1938 - Miss Pettigrew lives for a day Read online

  “Ah!” said Miss Dubarry with understanding. “That’s different. You wouldn’t believe the amount it costs even me to keep my face fixed, and I’m in the trade and that means nearly ninety-nine per cent off.”

  She found her handbag and opened it.

  “Here’s my card. You bring that any time you like and you shall have the best of everything. Any friend of Delysia’s is a friend of mine. If I’m at liberty I’ll do you myself. If not, I’ll get you the best left.”

  “How wonderful,” gasped Miss Pettigrew. She took the card with trembling fingers.

  “Edythe Dubarry,” she read, thrilled.

  “It’s well seen you’re no Londoner,” said Miss Dubarry. “That name stands for something. It’s the best beauty parlour in London, though it is my own.”

  Miss Pettigrew’s face began to shine.

  “Tell me,” she begged, “is it true? Is it really true? I mean, can these places improve your looks?”

  Miss Dubarry sat down. She hesitated. She hitched her chair closer.

  “Look at me.”

  Miss Pettigrew looked. Miss Dubarry gave a friendly chuckle.

  “I like you. There’s something about you…well! What do you think of me?”

  “Oh dear!” said Miss Pettigrew, much embarrassed. “What have I to say to that?”

  “Just what you like. I don’t mind. But the truth.”

  “Well,” said Miss Pettigrew, taking the plunge, “I think you have very…very startling looks.”

  Miss Dubarry looked immensely pleased.

  “There you are then.”

  Miss Pettigrew warmed to her task. If Miss Dubarry could be frank, so could she.

  “You’re not exactly beautiful, like Miss LaFosse, but you catch the eye. When you come into a room, every one will notice you.”

  “There,” said Miss Dubarry proudly. “What did I tell you?”

  “What?” asked Miss Pettigrew.

  “What I’ve been telling you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You and I,” said Miss Dubarry, “are exactly alike.”

  “Oh…how can you say it!” said Miss Pettigrew unbelievingly.

  “You don’t look like the kind of a woman to give away secrets,” said Miss Dubarry recklessly.

  “I’m not,” said Miss Pettigrew.

  “And when I see such a perfect lay figure as you, I can’t help spreading the glad tidings.”

  “No?” said Miss Pettigrew, bewildered.

  Miss Dubarry leaned closer.

  “My hair,” stated Miss Dubarry, “is mouse coloured…like yours.”

  “No!” gasped Miss Pettigrew. “Not really.”

  “A fact. I thought black suited me better.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “My eyebrows,” continued Miss Dubarry, “and eyelashes are sandy-coloured. I have plucked my eyebrows and pencilled in new ones. My eyelashes, as well as being such a damnable shade, are short. I have had new ones fixed. Black, long and curly.”

  “Marvellous,” whispered Miss Pettigrew, at last realizing the reason for Miss Dubarry’s surprising eyes.

  “I have the insipid, indeterminate complexion that goes with that stupid colouring. I thought a creamy pallor a great deal more interesting.”

  “Absolutely,” breathed Miss Pettigrew.

  “My nose was a difficulty. You score over me there. But McCormick is a marvellous surgeon. He gave me a new one.”

  “No,” gasped Miss Pettigrew.

  “My teeth were the greatest trouble,” confessed Miss Dubarry. “They weren’t spaced evenly. Fifty pounds that cost me. But it was worth it.”

  Miss Pettigrew leaned back.

  “It’s unbelievable,” she said faintly, “quite unbelievable.”

  “I forgot the ears,” said Miss Dubarry. “They stood out too much, but, as I say, McCormick’s a marvellous surgeon. He soon put that right.”

  “It can’t be possible.” Miss Pettigrew was almost beyond words. “I mean, you’re not you.”

  “Just a little care,” said Miss Dubarry. “It does wonders.”

  “Miracles,” articulated Miss Pettigrew, “miracles; I’ll never believe a woman again when I see her.”

  “Why!” said Miss Dubarry. “Would you have us all go naked and unashamed? Must we take off the powder with the petticoat, and discard the eyeblack with the brassiere? Must we renounce beauty and revert to the crudities of nature?”

  “All but Miss LaFosse,” continued Miss Pettigrew faintly but loyally. “I saw her straight…out…of…the…bath.”

  “Oh, Delysia!” said Miss Dubarry. “She’s different. She was blessed at birth.”

  She glanced at the bedroom door. Her face clouded over again.

  “I wish she’d hurry. I’m in an awful jam and she generally sees a way out.”

  Miss Pettigrew’s eyes became misted.

  “How lovely!” she thought sentimentally. “Is there anything more beautiful? Woman to woman. And they say we don’t trust each other!”

  “There’s nothing like another woman when you’re in trouble,” sighed Miss Pettigrew.

  Miss Dubarry shuddered.

  “Good God! Don’t you believe that,” she said earnestly. “There’s not another woman I’d come to but Delysia.”

  “No?” asked Miss Pettigrew in surprise.

  “Well, Delysia, she’s different. I mean, with her looks she hasn’t got to worry about men. You can trust her.”

  “Yes,” said Miss Pettigrew. “I know you can.”

  “She doesn’t try to pinch your men. I mean, I don’t mind flirting. A woman wouldn’t be human if she didn’t, but there’s ways of doing it. She doesn’t try to turn them off you behind your back. She says the best when you’re not there.”

  “Just like her,” said Miss Pettigrew proudly.

  “Oh yes. I forgot. You’re an old friend of hers. Oh dear! I wish she’d hurry. There’ll be no time for her to think of anything.”

  “How did you come to own a beauty parlour?” asked Miss Pettigrew tactfully, trying to turn Miss Dubarry’s mind from her troubles. “You look very young. If you don’t think I’m rude, I’m very interested.”

  “Oh, that,” said Miss Dubarry. “That was very simple. I vamped the boss.”

  “Vamped the boss!” echoed Miss Pettigrew weakly. “Oh dear! However could you think of such a thing?”

  “Very simple. I was eighteen…an apprentice. He was getting on. They always fall for the young ones…if you’re clever, that is. I was always clever that way,” said Miss Dubarry simply. “If you act ‘marriage or nothing’ they generally give you marriage. I was very lucky. I went to his head, but he couldn’t stand the pace. He got a nice tombstone and I got the parlour.”

  “We must be fair,” said Miss Pettigrew vaguely, not knowing what to say.

  “I earned it,” said Miss Dubarry simply. “But there! You can’t expect to get things without a little work. And he wasn’t a bad sort. I’ve known worse. I was no fool either. I learned that business, even though I did get married. It’s paid me. Do you know, it’s worth three times as much now as when he passed out.”

  “I bet it is,” admired Miss Pettigrew simply and slangily.

  “I put up the prices. That’s business. And I changed the name of course. I picked Dubarry. I mean, you’ve only got to think of Du Barry and you expect things. It stands for something. I think it was a very clever choice. At least,” said Miss Dubarry honestly, “Delysia thought of it, but I was quick to be on to it.”

  “A perfect name,” praised Miss Pettigrew. “A marvellous name,” she added recklessly.

  She did her best to discipline her judgment. But it was no use. She was carried away. Who was she to judge? Wouldn’t she have married any man who had asked her in the last ten years to escape the Mrs. Brummegans of this world? Of course she would! Why pretend? Why pretend with all the other silly old women that they were better than their sisters because they had had no chance of being o
therwise? Away with cant. Miss Pettigrew leaned forward with shining eyes and patted Miss Dubarry’s knee.

  “I think,” said Miss Pettigrew, “you’re wonderful. I only wish I’d had half your brains when I was young. I might be a merry widow today.”

  “A lot’s in the chances you get,” consoled Miss Dubarry. “Always remember that. And grabbing them when they come, of course.”

  “Even if they had come,” said Miss Pettigrew with sad conviction, “I could never have grabbed. I wasn’t the kind.”

  “Never say die,” said Miss Dubarry. “You’ll get your kick out of life yet.”

  She patted Miss Pettigrew’s knee in return, and the delicate seductiveness of her perfume again assailed Miss Pettigrew’s senses.

  “What a lovely scent,” admired Miss Pettigrew.

  “Isn’t it?” said Miss Dubarry complacently.

  “I’ve never smelt anything like it before.”

  “You’re hardly likely to. I’m the only person in England knows the secret.”

  “How wonderful!” marvelled Miss Pettigrew. “Is it expensive?”

  “Nine pounds an ounce.”

  “What?” gasped Miss Pettigrew.

  “Oh well! It costs me ten-and-six.”

  “And people buy it?” quavered Miss Pettigrew.

  “As much as I’ll sell them. But I’ve found in the long run you keep a steadier market by pretending there’s a shortage. You might sell more in the beginning, but let them once think there’s plenty and the demand will soon fall off. My clients like to be select.”

  “Ten-and-six,” said Miss Pettigrew faintly. “Nine pounds.”

  “Oh, that’s just business. I mean, no one else can make it, so of course I charge. If the secret leaked out, the price would come down with a bang. It’s the exclusiveness you’re paying for.”

  Miss Pettigrew’s interest overcame her shock.

  “But how, if you don’t mind my asking, did you learn to make it?”

  “Well, it’s a long story,” said Miss Dubarry, “told in full. I was over in France buying stock. I met Gaston Leblanc…he’s the greatest expert on perfumes there is. Well, I mean, it was too good a chance to miss, so I put in a bit of overtime. His idea, of course, was to combine the two businesses. I’m no fool. It wasn’t exactly my charms alone. Well, I didn’t exactly cold-shoulder him and he gave me the secret as an engagement present. You know! Cost him nothing and the secret was safe in the family. Then I came back to England.”

  “To England?” said Miss Pettigrew, bewildered.

  “Of course,” said Miss Dubarry indignantly. “Well, I mean to say! He wasn’t wanting to marry me. He was wanting to marry Dubarry’s. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know. I don’t approve of these continental ways. He’d never have considered me for marriage without my business. Well, that’s more than I can stomach. I do like a man to put a bit of passion into a proposal. Englishmen don’t want to get into a business, they want to get into bed. We’re brought up to expect it and you can’t get over early training.”

  “No,” said Miss Pettigrew indignantly. “Of course not. The very idea! A business indeed!”

  Miss Dubarry dug into her handbag and brought out her compact. She proceeded to paint on a new mouth again. Miss Pettigrew stood up. She stared at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece, at the tokens of middle age that lay not so much in lines and wrinkles but in much more subtle suggestions, in something old in the expression: in the tiredness of the eyes, in the lack of brilliance about the face. Straight, lank, mouse-coloured hair: faded, tired blue eyes: pale mouth, thin face, dull, yellowish complexion.

  “It’s no use,” thought Miss Pettigrew, “you can do what you like with paint and powder, but you can’t get away from the unhealthy complexion brought by lack of good food. And I don’t see where good food’s coming to me.”

  Suddenly she felt flat, lifeless and terrified again. Immediately the nervous worry sprang into the face in front of her. It was ageing, destructive. It demolished all signs of youth.

  Miss Pettigrew hastily turned her eyes from her own image. She stared at Miss Dubarry, sitting in her expensive clothes, with her sleek, black head, her crimson lips, the beautiful arresting pallor of her face.

  “No,” thought Miss Pettigrew hopelessly, “you could never at any time turn me into her. Even when I was young. It isn’t only the paint. It’s something inside you.”

  She moved to sit down again. The bedroom door opened and Miss LaFosse emerged.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  3.44 PM—5.2 PM

  Miss LaFosse came into the room, black draperies floating, silver collar, silver girdle, gleaming, fair hair, like a pale gold crown, shining. At once, in Miss Pettigrew’s estimation, Miss Dubarry sank into the shade.

  “Ah!” thought Miss Pettigrew with a feeling of possessive pride, “art can never beat nature.”

  “Delysia!” cried Miss Dubarry, springing to her feet. “I thought you would never come.”

  “Now be calm, Edythe,” begged Miss LaFosse. “You always get too excited.”

  “So would you if you were in my place.”

  “Yes. I suppose I would,” agreed Miss LaFosse soothingly. “It’s easy talking when it isn’t yourself. But how have you and Guinevere been getting along? Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Oh, fine. We’ve had a grand talk. I’ve been showing off. It’s a soothing feeling.”

  “Oh no, she wasn’t,” denied Miss Pettigrew hastily. “She was only telling me things because I asked.”

  Miss LaFosse chuckled.

  “I believe both of you.”

  “Oh, Delysia!” Miss Dubarry’s voice broke.

  All her unhappiness came back into her face again.

  She nearly wept. Her face puckered, but she could not imperil her make–up;. She sat down on the couch and tried to gain control of herself.

  “I know,” said Miss LaFosse with comforting sympathy. “I’m ready. Where’s the cigarettes…here? Have one.” She lit one for herself and Miss Dubarry and sat down beside her. “Now. Tell me.”

  Miss Dubarry gulped in the smoke.

  “Tony’s left me.”

  “No!” said Miss LaFosse incredulously.

  Miss Pettigrew sat a little away. She felt she was intruding. These two were real friends. They had forgotten her. She felt she ought to go but didn’t like just to walk out of the room without a word. Miss Dubarry knew she was there, so it wasn’t her fault if she eavesdropped. She didn’t want to go. She wanted instead to know who Tony was and why he had left Miss Dubarry, but she was also beginning to have a lost, forlorn feeling that all these exciting people, with their experiences and adventures, should only touch her life for one short period.

  Miss Dubarry nodded her head.

  “It’s true,” she said dully.

  “But you’ve quarrelled before.”

  “Yes. But not real quarrels. There’s a difference.”

  “I know,” agreed Miss LaFosse. “What’s happened?”

  “Well. You know how Tony is? He’s so jealous if you just speak politely to the liftman he thinks you have designs on him.”

  “I know. But you must confess you’ve a very intimate way of being nice to men.”

  “Yes, I know all that. But it’s just habit. You know that. Until you’ve made your way, you’ve got to be like that, and the habit’s just stuck.”

  “Yes,” agreed Miss LaFosse again.

  “There isn’t any one but Tony. You know that. There never has been. I mean, you might marry for business first time, the way I did, but you don’t fall in love for business once you’re settled in life. I’d even marry him, if he asked me. But he’s never asked.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t like to. I mean, it’s a lot to give up, your freedom, with your own business and plenty of money. There’s no need to get married. He probably thinks it would be cheek to ask. The way it is…well, it’s just in the way of affection. Break off when either of you likes. But marriage is s
erious. He’s probably thinking of you.”

  “I think that’s what he does think. I’m almost sure it is. I earn more with my business than he does, you know. I wouldn’t care if he’d only say so, then I’d know where I was. I mean, if he’d only say he was serious. I’d soon make him agree to marriage.”

  “Men are funny,” agreed Miss LaFosse.

  “Well. He expects it both ways. Me to be faithful, like married, yet not married and nothing even said.”

  “It’s the funny way they have. Expect you to read their minds.”

  “Well. I was willing. I’d rather have Tony that way than no way, but I didn’t see why I shouldn’t have a bit of innocent fun. You know he had to go abroad for six weeks and I got running around with Frank Desmond. Nothing to it, you know. Just amusement. Well, a party of us motored out to his weekend place one night. The others left ahead of us. I just stayed for one more drink, and when we got to Frank’s car the lights wouldn’t work. He’s no mechanic and we hadn’t even a torch to give us light. It was pouring like the devil and black as pitch and a mile to the village, so what could I do but stay the night?”

  “Well, obviously nothing,” concurred Miss LaFosse.

  “I’d have done the same myself. But I suppose Tony’s got to know.”

  The tears nearly came through. Miss Dubarry’s mouth trembled.

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose,” queried Miss LaFosse tentatively, “it was all innocent.”

  “That’s what hurts,” mourned Miss Dubarry pathetically. “You know what a fascinating devil Frank is. It isn’t as though you wouldn’t have liked a bit of fun with him. But because of Tony, well, I didn’t. And now I might just as well for all he’ll believe me.”

  “Oh well! They say virtue is its own reward.”

  “I’d rather have the fun, if the reward is to be the same in any case.”

  “I suppose Tony won’t believe you.”

  “No. I can’t do anything. You know what a reputation Frank has. Tony simply won’t believe either of us…I even lowered myself to drag in Frank. He says of course he’d lie for me.”

  “Of course he would,” said Miss LaFosse drearily. “That’s the worst of it. I mean, Tony knows he’d lie, so how does he know when he’s not lying? Oh dear! It’s terribly difficult.”