‘This is Jean-Philippe,’ Lisette said, pointing out a young man with very dark hair and a very serious expression. ‘He’s thirty-one now, but that was taken when he was around twenty-six.’ She then touched his wedding picture. ‘And this is him with his bride, Alice.’
Mariette knew that Jean-Philippe was Noah’s stepson, and she wondered if he would come round soon to meet her.
‘Rose?’ Mariette asked, picking up a photograph of a girl in her twenties. She reminded Mariette of the way Mog had described Noah when he was young, with a round face, very curly hair and a brilliant smile.
‘Yes, that’s my Rose – and aptly named, for she is much more English than French,’ Lisette said. ‘She’s twenty-four now but still young enough to be good company for you.’
‘It’s lovely to see Mum, Papa and Mog here too,’ Mariette said. ‘I didn’t expect that.’
Lisette put her hands on Mariette’s shoulders and looked her full in the face. ‘Your mother and father mean a great deal to Noah and me. There is a bond between us stronger than just family ties. So, of course, your pictures are all here in our home. I’m just waiting for them to send me a photograph of Alexis and Noel, and then they will be here too.’
‘I have one in my case, Mum said I was to give it to you,’ Mariette said.
‘You will miss your parents, being so far away,’ Lisette said, and put her arms around Mariette to hug her. ‘But you must think of Noah and myself as stand-in parents. Don’t be afraid to tell us things. We are not – how do you say it in English? – ogres.’
Mariette wasn’t normally one for hugging, but she was glad to be enveloped in Lisette’s arms. She liked her, and she wasn’t surprised now that the Frenchwoman and Belle had been such good friends. There was a similarity about them, not looks, but something indefinable which she felt, but couldn’t quite put her finger on.
As Mariette reached out to switch off the bedside lamp in her new room, she remembered how Mog had said she wouldn’t know herself once she discovered the joys of living with electricity. She’d already got used to it on the ship, but here in this pretty cream and pink room, which Lisette said had been inspired by Belle’s hat shop, she hoped she would never have to light an oil lamp again.
It was touching that Lisette had been thinking of Belle when she planned the room, yet it seemed very French to Mariette. The gilding on the ornate dressing table and matching stool reminded her of pictures she’d seen of furniture in Versailles. There were two pictures on the wall above the bed, both of outrageous frothy hats. Lisette said she’d found them in a flea market in Paris, and both she and Noah knew immediately that they would be perfect for this room.
The house back in Russell was very simply decorated and furnished, which made this house seem even more grandiose and decadent, but it wasn’t just the sumptuous carpets, polished furniture and the like that impressed Mariette so much, rather the way she was taken care of and the sheer comfort of it all. While they had been eating their supper, Mrs Andrews had come up and unpacked her suitcase for her, taking away everything that needed washing. There was a cream chaise longue by the window, and there were radiators all over the house so that every room was warm. Even the bed she was in was a double one, with sheets that felt as smooth and soft as silk.
She’d had a bath in a bathroom which was just for her, adjoining her room. There were fluffy towels warming on a heated rail, and going outside to a lavatory was now a thing of the past. It was all beyond her wildest dreams.
But there were two things missing. One was the sound of the sea. Ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d lain awake listening to the waves breaking on the shore, and on the voyage from New Zealand the sound had surrounded her. Here there was just traffic, a faint hum now it was getting late, comforting enough, but not in the way the sea was.
Then there was Morgan. She’d managed to avoid thinking about him for most of the day, but now she was alone she ached for him. Was he thinking of her right now? Or had he forgotten her already and gone off into Southampton to dance, get drunk and find another girl?
The first two weeks of being in London were such a whirlwind of new experiences that Mariette didn’t miss Morgan quite as much as she’d thought she would. It was really only late at night that he crept into her thoughts, and although her stomach would churn with wanting him, it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected it to be.
She adored London. It wasn’t just seeing the famous sights – the Tower of London, St Paul’s Cathedral and London Zoo – but simple things, like a ride on a bus, eating fish and chips, or taking a toboggan out on Primrose Hill when it snowed. She’d never seen snow before – they had it in the South Island, but never in Russell – and she couldn’t quite believe that a man like Noah would gleefully hurtle down slopes on a toboggan with her.
When she wrote home, the words flooded out in her excitement to make her family share her experiences and the sights she’d seen. She felt obliged to tell them she missed them all, but the truth was that she was far too happy with her new life to give them more than the occasional sentimental thought.
She loved living in such a busy street. In the mornings, when she looked out of the window, there were gentlemen in bowler hats with furled umbrellas, going off to the City. There were so many smartly dressed office girls too, mothers taking small children to school and older children larking around as they found their own way there.
Later in the day, there were the tradesmen: a baker delivering bread from his horse-drawn cart, a coal merchant, even a man who sharpened knives. Nursemaids pushing prams came out when it was sunny, while housemaids scrubbed doorsteps and polished door brass.
She thought of the streets in Russell. Cows meandered along them at will, and when it rained they were like swamps. Now that she was here, in London, she couldn’t imagine going back to such a primitive way of life.
The thought that Noah and Lisette might get fed up with her – and might send her home – worried her, and to make this far less likely she made sure she was always on her best behaviour. She spoke French to Lisette, because she knew she liked it, and she offered to help around the house. Mrs Andrews did all the housework and so, invariably, Lisette would say there was nothing to do. But Mariette made her own bed, kept her bedroom really tidy and remained alert for anything else she could do to please Lisette.
She loved running errands. The little shops nearby were like Aladdin’s caves stuffed with goods, and the big shops, further away in Oxford Street and Regent Street, were so amazing that she could wander around them all day without getting bored.
Rose had returned home on Mariette’s second day in London. Although Mariette’s first impression of her was that she was like one of those aristocratic, earnest young women she’d seen in British-made films, she liked her.
‘I expect Mama and Papa will overdo the sightseeing,’ Rose said with an infectious grin. ‘So I’ll take you to the jollier places. Have you ever tried roller skating? I love it. There’s a rink in Finchley Road, not far from here. Shall we go tomorrow night?’
Mariette had only ever seen roller skating on a film, but it looked a fun thing to do, and she agreed with enthusiasm.
It was all Rose had said, and more. Mariette hung on to the side of the rink at first, too scared to let go, but then Rose and one of her friends held her hands and took her round with them.
She got the hang of it very quickly after that, and by the end of the session she could even skate backwards. She was complimented for learning so quickly.
Rose and her circle of friends were very different from women of the same age back in Russell. Although few of them did any paid work, they all appeared to have had very good educations. They spent their days visiting friends, having lunch and helping out in various charities. Rose told her it wasn’t done for middle-class girls to work and that she was an exception, having been trained as a bookkeeper. But even Rose didn’t go to work every day; it seemed the bookkeeping work she did was for people k
nown to her father, and she slotted this in between her social engagements and charity work.
Yet, despite not working, none of Rose’s friends seemed the least bit concerned about getting married and raising families. They travelled, took a great deal of interest in world affairs, went to concerts, visited nightclubs and took part in sport. Next to them Mariette felt like a real country bumpkin who hadn’t the least idea about anything.
‘My parents expected me to work while I was here,’ Mariette confided in Rose. ‘But I don’t know anything, so what work could I do?’
‘What do you enjoy doing?’ Rose asked.
‘Sailing and fishing,’ Mariette joked. ‘But I don’t suppose there’s much call for those talents in London. I like sewing too.’
Rose smiled. ‘There’s sailing on the Serpentine in summer, but sewing’s a real asset. I bet my mother could pull some strings for you there. She knows most of the couture places in London.’
Rose must have spoken to her parents about this because the following evening, when Rose had gone out to a concert with a friend, Noah brought up the subject over dinner.
‘I know Belle and Etienne felt you should work while you are here, but Lisette and I just wanted you to enjoy being in London for a while before thinking about that. However, Rose mentioned you wanted to do dressmaking.’
‘It’s one of the few things I’m good at,’ she said. ‘But then, I had good teachers in Mum and Mog.’
Noah frowned. ‘While you may love dressmaking, Mari, I think you may get very disillusioned about working in a couture house. The pay is abysmal, the hours very long, and you are likely to be put to work on just one tiny part of the garment, never doing the whole thing. How about doing a secretarial course? Once you can type, you can get work anywhere in the world, and when you go back to New Zealand too. I wish I’d learned to type properly when I was a lad. As it is, I’ve had to struggle and get by with two or three fingers for all these years.’
Mariette had heard him tapping away at a typewriter in his study. She’d grown up seeing his hugely successful book on the 1914 war on the bookshelf at home. Her parents always showed it to people and proudly told them he was their friend. Mariette felt a bit ashamed now that she hadn’t tried to read it, especially as her father’s input had been huge, telling Noah the inside stories about how it really was for the enlisted men, and exposing the mistakes of the generals. Since that bestseller Noah had turned to writing fiction, penning a series of very popular gritty detective stories. She had read two of those on the ship, and really loved them.
‘I think I’d like to do that, Uncle Noah,’ she agreed. Even though she did like sewing, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be cloistered in a totally female world. ‘And I think Mum and Dad would approve too.’
Noah beamed. ‘First thing tomorrow, I’ll make some phone calls,’ he said. ‘I think Lisette would agree that dressmaking is a rewarding hobby, but hardly a career.’
Later that evening, Noah went off to his study and Lisette and Mariette sat by the fire together speaking in French. They made a point of speaking French every day now – often just for a few minutes, while they were doing something together – but on a night like this, when they were alone, they would keep it up for an hour or more.
Papa had also done this since Mariette was old enough to speak, and she really enjoyed it. But speaking to another woman brought new words into her vocabulary, and Lisette worked hard on giving her a more Parisian accent, rather than the Marseille pronunciation she had heard from her father.
They chatted in French about fashion for some little while, then Lisette suddenly changed back to English.
‘I hope you didn’t agree to train as a secretary just to please Noah?’ she said. ‘He can have some odd ideas about women’s jobs. Since he became so successful, he has also become a bit of a snob.’
‘Do you mean he thinks dressmaking is a bit like working in a factory?’ Mariette asked.
Mog had often made jokes about the class system in England, but her comments had been wasted on Mariette as class didn’t really exist in New Zealand. But Morgan had made sharp remarks about the differences between officers and ordinary seamen. And once she’d been in England for a few days, she’d begun to notice certain things for herself, accents in particular.
All Rose’s friends had very posh accents, like people on the wireless. One of them had made a cutting remark about someone who was a ‘shop girl’, giving Mariette the idea they saw people who did the more lowly jobs, or spoke with a different accent, as another species.
It was this attitude which made Mariette realize that Rose’s friends would not approve of Morgan. She had already identified his accent as cockney, much like the very jolly milkman who called her ‘ducks’ and Lisette ‘missis’. Mr and Mrs Andrews spoke much the same way too, though not quite so obviously.
Lisette made a funny little sucking noise with her mouth, as if considering whether her husband thought dressmaking was as lowly as factory work. ‘It is very hard for me to explain how people in England think about such things, my dear. Noah has many friends in high places now, and that has changed his outlook a little.’
‘And he wouldn’t like to tell them his goddaughter was working as a seamstress?’ Mariette prompted her.
Lisette blushed. ‘You are so like your mother, Mari. Belle always said everything as it was, not what people wanted to hear.’
To Mariette making beautiful dresses was as skilful as being a surgeon, and it made no sense to her that anyone could classify one as being lower class, and the other as upper. ‘But a secretary is fine?’ she asked.
‘It is a job girls from good homes do,’ Lisette replied, and made a gesture with her hands as if that made no sense to her either.
‘You mean, if they aren’t clever enough to be an accountant or a doctor?’
‘Now you sound like Etienne,’ Lisette said with a wry smile. ‘He was always a champion of the working class. Belle and Mog too struggled with class distinctions. I remember, when they first moved to Blackheath, they made a real effort to appear more genteel, just so they would fit in. They had a book they read, called Correct English, and when I visited them all three of us would try phrases. We used to laugh so much doing what Mog called “posh voices”.’
Mariette laughed too. She remembered how, just before she left New Zealand, her mother and Mog had done this to illustrate how some people in England spoke. Their London accents had mellowed after nearly twenty years in New Zealand – they mostly sounded like people who had been born there – but when they talked to each other, especially about England, they tended to lapse back into their old ways.
‘I have an advantage, in being French, for some reason anyone hearing my accent assumes I’m a “lady”,’ Lisette said with a chuckle. ‘But it took me some years to understand what is meant by that. Even now, when I see Mrs Andrews who is ten years older than me lifting a heavy coal scuttle, I want to help her. But she would be horrified, if I did. She thinks it is her place to do such jobs.’
‘I’m not sure I know what place I should be in,’ Mariette said. ‘My father fishes and does building work, and my mother makes hats. So that makes me working class, doesn’t it?’
‘The whole class system is ridiculous.’ Lisette patted Mariette’s knee to stress she too found it baffling. ‘Both Noah and I came from humble beginnings, but because Noah made a name for himself as a very good journalist and author, we found ourselves shunted upwards. This is exactly why your parents felt we were the right people to guide your future.’
‘But Dad doesn’t have any time for the class system,’ Mariette said with a touch of indignation. ‘I don’t think he’d want me to get airs and graces.’
‘It isn’t about that, it’s about acquiring polish, knowing how to behave in company, so you can mix easily with all kinds of people, Mari. Noah and I had to learn that, just as Belle had to when she had her hat shop. It is that polish that your parents want for you. They would neve
r want you to become a snob, but they do want doors to open for you.
‘Maybe, in six months’ time, you will go home and marry a carpenter, or a fisherman, and be as happy as your parents are. But it is always good to have choices, to know about the possibilities there are in life. And that’s what Noah and I want to help you with. Do you understand what I mean?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Mariette agreed. Lisette had put it very well. ‘But I don’t think Noah would like it much if I wanted to walk out with a bus conductor, a train driver or a ship’s steward, would he?’
‘Did you meet a nice steward on the ship?’
The inquiring tone in Lisette’s voice brought Mariette up sharply. The word ‘steward’ had slipped out, and it was clear Lisette had picked up on its importance.
There was no sense in trying to lie her way out of it. ‘Yes, I did,’ she admitted. ‘His name is Morgan Griffiths, and he took care of me when I was in the sickbay. I really liked him.’
‘I see,’ Lisette said thoughtfully. ‘Is there a reason you haven’t mentioned him before?’
‘Well, as you probably know, I was a bit foolish over a man back home,’ Mariette said cautiously. ‘I expect Mum and Papa warned you to watch me like a hawk.’
‘Strange as it may seem to you, your parents told us nothing like that. Of course, we did suspect something,’ Lisette smiled. ‘But you are not alone in being foolish. It is something we all expect from young people. Rose has had her moments, and Jean-Philippe too when he was your age. Both Noah and I did things that we aren’t so proud of now. The biggest danger for young girls is that they often get carried away by a handsome face, and fail to look at the man’s character. Do you think Morgan is a good man?’
‘Yes, I do. But it is hard to be sure when you only have a short time with someone.’
‘And on the ship you only saw him for moments here and there?’