Winter of the World

They stepped out of the house. Henry, the gardener, doubling as chauffeur tonight, opened the doors of the shiny old black Stutz.

This was Daisy’s big night. Tonight Charlie Farquharson would formally propose to her. He would offer her a diamond ring that was a family heirloom – she had seen and approved it, and it had been altered to fit her. She would accept his proposal, and then they would announce their engagement to everyone at the ball.

She got into the car feeling like Cinderella.

Only Eva had expressed doubts. ‘I thought you’d go for someone who was more of a match for you,’ she had said.

‘You mean a man who won’t let me boss him around,’ Daisy had replied.

‘No, but someone more like you, good-looking and charming and sexy.’

This was unusually sharp for Eva: it implied that Charlie was homely and charmless and unglamorous. Daisy had been taken aback, and did not know how to reply.

Her mother had saved her. Olga had said: ‘I married a man who was good-looking and charming and sexy, and he made me utterly miserable.’

Eva had said no more.

As the car approached the Yacht Club, Daisy vowed to restrain herself. She must not show how triumphant she felt. She must act as if there was nothing unexpected about her mother being asked to join the Buffalo Ladies Society. As she showed the other girls her enormous diamond, she would be so gracious as to declare that she did not deserve someone as wonderful as Charlie.

She had plans to make him even more wonderful. As soon as the honeymoon was over she and Charlie would start building their stable of racehorses. In five years they would be entering the most prestigious races around the world: Saratoga Springs, Longchamps, Royal Ascot.

Summer was turning to fall, and it was dusk when the car drew up at the pier. ‘I’m afraid we may be very late tonight, Henry,’ Daisy said gaily.

‘Quite all right, Miss Daisy,’ he replied. He adored her. ‘You have a wonderful time, now.’

At the door, Daisy noticed Victor Dixon following them in. Feeling well disposed towards everyone, she said: ‘So, Victor, your sister met the King of England. Congratulations!’

‘Mm, yes,’ he said, looking embarrassed.

They entered the club. The first person they saw was Ursula Dewar, who had agreed to accept Olga into her snobby club. Daisy smiled warmly at her and said: ‘Good evening, Mrs Dewar.’

Ursula seemed distracted. ‘Excuse me, just a moment,’ she said, and moved away across the lobby. She thought herself a queen, Daisy reflected, but did that mean she had no need of good manners? One day Daisy would rule over Buffalo society, but she would be unfailingly gracious to all, she vowed.

The three women went into the ladies’ room, where they checked their appearance in the mirrors, in case anything had gone wrong in the twenty minutes since they had left home. Dot Renshaw came in, looked at them, and went out again. ‘Stupid girl,’ Daisy said.

But her mother looked worried. ‘What’s happening?’ she said. ‘We’ve been here five minutes, and already three people have snubbed us!’

‘Jealousy,’ Daisy said. ‘Dot would like to marry Charlie herself.’

Olga said: ‘At this point Dot Renshaw would like to marry more or less anybody, I guess.’

‘Come on, let’s enjoy ourselves,’ said Daisy, and she led the way out.

As she entered the ballroom, Woody Dewar greeted her. ‘At last, a gentleman!’ Daisy said.

In a lowered voice he said: ‘I just want to say that I think it’s wrong of people to blame you for anything your father might have done.’

‘Especially when they all bought their booze from him!’ she replied.

Then she saw her future mother-in-law, in a ruched pink gown that did nothing for her angular figure. Nora Farquharson was not ecstatic about her son’s choice of bride, but she had accepted Daisy and had been charming to Olga when they had exchanged visits. ‘Mrs Farquharson!’ Daisy said. ‘What a lovely dress!’

Nora Farquharson turned her back and walked away.

Eva gasped.

A feeling of horror came over Daisy. She turned back to Woody. ‘This isn’t about bootlegging, is it?’

‘No.’

‘What, then?’

‘You must ask Charlie. Here he comes.’

Charlie was perspiring, though it was not warm. ‘What’s going on?’ Daisy asked him. ‘Everyone’s giving me the cold shoulder!’

He was terribly nervous. ‘People are so angry at your family,’ he said.

‘What for?’ she cried.

Several people nearby heard her raised voice and looked around. She did not care.

Charlie said: ‘Your father ruined Dave Rouzrokh.’

‘Are you talking about that incident in the Ritz-Carlton? What has that got to do with me?’

‘Everyone likes Dave, even though he’s Persian or something. And they don’t believe he would rape anybody.’

‘I never said he did!’

‘I know,’ Charlie said. He was clearly in agony.

People were frankly staring, now: Victor Dixon, Dot Renshaw, Chuck Dewar.

Daisy said to Charlie: ‘But I’m going to be blamed. Is that so?’

‘Your father did a terrible thing.’