Chapter 5 More Champagne
“But you don’t have any friends!” Hugh rolled over in the bed, the morning sunlight illuminating his naked backside in a way that did nothing to help Ned focus on the question at hand.
Ned tried to muster indignation that Hugh considered him a solitary grump.
“Charlie isn’t a friend. He’s someone I used to know, who I invited to join us at Claridge’s tonight.
I don’t see the problem; we invite people you know all of the time.
” Ned wrapped the bedclothes around himself and sat up against the headboard.
“Exactly. And over the past year, you’ve never shown interest in any of the people I invite, never once suggested a friend of your own. And now this!” Hugh flailed his hands in exclamation.
Truthfully, Ned didn’t really know what had compelled him to invite Charlie.
Even if Charlie had fully forgiven Ned, and Ned wasn’t entirely convinced that he had, their meeting at the pub had already shown that they had very little in common.
Yet the idea of seeing Charlie again was too intoxicating to resist.
His inability to explain himself made Ned even more frustrated that he and Hugh were even having this discussion.
Difficult conversations were not why Hugh was in his life.
“What does it matter to you who I invite? You are going to be preoccupied flirting with that playwright from the Victoria Theatre.”
Hugh rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an arse. Fuck the hatmaker six ways to Sunday, invite me to join, for all I care. But guilt-stricken men who can’t deal with the fact that they like cock do not make for a fun evening.”
Ned almost spouted out a retort that Charlie hadn’t seemed very guilty in the Charing Cross pub, but he bit the comment back. It wasn’t Ned’s place to speak for Charlie.
“The social burden will not be great,” he said instead. “Charlie will come by with his lady friend, we’ll all smile and exchange pleasantries, drink a glass of champagne and leave them to enjoy the dance floor. Nothing to worry about.”
Hugh sighed dramatically and reached for his trousers. Ned closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that the evening he had described to Hugh was all he wanted.
???
Claridge’s was champagne come to life—bright, bubbly, and high-spirited.
The ballroom had a varnish of modern glamour on old-world service with a veritable army of waiters to make sure every wish was taken care of.
The patrons were dressed to the nines, men in lounge suits, women in the latest fashions of draped fabrics, low necklines and high hemlines.
Those who weren’t dancing to the jazz band were drinking cocktails; Europe reaping the dividends of American obsession with Jim Crow and prohibition.
“Staring at the door won’t make any difference if your soldier decides to show up,” Hugh hissed as he elbowed Ned in the side.
Hugh and Ned had been at Claridge’s for the better part of an hour, holding court in their normal booth, which Hugh had selected to be perfectly positioned to allow them a view of the whole ballroom, with a touch of privacy if needed.
They had already attracted a fair selection of friends and acquaintances drawn by Hugh’s notoriety, Ned’s money, and their combined bohemian tastes.
Ned was like flotsam in a sea of Bright Young Things.
Ned had anxiously dressed for the night and sported his newest lounge suit in a dark blue which, while fashionably snug, also made the most of his height and broad shoulders.
He had indulged himself and put on a slight bit of red lip tint.
Not enough for anyone to notice, but he liked the feeling of it there.
Still, Hugh was right about staring at the door. Ned turned to the others in the booth. “I must apologise for being a complete bore this evening.”
“Edmund invited a friend from his time serving King and Country,” Hugh explained to the group.
“Oh! I do love an officer. The medals and the uniform make me all a flutter.” Trust Sophie Taunton to see the bright side of anything. She played with a long string of pearls. “Did you do lots of heroic things together? Flying aeroplanes and cracking codes?”
Ned enjoyed Sophie. She had a nimble mind, for all that she did her best to hide it behind her blonde waves and light conversation. With a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “Those are secrets that I’ll take to the grave.”
Sophie smirked in response, probably seeing right through Ned’s attempt to dodge the question.
“This, Mr Villiers, might be the most interesting thing to happen here all night.” Freddy Taunton lounged between his sister and Hugh, smoking a long cigarette. “This place is positively stodgy. We should have gone to The 43 Club.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to flirt with the new cabaret singer at The 43,” Hugh responded.
“He’s divine. You should see the eyelashes on the man.” Freddy barely blinked at the taunt. “If Claridge’s had singers half as attractive, I would be happy to stay here.”
“They do, darling brother, but you’ve already kissed them all. You just want new hunting grounds.” Sophie looked around the room. “As do I.”
The innocuous comment reminded Ned that this was where their attention needed to be, these laughing people who were all wonderfully open about their desires, no matter how scandalous. The only behaviour that was unacceptable in this group was shame.
A reminder that was immediately forgotten when Ned saw the latest guest to enter the ballroom.
Charlie was wearing a freshly pressed, sober brown suit.
His haircut and close shave showed he must’ve gone to the barber for the occasion.
Ned tried not to read too much into the effort Charlie had made—dancing at Claridge’s was one of the most exclusive events in all of London, after all.
On his arm was a petite woman looking every bit the Cinderella out at the ball, immaculately done up, eyes like saucers as she took in every inch of the elegant ballroom.
As Charlie navigated his way across the ballroom, he had that cocky half smile that Ned recognized as the one he used to hide his nerves.
Ned locked eyes with Charlie and nodded. He could feel Hugh sigh beside him.
Charlie approached the table stiffly. “Good evening, Mr Pinsent. I wanted to thank you again for the invitations.” He glanced towards the woman beside him with a mixture of pride and affection, giving Ned a surprisingly sharp pang of jealousy that he knew he had no right to feel.
“Please let me introduce you to Miss Elizabeth Townsend.”
“The pleasure is all mine, especially when you bring lovely visions like this.” Ned smiled and extended his hand. “I wish I could match Charlie’s elegant introduction, but we aren’t very formal here. You simply must promise me that you will call me Edmund.”
Charlie’s date wasn’t dressed in the latest fashions, but there was a vibrant colour to her flowing dress. She extended her own hand in a firm grip. “In that case, you must call me Betty. I don’t think I would know Elizabeth Townsend if I met her on the street.”
Ned found himself laughing. Nervous this woman might be, intimidated she was not. “I would be delighted and honoured. And please, join us for a drink. We can’t finish this champagne all by ourselves. Or rather we could, but then we wouldn’t have an excuse to get another bottle.”
There was the obligatory shuffling around the booth as everyone made room, then Freddy asked, “Any bets about whether dashing Prince Edward will show up?”
“Ignore my brother, he wants to make the gossip pages as having been in the same event as one of the royal mistresses. Mother will have absolute kittens!” Sophie responded with a roll of her eyes.
“Exactly, darling. And remove you from your pedestal as the most shameful child. You’ve been there far too long after that swimming incident!” Freddy teased.
“I maintain those swimming costumes were at the height of fashion. The amount of leg shown was incidental.” Sophie waived her hand as if she could physically dismiss the objections.
“The other swimmers at the lido didn’t agree. You nearly caused a riot, Soph,” Hugh continued.
“Maybe you should start making fancy bathing caps, Charlie,” Betty bantered without hesitation. “Clearly they are at the frontier of fashion.”
“Who says I’m the one that makes the custom orders?” Charlie replied flippantly.
“I would eat my own hat if it were anyone else.” Where did Ned’s certainty come from? Except he knew, the way he knew the sky was blue, that it was Charlie who had crafted those damn hats. “What I don’t understand is why you don’t put them out at the shop’s front.”
Betty nodded. “I keep telling him the same thing. They would sell like ice in July.”
Charlie ducked his head. “Those hats would send my father to an early grave. I take on the custom orders to just keep myself from getting bored.”
Ned leaned forward. “If you’re bored, why don’t you go do something else?”
Charlie’s blue eyes flashed with challenge. “Why don’t you, Ned?”
“Ned?!!” Freddy almost spilt his drink. “What?”
“Don’t look at me, first I have ever heard of this.” Hugh raised his hands in the air, protesting innocence.
“Stop being so dramatic, you two.” Ned tried to keep his voice casual, secretly thankful that he didn’t have to respond to Charlie’s question. “Ned is a perfectly normal nickname for Edmund. It is what they called me in the trenches.”
It wasn’t. They called him Pinsent in the trenches. Ned was what his brother had called him. And then Charlie.
“Is this where you reveal he has been a Bolshevik spy all along?” Sophie asked archly.
Charlie laughed and turned to Betty. “I think we’ve created enough chaos here. Shall we dance, my dear?”
Betty’s face broke out in a matching grin. “What took you so long to ask?”