Discovering Daisy. Betty Neels

saying another word. And Daisy, in love for the first time, had lain awake all night.

      She had lost her heart to him when he had come into the shop, looking for glass goblets, and Daisy, being Daisy, twenty-four years old, plain, heartwhole and full of romantic ideas, had fallen instant prey to his superficial charm, bold good looks and flattering manners— all of which compensated for his lack of height. He was only a few inches taller than Daisy. He dressed well, but his hair was too long—sometimes, when Daisy allowed her sensible self to take over from romantic dreams, she did dislike that, but she was too much in love to say so.

      He was a conceited man, and it was this conceit which had prompted him to invite Daisy out for dinner one evening, and that had led to more frequent meetings. He was a stranger to the little town, he had told her, sent by a London firm on a survey of some sort; he hadn’t been explicit about it and Daisy had supposed him to be in some high-powered job in the City, and that had given him the excuse to get to know her.

      She helped her father in the shop, but she was free to come and go, so that first dinner soon led him to being shown the town. His apparent interest in it had encouraged her to take him to the local museum, the various churches, the row of cottages leading from the quay, old and bowed down with history. He had been horribly bored, but her obvious wish to please him was food for his ego.

      He’d taken her out to tea, plying her with witty talk, smiling at her over the table, and she’d listened to him egotistically talk about himself and his important job, laughing at his jokes, admiring a new tie, or the leather briefcase he always carried, so necessary to his image.

      That he didn’t care for her in the least didn’t bother him; she served as a distraction in the dull little town after the life he’d lived in London. She was a stopgap until such time as he could find the girl he wanted; preferably with good looks and money. And a good dresser. Daisy’s off-the-peg clothes earned her nothing but his secret mockery.

      He didn’t come that evening. Daisy stifled disappointment, and spent the hours until bedtime polishing some antique silver her father had bought that day. It was worn smooth by the years, and usage, and she thought how delightful it would be to eat one’s food with such perfection. She polished the last spoon and laid it with the rest in a velvet bag, then put it in the wall cupboard where the small silver objects were housed. She locked the cupboard, shot the bolts on the shop door, locked it and set the alarm and went back upstairs. She had gone to the kitchen to make their evening drink when the phone rang.

      It was Desmond, full of high spirits, apparently forgetful of their quarrel. ‘I’ve a treat for you, Daisy. There’s a dinner-dance at the Palace Hotel on Saturday evening. I’ve been invited and asked to bring a partner.’ He turned on the charm. ‘Say you’ll come, darling, it’s important to me. There’ll be several people I’ve been hoping to meet; it’s a good chance for me…’

      When Daisy didn’t speak, he added, ‘It’s rather a grand affair; you’ll need a pretty dress—something striking so that people will turn round and look at us. Red—you can’t ignore red…’

      Daisy swallowed back excitement and happiness as she said sedately, ‘It sounds very nice. I’d like to come with you. How long will it last?’

      ‘Oh, the usual time, I suppose. Around midnight. I’ll see you safely home, and I promise you it won’t be too late.’

      Daisy, who if she made a promise kept it, believed him.

      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