flashy fashion, but then he told her, ‘I must talk to a few people once this dance is over. Shan’t be long; you’ll get plenty of partners— you dance quite well. Only do, for heaven’s sake, look as though you’re enjoying yourself. I know it’s a bit above you, Daisy, but don’t let it intimidate you.’

He waved to someone across the ballroom. ‘I must go and have a word, I’ll be back,’he assured her, leaving her pressed up against a wall between a large statue holding a lamp and a pedestal holding an elaborate flower arrangement. She felt hemmed in and presently, when Desmond didn’t come back, lonely.

One side of the ballroom was open onto the corridor leading to the restaurant, and two men strolling along it paused to look at the dancers, talking quietly together. Presently they shook hands and the older man went on his way. His companion stayed where he was, in no hurry to leave, his attention caught by Daisy’s red dress. He studied her at some length. She didn’t look as though she belonged, and that dress was all wrong…

He strolled round the edge of the ballroom towards her, vaguely wishing to help her in some way. Close to her now, he could see that she wasn’t pretty, and looked prim, definitely out of place on the noisy dance floor. He stopped beside her and said in a friendly voice, ‘Are you like me? a stranger here?’

Daisy looked up at him, wondering why she hadn’t noticed him before, for he was a man who could hardly go unnoticed. Tall, very tall, and heavily built, with handsome features and grey hair cut short. He had a commanding nose and a rather thin mouth, but he was smiling at her in a reassuring way.

She said politely, ‘Well, yes, I am, but I came with someone—he has friends here. I don’t know anyone…’

Jules der Huizma was adept at putting people at their ease. He began a gentle rambling conversation about nothing in particular and watched her relax. Quite a pleasant girl, he reflected. A shame about the dress…

He stayed with her until presently he saw a man making his way towards them. When Desmond reached them, Mr der Huizma nodded in a friendly fashion and wandered away.

‘Who was that?’ demanded Desmond.

‘I’ve no idea—another guest?’Daisy added with unexpected tartness, ‘It was pleasant to have someone to talk with.’

Desmond said too quickly, ‘Darling, I’m sorry,’ and he gave her a smile to quicken her heartbeat. ‘I’ll make it up to you. I’ve been asked to go on to a nightclub in Plymouth—quite a jolly crowd. You can come too, of course. Another one won’t matter.’

‘Plymouth? But, Desmond, it’s almost midnight. You said you would take me home then. Of course I can’t go. In any case I wasn’t invited, was I?’

‘Well, no, but who’s to mind? Another girl won’t matter, and good Lord, Daisy, let yourself go for once— ’ He broke off as a girl joined them. A pretty girl, slim and dressed in the height of fashion, teetering on four-inch heels, swinging a sequinned bag, tossing fashionably tousled hair.

‘Des—there you are. We’re waiting.’

She glanced at Daisy and he said quickly, ‘This is Daisy; she came with me.’ He spoke sharply, ‘Daisy, this is Tessa.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose one more won’t matter. There’ll be room for her in one of the cars.’ Tessa smiled vaguely.

‘It’s kind of you to ask me,’ said Daisy, ‘but I said I would be home by midnight.’

Tessa’s eyes opened wide and she laughed. ‘A proper little Cinderella, though that frock’s all wrong—you’re too mousy to wear red.’ She turned to Desmond. ‘Take Cinderella home, Des. I’ll wait here for you.’

She turned on her ridiculous heels and was lost among the dancers.

Daisy waited for Desmond to say something, to tell her that he wouldn’t go with Tessa.

‘OK, I’ll take you home, but for heaven’s sake be quick getting your coat. I’ll be at the entrance.’ He spoke in an angry voice. ‘You’re doing your best to ruin my evening.’

Daisy said woodenly, ‘And what about my evening?’

But he had turned away, and she wasn’t sure if he had heard.

It took her a minute or two to find her coat under a pile of others in the alcove close to the entrance. She was putting it on when she became aware of voices from the other side of the screen.

‘Sorry you had to hang around for me, Jules. Shall we go along to the bar? There is still a great deal to talk about and I’m glad of the chance to see you after all this time. Wish it had been quieter here, though. Not much of an evening for you. I hope you found someone interesting to talk to.’

‘I found someone.’Daisy recognised the voice of the man who had been so pleasant. ‘A plain little creature in a regrettable red dress. A fish out of water…’

They moved away, and Daisy, not allowing herself to think, went to the entrance, where Desmond was waiting. He drove her home in silence, and only as she was getting out of the car did he speak. He said, unforgivably, ‘You look silly in that dress.’

Funnily enough, that didn’t hurt her half as much as the strange man’s opinion had done.

The house was quiet, with no light showing. She went in through the side door, along the passage to her father’s office and up the stairs to her room—small, but charmingly furnished with pieces she had chosen from the shop, none of it matching but all of it harmonising nicely. There was a patchwork quilt on the narrow bed, and plain white curtains at the small window, and a small bookshelf bulging with books.

She undressed quickly and then parcelled up the red dress to hand over to the charity shop in the high street. She would have liked to have taken a pair of scissors and cut it into shreds, but that would have been a stupid thing to do; somewhere there must be a girl who would look just right in it. Daisy got into bed as the church clock chimed one and lay wide awake, going over the wreck of her evening. She still loved Desmond; she was sure of that. People in love quarrelled, even in her euphoric state she was aware of that, and of course he had been disappointed—she hadn’t come up to his expectations and he had said a great many things she was sure he would regret.

Daisy, such a sensible, matter-of-fact girl, was quite blinded by her infatuation, and ready to make any excuses for Desmond. She closed her eyes, determined to sleep. In the morning everything would be just as it had been again.

Only it wasn’t. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected— a phone call? A quick visit? He seemed to have plenty time on his hands.

She busied herself arranging a small display of Coalport china, reflecting that she knew almost nothing about his work or how he spent his days. When he took her out in the evenings he would answer her queries as to his day with some light-hearted remark which actually told her nothing. But, despite the disappointment and humiliation of the previous evening, she was quite prepared to listen to his apologies—might even laugh about the disastrous evening with him.

Even while she consoled herself with these thoughts, good sense was telling her that she was behaving like a naive teenager, although she was reluctant to admit it. Desmond represented romance in her quiet life.

He didn’t phone, he didn’t come to see her, and it was several days later that she saw him on the other side of the high street. He must have seen her, for the street was almost empty, but he walked on, to all intents and purpose a complete stranger.

Daisy went back to the shop and spent the rest of the day packing up a set of antique wine glasses which an old customer had bought. It was a slow, careful job, and it gave her ample time to think. One thing was clear to her; Desmond didn’t love her—never had, she admitted sadly. True, he had called her darling, and kissed her and told her that she was his dream girl, but he hadn’t meant a word of it. She had been happy to believe him; romance, for her, had been rather lacking, and he had seemed like the answer to her romantic dreams. But the romance had been only on her side.

She wedged the last glass into place in its nest of tissue paper and put the lid on the box. And at the same time she told herself, I’ve put a lid on Desmond too, and I’ll never be romantic again—once bitten…!

All the same, the next weeks were hard going. It had been easy to get into the habit of seeing Desmond several times a week. She tried to fill the gaps by going to films, or having coffee with friends, but that wasn’t entirely successful for they all had boyfriends or were engaged, and it was difficult to maintain a carefree indifference as to her own future in the face of their friendly probings. She got thinner, and spent more time than she needed to in the shop, so that her mother coaxed her to go out more.

‘There’s not much doing in the shop at this time of year,’ she observed. ‘Why not have a good walk in the afternoons, love? It will soon be too cold and dark, and there’ll be all the extra custom with Christmas.’