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rainbowfic2022-06-25 09:58 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2022-06-25 09:58 pm
Celestial Blue Saturation [Divide & Rule]
Name: Fashion Statement
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Celestial Blue
Supplies and Styles: Saturation + Graffiti (Camp Rainbowfic – Aquatics) + Nubs
Word Count: 5794
Rating: Teen
Warnings:
Notes: 1949-1958; Julia Graves/Edward Iveson.
Summary: Julia, and Julia/Edward, in ten dresses.
***
#6. Judgment (August 1949)
It was the dress that did it. Julia had been able to justify her actions up until then. Of course it was reasonable to make a marriage of convenience; of course she would play her role of politician’s wife to perfection and give Edward no cause for complaint. Everything would be fine.
“If you wanted to come,” Edward said, standing awkwardly in the doorway, “I’d be glad, but you mustn’t feel obliged.”
Julia perched on the arm of the sofa and thought about a fête, and how she’d cut the ribbon and be terribly gracious to the local dignitaries. A desire to laugh rose up in her throat. “Oh, but this sort of thing is what I’m here for, darling.”
Edward cast her an uncertain look, his eyes shaded with reproach. “Then thank you.” He coughed, and waved a hand towards her old green frock. “Whatever you need to, er, wear – that’s not a problem. Purchase whatever you think most suitable.” A brief smile illuminated his face. “Within reason, of course.”
“Oh, no,” said Julia, her laughter evaporating. “I can’t possibly. That wouldn’t be on.”
Edward became still, his brows drawing into a faint frown. “Julia, don’t be nonsensical. What’s mine is yours and all that. Besides, I asked you – and if you mean to keep your end of our bargain, I shall ask you to attend plenty of other such events. You’ll need an appropriate wardrobe, trust me.”
“Yes, but,” said Julia, and stopped. She had kept a balance sheet between them in her head – what she could bring to their partnership, versus all the material benefits he could give her. As long as that stayed more or less even in her reckoning, then she wasn’t just a mercenary beast, and maybe this would even all work out, and they could be together properly one day, the way they had pretended to be on their honeymoon.
Edward tilted his head, watching her as if she was a newly discovered creature of strange habits. “Julia,” he said mildly, “I appreciate your scruples, but this is absurd. If you don’t, God knows what everyone will think of me refusing to let my wife have new clothes – and I draw the line at that, thank you.”
“Of course,” said Julia hastily, heat creeping into her face. “Oh, yes. How silly of me. I shall go out tomorrow and find the perfect thing, I promise.”
When he withdrew, she pressed her fist against her mouth. There was nothing else for it: she was going to have to profit and profit and profit by her actions and she had no one to blame but herself. She was all too easily bought.
Julia waited for the driver open the door for her, and emerged into the sunshine, smoothing down her fashionably full skirt of her rose-pink twill. She straightened up and turned as Edward reached her, walking around the car from the other side.
“Are you well?” he murmured in her ear. “You were very quiet on the way.”
Julia raised her head. “Darling, don’t fuss. You see before you the ideal MP’s wife. Just watch me coo over the prettiest baby and admire all the prize-winning cakes and vegetables.” She put up a hand to adjust the angle of her neat cream hat and smiled; her hand in his but remaining deliberately unreachable.
“I believe you may be shameless,” he said under his breath.
Julia turned her head. “We both are, I fear, but I suppose that’s usual for a politician. What my excuse is, I don’t know.”
He had no time to answer before they were introduced to the mayor, and a small girl in yellow approached Julia with a curtsey and proffered a posy of pink and white roses.
Julia crouched, giving the sturdy, pig-tailed child her most charming smile as she took the flowers. “Why, are these for me? How lovely!”
She was a terrible person, cunningly disguised in demure pink, hiding behind roses; rotten to the core.
#4. evidence of things not seen (early Sept 1949)
A strong sea breeze ruffled Julia’s hair and set her skirt flapping around her legs. It was one of her oldest dresses; a cream-coloured cotton sundress she’d made a few years ago. She put a hand up to keep her hair from whipping into her face and turned to see Edward some way behind her, having stopped halfway down the beach to roll his trousers up. Her mouth twitched at the sight; it was entirely unfair, but there was something so incongruous about Edward at the seaside.
“What?” he said, catching her look.
Julia laughed. “Only thinking how nice it is to be out of London.”
“Yes – now it’s stopped being warm. I’m sorry.”
She took his arm. It was a week day and the wind was chilly, so there were few other people out on Camber Sands. “It doesn’t matter. It’s still a holiday.” She let go of his arm as she said it, conscious that the last holiday they’d had was their honeymoon. She hadn’t meant to remind him; hadn’t meant to even think about that kind of pretending again. It wasn’t pretend. It had never been pretend. How quickly all these lies and disguises became the truth.
Edward shot her an uncertain look and opened his mouth, as if to say something, but pressed his lips closed. He pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Only a day trip.”
“Yes,” said Julia. She should say, she knew. She should stretch out, take his hand again and tell him that none of it was make-believe any more, but she didn’t. She shook the idea off, running away from him, into the water, before turning back to dare him to follow.
Edward stared out past her, over the Channel. “Much too cold. Probably tar in the water on this coast.”
“You took your shoes and socks off,” she pointed out. “Why do that, if not to paddle?”
“I didn’t want sand in them.”
Julia skipped back out of the waves – it really wasn’t the weather for it, although one could hardly come to a beach and fail to at least put a toe in the water. She slipped her hand into Edward’s and he glanced at her and gave an uncertain smile.
This was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, and neither of them had ever precisely said they loved each other. Julia worried that she had waited too long, and Edward’s feelings – infatuation, whatever it was – had passed. She believed not, but she didn’t know. And hers – she squeezed his hand, as if that could tell him what they were. She couldn’t say the words – couldn’t shake the feeling that she was cursed and everybody she loved must die or leave her.
The sun broke through the clouds.
“It will be all right,” said Julia, more to the waves and sun and sand and herself than to Edward. “It will.”
Edward shook his head slightly and gave a short laugh. “All will be well and all manner of things will be well?”
“Oh, I hope so,” said Julia devoutly.
#3. doubt (Dec 1949)
Julia angled herself so as to move more easily through the packed reception room, edging carefully along to avoid spilling anyone’s champagne over her or them.
“Mrs Iveson,” Mr Fields said, turning in front of her and thwarting her attempt to reach the open French windows on the other side. Mr Fields was the leader of the Opposition, and it was disconcerting to be so unexpectedly confronted with his hawk-like features and frosty blue gaze. “A pleasure,” he murmured, unbending enough to smile. “I take it your husband is somewhere here?”
Julia glanced about the room and gave a minute shrug and twisted smile. “Somewhere, yes.”
“Do excuse me,” said Mr Harding, putting a light hand on Julia’s shoulder as he manoeuvred himself in beside them. “I really must speak to Mrs Iveson.”
Julia acknowledged Harding with nod, and then looked back at Fields. “I think Mr Morley was asking for him – Edward, I mean – I expect he’ll be with him.”
Mr Fields thanked her with a stiff movement that was almost a bow and left them.
Harding gave Julia a grin. “Dear me, is Iveson not keeping a proper eye on you? How unwise of him – and how ungallant.”
Julia curled her fingers around the fluted glass, and took a small sip, but it was warm and growing flat. “Mr Morley wanted him.”
“If I see him first, I’ll send him your way,” said Mr Harding, and winked at her as he wound his way onwards through the throng with an ease few others could manage.
Julia flushed, unable to argue in the midst of the crowded space. Besides, Mr Harding only meant to be kind. She bit back a sigh; a headache coming on at the heat. She fought her way nearer to the doors and cool air, but saw Crispin and Elaine Morley to one side of her, talking away to Lord Howe. There was no sign of Edward.
She finally made it outside and leant against the stone wall. She hated to be feeble, but playing the perfect society wife was a role that palled rapidly if her true audience was nowhere in sight. She did it for many reasons, but it was always Edward that spurred her on – catching a gleam in his eye or even the way he would look at her as if he never knew quite what she might do next.
She could hear the general roar of everyone talking inside, and shivered, half believing they were all sharing some joke or secret she didn’t understand. Edward’s absence made her wonder suddenly if she wasn’t the one playing games. She was a pawn in someone else’s game, lost in an incomprehensible charade orchestrated by Edward and Mr Harding and Diana, all politicians too clever for her.
It was stupid; she knew it, but she mistrusted happiness. What were the chances that she and Edward should fall in love? Wasn’t she instead only a piece on the board, to be moved at the whims of others? And all it had taken to win her over was a little kindness, a few touches, and some pretty dresses. She closed her eyes, tears beginning to well up.
“Julia,” said Edward, interrupting her perfectly choreographed moment of despair. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you for a good twenty minutes. I asked Diana and she said she’d seen you in the long saloon, which I don’t think was true. She should see an optician.” He paused. “Julia? I know I promised I wouldn’t be long, but we can go now.”
Julia straightened. All her fears were now revealed to be ridiculous, as she should have known all along. “I’m quite all right,” she said, and slipped her arm through Edward’s. “I was talking to Mr Harding and Elaine and, oh, all sorts of other people. I barely even noticed you weren’t here, darling.”
“Ah,” he said. “I must say that wasn’t the impression Amyas gave me.”
Julia’s cheeks burned. “Oh!” she said, and then laughed, mainly at her own absurdity. “Well, yes, I did mind, but only a little. I needed some air, that’s all – and then when I came out here, it was rather chilly.”
“It is,” agreed Edward and pulled short beside her, removing his jacket and draping it around her shoulders.
Julia blinked away tears. She was playing Edward’s game, after all, and he was winning. She was shamed at being so easily caught by such simple moves, but she had been turned around like a draughts piece and was now forever on his side.
“I do understand that’s it difficult,” said Edward, slipping his arm around her and pulling her in close. “But the sky is not going to fall, sometimes there are good things – and whatever may happen in the future, I am not going anywhere yet, darling. You really needn’t be so morbid.”
Julia pressed her head against his shoulder briefly, before she straightened up. “I suppose that’s what comes of wearing black.”
“Then I must take you home at once and relieve you of it,” said Edward, entirely straight-faced.
#5. ineffable (July 1950)
Julia let the light folds of her wedding dress fall over her lap. The seam down one side had frayed badly, and there was no way she could salvage it. She’d have to cut it up and put it to more rational use, like handkerchiefs, maybe even a slip. She put a hand to her face, brushing away tears that were quite absurd.
“Julia!” Edward called and then poked his head in around the bedroom door. “Ah. I thought you were there. I wanted to say that as I’m feeling much more myself –” He halted, inclining his head to one side to see her expression better. “Darling, honestly. I’m well enough, and it’s hardly the sort of thing that will happen again.”
She raised her head and had to stifle laughter. “Oh, Ned, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t upset about you! It’s just my wedding dress – see?” She held it up, and then cast it aside. “And I know I shouldn’t mind, but I was going to wear it. We missed the day thanks to certain people who can’t keep out of ornamental ponds – but, well, I thought it would remind you. I should have looked after it properly. I forgot it was so old.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving over and sitting beside her on the bed. When she turned her head towards him, he gave a tiny smile. “But I don’t need the dress to remember.” His fingers found the fine gold chain of her necklace, a simple heart-shaped pendant hanging from it, one of the few things she had that had been her mother’s, and he leant in to kiss the back of her neck. “May I?”
Julia looked down, hiding a slow smile, as he repeated the same gesture as on that night a year ago. They had done something so foolish – two lonely people, trying to make something they wanted happen. And yet, despite that, they hadn’t got the disaster they deserved, they had found love. How and why was a mystery, a gift unlooked for, possibly even one sent to the wrong address.
“Yes.”
Edward shifted his position beside her, and fiddled with the clasp of the necklace, his long fingers brushing against her skin and wisps of hair.
“It’s always been awkward,” she murmured, just as she had before.
He grinned. “I know, darling.” Then he released the necklace and let the chain pool into her waiting palm.
#1. blessed (Nov 1950)
Julia opened first one eye and then the other. “You’re late,” she said, spying Edward, and sat up. She’d put on her new and highly impractical chiffon dressing gown over her best nightie for the occasion. She tugged at its white large satin bow, and then tried without much success to kick off the blanket she’d wrapped around herself while she’d waited.
“Mea culpa,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I should have known, when Harding said he had one further, brief matter to bring up. But then I didn’t really have an excuse to give them, either.”
Julia pressed her head back against the board. “That is the trouble with a secret anniversary. I did expect you to turn up, though.”
“The traffic was appalling,” said Edward, “and once I finally got clear into Kent, the car nearly gave up the ghost, although I persuaded it to carry on. I’ll have to take it to the garage tomorrow.”
“So very romantic!”
Edward lowered his head. “Yes. My apologies. I did at least –” He stopped and looked around him, before darting back out of the bedroom door. Julia sat up and peered unsuccessfully after him as she heard him running down the stairs.
He returned, out of breath, with a bunch of pink and white roses.
“Oh, they’re beautiful,” said Julia, taking them. “Thank you! I may seduce you after all.”
“Julia –” Words failed him. “Darling, don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but it’s hardly necessary.” His mouth quirked, and he waved a hand in her direction. “That is a very pretty negligee, or whatever you call it.”
She lowered her head and hid her smile in the flowers, because he did still, at least a little. There was often a moment of hesitation, of brief resistance in him, as if he had to pause to remind himself that it was in fact perfectly legal and above board to make love to one’s own wife in the privacy of one’s own home. She wouldn’t enlighten him to that for the world, though. It would spoil her fun. She caught at his hand and pulled him in closer so that she could kiss him, and felt again that brief tension come and go again under her touch. Whatever it was, she could always chase it away – it was no match for her.
“I love you,” she said instead. “Oh, Ned, I do. I do.”
He tilted his head to one side. “I thought you were annoyed.”
“That too,” she agreed. “But first, you must go and get ready and then let me seduce you.”
#7. heavenly choir (Spring 1951)
“We’ve lost everyone else.” Julia hung onto Edward’s hand as he pulled her behind him down the narrow aisle of the St Mildred’s. “I should think they’ve all moved onto the next clue by now.”
Edward turned his head. “Never mind.”
“Don’t you want to win?”
“Amy’s scavenger hunt? Not especially. But I do want to show you something.”
Julia abandoned her half-hearted protest and let him lead her on, round the side of the choir stalls and the organ. She had dressed sensibly for the occasion, in practical brown slacks, a pearlescent jumper and sensible shoes, so at least she needn’t worry too much about getting dusty. She had done, she felt, a good job of appearing as a townswoman pretending to be a countrywoman.
“Do you want to win?” he asked, as he stopped and put an arm around her waist – rather daring for him, in a church.
Julia shook her head. She had been enjoying the game, but Edward had been busy lately and it was good to have him to herself. She didn’t want to hurry to get back to being chased by other villagers after the same series of improbable clues.
“Here,” he said in her ear, and then gestured in front of them at a stone tomb.
“I’m not very interested in brass rubbings,” Julia said, and frowned, trying to see anything special about the memorial. “Which I should point out before this goes any further.”
Edward pulled her a step to their right and then gently pushed her forward. “No brass rubbings,” he murmured. “Only a small secret, if you look hard enough.”
The statues lying side by side were badly weathered in places – the knight had lost his nose and his lady all of her feet, but their stone hands were stretched out to one another, the fingers touching.
“More than a contract, then,” said Julia, lowering her tone. She blinked away tears. “At least a little inconvenient, too?”
Edward gave a small, private smile. “Someone certainly thought, so. Yes.”
#8. the angels sing (Dec 1951)
Julia leant back against the chilly stone of the house. Behind her, back inside the hall, she could hear the faint sound of someone singing carols.
“Damn!” she said under her breath. Why had she mentioned Mr Taylor? If there was one thing that could get right under Edward’s skin, it was remarks about his mother or stepfather. She could have bitten her tongue off the moment she’d said it. Only an innocuous comment about Taylor being a travel writer, too, but she’d seen Edward’s face close in.
He didn’t have to pull her aside and snap at her, though. Julia raised her head and then shivered. Her burgundy gown was note perfect for this formal evening, but it wasn’t enough to keep out the cold on a frosty midwinter night. Why must she choose to storm out of parties in winter? Last time, though, Julia thought, Edward had come looking for her, whereas tonight, he was in such a tightly wound rage, he’d probably go off home without her.
She sniffed, and then sighed. Her anger was beginning to desert her, and there was nothing else to keep her warm.
“I shall die of pneumonia,” she told the starless city night. “Then he’ll be sorry and serve him right!” Imagining her tragic demise, perfect funeral service and Edward’s grief (that he would no doubt keep just as curled up within as his anger), cheered her considerably.
The cold was persistent and worsening. Julia had to admit defeat – she didn’t actually want to die just to make Edward sorry for biting her head off over a stupid slip of the tongue. She peeled herself off the wall, and made her way back to the door.
Stepping through, she found Edward waiting for her.
“What are you doing?” he said, frowning. “Do you want to freeze to death?”
Julia smiled. “I’ve decided I’d rather not, even if I have got a splendid funeral planned. What do you think of Abide With Me?”
“No,” said Edward. “Absolutely not.”
She joined him in the doorway. “It’s my funeral.”
“Which you’ve decided against,” he returned. “Besides, you wouldn’t be the one forced to sing it. That’s rather the point. Julia.” He coughed, and fumbled in his pocket for something, before looking up again and giving a wry little twist of his mouth. “I am sorry, darling. I didn’t mean –”
Julia took his arm, her heart suddenly weightless. “No, no,” she said. “I don’t know why I brought the wretched man up.”
“You’re like ice,” he said, turning and putting his hand to her cheek. “Honestly, Julia.” He kissed her head briefly. “And I am sorry.”
“Good.” Julia tugged at the skirt of her dress. “While you’re apologising, you haven’t said how nice my dress is yet, and it is particularly good.”
“Your taste is impeccable,” he said. “It’s charming. Half the room turned to look when you walked past, as you are very well aware.”
“But not you.” She squeezed his arm, and heaved a melodramatic sigh.
Edward glanced down at her for a moment, before his mouth quirked into an unwilling smile. “Ah, but I’m not admiring the dress.”
He was always so unfair. But then, so was she.
#9. saintly (autumn 1952)
Emily had fallen asleep at last. Julia crossed the landing back to the main bedroom and let herself half fall down onto the bed. She turned onto her side, huddling into the bedclothes. Today she was wearing only a dusty blue house coat over an equally old cream-coloured blouse and sturdy grew skirt. It was not a day for costumes. She was not the Ideal Housewife, nor the Perfect Political Host, or Belle of the Ball, or any of the other roles she had liked to play by turn not so long ago.
She supposed she should congratulate herself on growing up, or being sensible, or just herself, but all she only felt like barely anybody at all.
In the midst of mustering up weary self-pity, the door banged down below and Edward came up the stairs, two at a time.
“Julia,” he said, halting in the doorway and hanging onto the lintel. “Are you unwell again?”
She sat up and glared at him. “Ned! Don’t wake Emily!”
Edward held up a hand in acknowledgement, then disappeared for a few moments before returning, and carefully shutting the door to behind him. “She’s still asleep,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I realised I’d left my speech in the bedside table – second drawer – would you fish it out –?”
Julia heaved her legs over the side and off the bed, rifling through the drawer and pulled out two typed sheets of paper, much edited. She held them up.
“Thank you,” he said. He folded the paper and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, but he didn’t move away yet. “Darling,” he added, keeping his voice low. “Are you all right? If this is too much for you, I will have to insist on getting you help again.”
Julia shot up. “No! No more nannies, thank you very much! Honestly, I’m not ill. I just feel rather, oh, I don’t know. Beside the point, perhaps. I’m not useful any more. Except to Emily, which is important, but –” She hadn’t got as far as pin-pointing the cause of her trouble to herself, but as she said it, she knew where part of it lay: all those performances of hers – Edward was always the audience, and now she lay, permanently off-stage, having no idea what his current projects were.
“Not useful?” said Edward, frowning.
She sat back down on the bed and he perched beside her. “Oh, I don’t know what I mean.”
“You know,” he said, “I was talking to a Mr Gilchrist earlier, and thinking how much easier it would be if I could invite him over for a drink – let you have a go at charming him, if such a thing is possible – but won’t it disturb Emily?”
Julia lifted her head. “Oh, goodness, no. I don’t see why it should. Who is he?”
“A wavering party member,” he said. “New. You won’t have met him before, so don’t dazzle him too much on the first visit.”
She laughed. “Now who’s being absurd?” She let him kiss her, and then he raced off out of the room. As his footsteps disappeared down the stairs, she put her hand to her cheek and said aloud to the room and smiled a little mistily, before her reverie was rudely disturbed by the front door slamming, followed inevitably by the sound of Emily’s outraged yells.
“Shh, darling,” said Julia, picking Emily out of the cot. “I am dreadfully shallow, you know, but there’s no cure for it at this late stage. Let us hope that you do better.”
#10. dearly departed (1954)
Sunlight coming through the windows cast stained glass rainbows over a black-clad congregation. Julia raised her head. She was as morbidly dressed as anyone else: shaped black jacket fastened at the waist with two large buttons and a matching skirt. She gripped Edward’s sleeve – hadn’t let go since they got in there, as if he might float away like a balloon if she was so foolish. (If she took her eye off him, if she didn’t hang on, something malevolent might swoop in and take him, along with Mr Morley, the way it could so easily have done a few days ago.)
Edward did not turn his head and look at her. He did not shake off her hold, either, but it was only the fabric she had such a grip on – only the form of things. Julia wasn’t sure Edward was, in any other sense, there with her. It was the last of several funerals they had been to. Julia had been able to miss one, because nobody had been able to look after Emily, but that wasn’t possible for Edward. It was his duty, and he had been to them all. She wished he had rebelled; she didn’t think it could have helped his state of mind.
Julia was good at the form of things, at least. She went through the motions of mourning in the church, and back at the house, pressed Elaine Morley’s hand and said all the usual things one said. She was painfully aware of Edward in the room, all through the wake; that she had not lost what Elaine and others had. But was that entirely true?
Was there anything remaining under the façade? For the first time, Julia was not sure. She followed Edward out of the reception, let him usher into a cab – as black as their clothes – and followed him up the steps to the house afterwards.
It was only as he closed the door behind them that something finally cracked. She put her hand to her mouth and shook.
“Julia,” said Edward, actually turning around when she stayed in the hall, frozen; the tears sliding down her cheeks her only movement. He frowned and stepped back towards her. “Julia. Darling, don’t.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t till he reached her and helped her off with her coat, awkward and impatient in the face of her sudden immobility, and then pulled her into the sitting room, that she came back to life. She wiped her eyes with her hand.
“I know,” he said, sitting her down, rather nervously, as if she was another bomb that might go off, if surely not as destructively as the Whitehall Bomb. “It is awful. I keep feeling as if I’m the ghost at the feast – or the reverse, perhaps, whatever that might be.”
Julia caught hold of his wrist. “You don’t still think you ought to have died?”
He shook his head.
“Because,” said Julia, “I am terribly sorry, and it is awful, and I hope such a thing never happens again, and I liked Mr Morley a lot – he was always very kind to me – and Elaine, too, but if it came down to it, if I had to choose, then I would sacrifice him all over again to keep you.”
Edward leant further in and kissed her forehead. “Honestly, Julia. You must be overwrought. What time do we need to fetch Emily? I think you should lie down first.”
“Not yet,” said Julia, her hand still tightly gripping his. She drew in a breath, and realised that maybe Edward had only been a little distant because it had been such a vile week, and there had been several combined funerals, which could never be anything other than an ordeal. She was every bit as real under the surface as she ever had been. She managed a wan smile and caught his gaze. “You’re right, I expect. And we should both get out of these clothes.”
He startled her by pulling her up and into his arms, much more sharply than usual. She warmed to his touch and thought: yes, yes, it was all just a vile week – and they were both very much alive and here. She held him closer yet and set about proving it.
#2. thou shalt not (1957)
Julia had her Perfect Minister’s Wife performance down to a fine art. She knew all her lines off by heart, and while Edward planned and negotiated, conceded and refused by turns, she operated by means of appearance, misdirection, and charm. Few people looked deeper.
“Mrs Iveson,” murmured Sir Malcolm Wendover at her side. She had taken care to cultivate the Permanent Under Secretary to the Foreign Office, and one of the few she reckoned probably knew precisely how to evaluate her contribution. “If you wouldn’t mind amusing the French Ambassador for a while – M. Bernardin, that is, over there – ”
Julia nodded, and followed his gaze. Sir Malcolm was gesturing discreetly towards the tall gentleman with a red face who’d been ogling her for the past ten minutes. Tonight she was wearing a particularly fetching evening gown of cherry-coloured silk with a tight bodice in deep red velvet, intending to make an impact, but she didn't have to appreciate that kind of thing. Julia raised her head and sailed into the breach regardless.
She took a line of charming but distant, slipping out of the inebriated ambassador’s grasp at need as she smoothly, tactfully, turned in search of some other dignitary to whom she simply must introduce him.
One such turn brought her into Edward’s eye line, as he talked, being terribly serious, with some unfamiliar men in Saville Row suits. She gave a brief, elusive smile just for him, and he managed to pull a face in return – most unministerial. She would tell him so later.
“Really Julia,” said Edward in her ear, his arm suddenly encircling her waist. “Must you flirt with that odious man?”
She raised her eyebrows and had to clamp down on the urge to laugh. “Darling,” she said. “Sir Malcolm asked –”
“I know, and I won’t have him using you in that way.”
Julia couldn’t keep the quiver of amusement out of her voice. “That’s not your business, is it?”
“I think it is. You don’t get to be PUS for as long as he has without being a devious bastard,” said Edward. “And as for Bernardin – I appreciate you trying to smooth things over, but good God, do you have any idea of his unsavoury reputation? There’s no need for you to subject yourself to his attentions!”
Julia put her hand up and stroked his jacket sleeve. “Darling, surely you’re not finally jealous? After all these years!”
“I’m merely saying,” Edward said, turning aside briefly to give a nod and a smile to one of the anonymous men in suits, “that you’re not under obligation to –” His lips quirked, and he laughed. “Perhaps I am, a little. Envious at least. I don’t get to be the one standing next to you half enough lately.”
Julia ran her fingers down his sleeve to take his hand, briefly. “I know what you mean. All this performing for strangers.”
“Quite,” said Edward. “Nevertheless – a dance may be permitted, I trust?”
Julia held back. “On one condition.”
“What would that be?”
“I want you to tell me that my dress is very nice and that you didn’t like the way that awful man looked at me.”
Edward took her hand. “It is a beautiful dress, I agree, and I suppose the other is not entirely untrue.”
“Jealous,” said Julia, as he led her out. “Finally! I can die content. Although, honestly, do you think I can’t handle someone like him, with all these people around, not to mention Special Branch lurking in every corner?”
Edward shifted his grasp on her waist. “Nevertheless, I don’t believe I am obliged to like it.”
“I can’t tell you how delighted I am to hear that,” said Julia. “Which tells you I’m still just as dreadfully shallow as ever.”
Edward directed a sharp glance downwards. “Julia. You may tell that lie to anyone you please, but don’t expect me to believe it.”
It was quite unfair, really, that the one person to whom she directed all her best performances always looked too hard, and saw beneath the surface.
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Celestial Blue
Supplies and Styles: Saturation + Graffiti (Camp Rainbowfic – Aquatics) + Nubs
Word Count: 5794
Rating: Teen
Warnings:
Notes: 1949-1958; Julia Graves/Edward Iveson.
Summary: Julia, and Julia/Edward, in ten dresses.
***
#6. Judgment (August 1949)
It was the dress that did it. Julia had been able to justify her actions up until then. Of course it was reasonable to make a marriage of convenience; of course she would play her role of politician’s wife to perfection and give Edward no cause for complaint. Everything would be fine.
“If you wanted to come,” Edward said, standing awkwardly in the doorway, “I’d be glad, but you mustn’t feel obliged.”
Julia perched on the arm of the sofa and thought about a fête, and how she’d cut the ribbon and be terribly gracious to the local dignitaries. A desire to laugh rose up in her throat. “Oh, but this sort of thing is what I’m here for, darling.”
Edward cast her an uncertain look, his eyes shaded with reproach. “Then thank you.” He coughed, and waved a hand towards her old green frock. “Whatever you need to, er, wear – that’s not a problem. Purchase whatever you think most suitable.” A brief smile illuminated his face. “Within reason, of course.”
“Oh, no,” said Julia, her laughter evaporating. “I can’t possibly. That wouldn’t be on.”
Edward became still, his brows drawing into a faint frown. “Julia, don’t be nonsensical. What’s mine is yours and all that. Besides, I asked you – and if you mean to keep your end of our bargain, I shall ask you to attend plenty of other such events. You’ll need an appropriate wardrobe, trust me.”
“Yes, but,” said Julia, and stopped. She had kept a balance sheet between them in her head – what she could bring to their partnership, versus all the material benefits he could give her. As long as that stayed more or less even in her reckoning, then she wasn’t just a mercenary beast, and maybe this would even all work out, and they could be together properly one day, the way they had pretended to be on their honeymoon.
Edward tilted his head, watching her as if she was a newly discovered creature of strange habits. “Julia,” he said mildly, “I appreciate your scruples, but this is absurd. If you don’t, God knows what everyone will think of me refusing to let my wife have new clothes – and I draw the line at that, thank you.”
“Of course,” said Julia hastily, heat creeping into her face. “Oh, yes. How silly of me. I shall go out tomorrow and find the perfect thing, I promise.”
When he withdrew, she pressed her fist against her mouth. There was nothing else for it: she was going to have to profit and profit and profit by her actions and she had no one to blame but herself. She was all too easily bought.
Julia waited for the driver open the door for her, and emerged into the sunshine, smoothing down her fashionably full skirt of her rose-pink twill. She straightened up and turned as Edward reached her, walking around the car from the other side.
“Are you well?” he murmured in her ear. “You were very quiet on the way.”
Julia raised her head. “Darling, don’t fuss. You see before you the ideal MP’s wife. Just watch me coo over the prettiest baby and admire all the prize-winning cakes and vegetables.” She put up a hand to adjust the angle of her neat cream hat and smiled; her hand in his but remaining deliberately unreachable.
“I believe you may be shameless,” he said under his breath.
Julia turned her head. “We both are, I fear, but I suppose that’s usual for a politician. What my excuse is, I don’t know.”
He had no time to answer before they were introduced to the mayor, and a small girl in yellow approached Julia with a curtsey and proffered a posy of pink and white roses.
Julia crouched, giving the sturdy, pig-tailed child her most charming smile as she took the flowers. “Why, are these for me? How lovely!”
She was a terrible person, cunningly disguised in demure pink, hiding behind roses; rotten to the core.
#4. evidence of things not seen (early Sept 1949)
A strong sea breeze ruffled Julia’s hair and set her skirt flapping around her legs. It was one of her oldest dresses; a cream-coloured cotton sundress she’d made a few years ago. She put a hand up to keep her hair from whipping into her face and turned to see Edward some way behind her, having stopped halfway down the beach to roll his trousers up. Her mouth twitched at the sight; it was entirely unfair, but there was something so incongruous about Edward at the seaside.
“What?” he said, catching her look.
Julia laughed. “Only thinking how nice it is to be out of London.”
“Yes – now it’s stopped being warm. I’m sorry.”
She took his arm. It was a week day and the wind was chilly, so there were few other people out on Camber Sands. “It doesn’t matter. It’s still a holiday.” She let go of his arm as she said it, conscious that the last holiday they’d had was their honeymoon. She hadn’t meant to remind him; hadn’t meant to even think about that kind of pretending again. It wasn’t pretend. It had never been pretend. How quickly all these lies and disguises became the truth.
Edward shot her an uncertain look and opened his mouth, as if to say something, but pressed his lips closed. He pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Only a day trip.”
“Yes,” said Julia. She should say, she knew. She should stretch out, take his hand again and tell him that none of it was make-believe any more, but she didn’t. She shook the idea off, running away from him, into the water, before turning back to dare him to follow.
Edward stared out past her, over the Channel. “Much too cold. Probably tar in the water on this coast.”
“You took your shoes and socks off,” she pointed out. “Why do that, if not to paddle?”
“I didn’t want sand in them.”
Julia skipped back out of the waves – it really wasn’t the weather for it, although one could hardly come to a beach and fail to at least put a toe in the water. She slipped her hand into Edward’s and he glanced at her and gave an uncertain smile.
This was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, and neither of them had ever precisely said they loved each other. Julia worried that she had waited too long, and Edward’s feelings – infatuation, whatever it was – had passed. She believed not, but she didn’t know. And hers – she squeezed his hand, as if that could tell him what they were. She couldn’t say the words – couldn’t shake the feeling that she was cursed and everybody she loved must die or leave her.
The sun broke through the clouds.
“It will be all right,” said Julia, more to the waves and sun and sand and herself than to Edward. “It will.”
Edward shook his head slightly and gave a short laugh. “All will be well and all manner of things will be well?”
“Oh, I hope so,” said Julia devoutly.
#3. doubt (Dec 1949)
Julia angled herself so as to move more easily through the packed reception room, edging carefully along to avoid spilling anyone’s champagne over her or them.
“Mrs Iveson,” Mr Fields said, turning in front of her and thwarting her attempt to reach the open French windows on the other side. Mr Fields was the leader of the Opposition, and it was disconcerting to be so unexpectedly confronted with his hawk-like features and frosty blue gaze. “A pleasure,” he murmured, unbending enough to smile. “I take it your husband is somewhere here?”
Julia glanced about the room and gave a minute shrug and twisted smile. “Somewhere, yes.”
“Do excuse me,” said Mr Harding, putting a light hand on Julia’s shoulder as he manoeuvred himself in beside them. “I really must speak to Mrs Iveson.”
Julia acknowledged Harding with nod, and then looked back at Fields. “I think Mr Morley was asking for him – Edward, I mean – I expect he’ll be with him.”
Mr Fields thanked her with a stiff movement that was almost a bow and left them.
Harding gave Julia a grin. “Dear me, is Iveson not keeping a proper eye on you? How unwise of him – and how ungallant.”
Julia curled her fingers around the fluted glass, and took a small sip, but it was warm and growing flat. “Mr Morley wanted him.”
“If I see him first, I’ll send him your way,” said Mr Harding, and winked at her as he wound his way onwards through the throng with an ease few others could manage.
Julia flushed, unable to argue in the midst of the crowded space. Besides, Mr Harding only meant to be kind. She bit back a sigh; a headache coming on at the heat. She fought her way nearer to the doors and cool air, but saw Crispin and Elaine Morley to one side of her, talking away to Lord Howe. There was no sign of Edward.
She finally made it outside and leant against the stone wall. She hated to be feeble, but playing the perfect society wife was a role that palled rapidly if her true audience was nowhere in sight. She did it for many reasons, but it was always Edward that spurred her on – catching a gleam in his eye or even the way he would look at her as if he never knew quite what she might do next.
She could hear the general roar of everyone talking inside, and shivered, half believing they were all sharing some joke or secret she didn’t understand. Edward’s absence made her wonder suddenly if she wasn’t the one playing games. She was a pawn in someone else’s game, lost in an incomprehensible charade orchestrated by Edward and Mr Harding and Diana, all politicians too clever for her.
It was stupid; she knew it, but she mistrusted happiness. What were the chances that she and Edward should fall in love? Wasn’t she instead only a piece on the board, to be moved at the whims of others? And all it had taken to win her over was a little kindness, a few touches, and some pretty dresses. She closed her eyes, tears beginning to well up.
“Julia,” said Edward, interrupting her perfectly choreographed moment of despair. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you for a good twenty minutes. I asked Diana and she said she’d seen you in the long saloon, which I don’t think was true. She should see an optician.” He paused. “Julia? I know I promised I wouldn’t be long, but we can go now.”
Julia straightened. All her fears were now revealed to be ridiculous, as she should have known all along. “I’m quite all right,” she said, and slipped her arm through Edward’s. “I was talking to Mr Harding and Elaine and, oh, all sorts of other people. I barely even noticed you weren’t here, darling.”
“Ah,” he said. “I must say that wasn’t the impression Amyas gave me.”
Julia’s cheeks burned. “Oh!” she said, and then laughed, mainly at her own absurdity. “Well, yes, I did mind, but only a little. I needed some air, that’s all – and then when I came out here, it was rather chilly.”
“It is,” agreed Edward and pulled short beside her, removing his jacket and draping it around her shoulders.
Julia blinked away tears. She was playing Edward’s game, after all, and he was winning. She was shamed at being so easily caught by such simple moves, but she had been turned around like a draughts piece and was now forever on his side.
“I do understand that’s it difficult,” said Edward, slipping his arm around her and pulling her in close. “But the sky is not going to fall, sometimes there are good things – and whatever may happen in the future, I am not going anywhere yet, darling. You really needn’t be so morbid.”
Julia pressed her head against his shoulder briefly, before she straightened up. “I suppose that’s what comes of wearing black.”
“Then I must take you home at once and relieve you of it,” said Edward, entirely straight-faced.
#5. ineffable (July 1950)
Julia let the light folds of her wedding dress fall over her lap. The seam down one side had frayed badly, and there was no way she could salvage it. She’d have to cut it up and put it to more rational use, like handkerchiefs, maybe even a slip. She put a hand to her face, brushing away tears that were quite absurd.
“Julia!” Edward called and then poked his head in around the bedroom door. “Ah. I thought you were there. I wanted to say that as I’m feeling much more myself –” He halted, inclining his head to one side to see her expression better. “Darling, honestly. I’m well enough, and it’s hardly the sort of thing that will happen again.”
She raised her head and had to stifle laughter. “Oh, Ned, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t upset about you! It’s just my wedding dress – see?” She held it up, and then cast it aside. “And I know I shouldn’t mind, but I was going to wear it. We missed the day thanks to certain people who can’t keep out of ornamental ponds – but, well, I thought it would remind you. I should have looked after it properly. I forgot it was so old.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving over and sitting beside her on the bed. When she turned her head towards him, he gave a tiny smile. “But I don’t need the dress to remember.” His fingers found the fine gold chain of her necklace, a simple heart-shaped pendant hanging from it, one of the few things she had that had been her mother’s, and he leant in to kiss the back of her neck. “May I?”
Julia looked down, hiding a slow smile, as he repeated the same gesture as on that night a year ago. They had done something so foolish – two lonely people, trying to make something they wanted happen. And yet, despite that, they hadn’t got the disaster they deserved, they had found love. How and why was a mystery, a gift unlooked for, possibly even one sent to the wrong address.
“Yes.”
Edward shifted his position beside her, and fiddled with the clasp of the necklace, his long fingers brushing against her skin and wisps of hair.
“It’s always been awkward,” she murmured, just as she had before.
He grinned. “I know, darling.” Then he released the necklace and let the chain pool into her waiting palm.
#1. blessed (Nov 1950)
Julia opened first one eye and then the other. “You’re late,” she said, spying Edward, and sat up. She’d put on her new and highly impractical chiffon dressing gown over her best nightie for the occasion. She tugged at its white large satin bow, and then tried without much success to kick off the blanket she’d wrapped around herself while she’d waited.
“Mea culpa,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I should have known, when Harding said he had one further, brief matter to bring up. But then I didn’t really have an excuse to give them, either.”
Julia pressed her head back against the board. “That is the trouble with a secret anniversary. I did expect you to turn up, though.”
“The traffic was appalling,” said Edward, “and once I finally got clear into Kent, the car nearly gave up the ghost, although I persuaded it to carry on. I’ll have to take it to the garage tomorrow.”
“So very romantic!”
Edward lowered his head. “Yes. My apologies. I did at least –” He stopped and looked around him, before darting back out of the bedroom door. Julia sat up and peered unsuccessfully after him as she heard him running down the stairs.
He returned, out of breath, with a bunch of pink and white roses.
“Oh, they’re beautiful,” said Julia, taking them. “Thank you! I may seduce you after all.”
“Julia –” Words failed him. “Darling, don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but it’s hardly necessary.” His mouth quirked, and he waved a hand in her direction. “That is a very pretty negligee, or whatever you call it.”
She lowered her head and hid her smile in the flowers, because he did still, at least a little. There was often a moment of hesitation, of brief resistance in him, as if he had to pause to remind himself that it was in fact perfectly legal and above board to make love to one’s own wife in the privacy of one’s own home. She wouldn’t enlighten him to that for the world, though. It would spoil her fun. She caught at his hand and pulled him in closer so that she could kiss him, and felt again that brief tension come and go again under her touch. Whatever it was, she could always chase it away – it was no match for her.
“I love you,” she said instead. “Oh, Ned, I do. I do.”
He tilted his head to one side. “I thought you were annoyed.”
“That too,” she agreed. “But first, you must go and get ready and then let me seduce you.”
#7. heavenly choir (Spring 1951)
“We’ve lost everyone else.” Julia hung onto Edward’s hand as he pulled her behind him down the narrow aisle of the St Mildred’s. “I should think they’ve all moved onto the next clue by now.”
Edward turned his head. “Never mind.”
“Don’t you want to win?”
“Amy’s scavenger hunt? Not especially. But I do want to show you something.”
Julia abandoned her half-hearted protest and let him lead her on, round the side of the choir stalls and the organ. She had dressed sensibly for the occasion, in practical brown slacks, a pearlescent jumper and sensible shoes, so at least she needn’t worry too much about getting dusty. She had done, she felt, a good job of appearing as a townswoman pretending to be a countrywoman.
“Do you want to win?” he asked, as he stopped and put an arm around her waist – rather daring for him, in a church.
Julia shook her head. She had been enjoying the game, but Edward had been busy lately and it was good to have him to herself. She didn’t want to hurry to get back to being chased by other villagers after the same series of improbable clues.
“Here,” he said in her ear, and then gestured in front of them at a stone tomb.
“I’m not very interested in brass rubbings,” Julia said, and frowned, trying to see anything special about the memorial. “Which I should point out before this goes any further.”
Edward pulled her a step to their right and then gently pushed her forward. “No brass rubbings,” he murmured. “Only a small secret, if you look hard enough.”
The statues lying side by side were badly weathered in places – the knight had lost his nose and his lady all of her feet, but their stone hands were stretched out to one another, the fingers touching.
“More than a contract, then,” said Julia, lowering her tone. She blinked away tears. “At least a little inconvenient, too?”
Edward gave a small, private smile. “Someone certainly thought, so. Yes.”
#8. the angels sing (Dec 1951)
Julia leant back against the chilly stone of the house. Behind her, back inside the hall, she could hear the faint sound of someone singing carols.
“Damn!” she said under her breath. Why had she mentioned Mr Taylor? If there was one thing that could get right under Edward’s skin, it was remarks about his mother or stepfather. She could have bitten her tongue off the moment she’d said it. Only an innocuous comment about Taylor being a travel writer, too, but she’d seen Edward’s face close in.
He didn’t have to pull her aside and snap at her, though. Julia raised her head and then shivered. Her burgundy gown was note perfect for this formal evening, but it wasn’t enough to keep out the cold on a frosty midwinter night. Why must she choose to storm out of parties in winter? Last time, though, Julia thought, Edward had come looking for her, whereas tonight, he was in such a tightly wound rage, he’d probably go off home without her.
She sniffed, and then sighed. Her anger was beginning to desert her, and there was nothing else to keep her warm.
“I shall die of pneumonia,” she told the starless city night. “Then he’ll be sorry and serve him right!” Imagining her tragic demise, perfect funeral service and Edward’s grief (that he would no doubt keep just as curled up within as his anger), cheered her considerably.
The cold was persistent and worsening. Julia had to admit defeat – she didn’t actually want to die just to make Edward sorry for biting her head off over a stupid slip of the tongue. She peeled herself off the wall, and made her way back to the door.
Stepping through, she found Edward waiting for her.
“What are you doing?” he said, frowning. “Do you want to freeze to death?”
Julia smiled. “I’ve decided I’d rather not, even if I have got a splendid funeral planned. What do you think of Abide With Me?”
“No,” said Edward. “Absolutely not.”
She joined him in the doorway. “It’s my funeral.”
“Which you’ve decided against,” he returned. “Besides, you wouldn’t be the one forced to sing it. That’s rather the point. Julia.” He coughed, and fumbled in his pocket for something, before looking up again and giving a wry little twist of his mouth. “I am sorry, darling. I didn’t mean –”
Julia took his arm, her heart suddenly weightless. “No, no,” she said. “I don’t know why I brought the wretched man up.”
“You’re like ice,” he said, turning and putting his hand to her cheek. “Honestly, Julia.” He kissed her head briefly. “And I am sorry.”
“Good.” Julia tugged at the skirt of her dress. “While you’re apologising, you haven’t said how nice my dress is yet, and it is particularly good.”
“Your taste is impeccable,” he said. “It’s charming. Half the room turned to look when you walked past, as you are very well aware.”
“But not you.” She squeezed his arm, and heaved a melodramatic sigh.
Edward glanced down at her for a moment, before his mouth quirked into an unwilling smile. “Ah, but I’m not admiring the dress.”
He was always so unfair. But then, so was she.
#9. saintly (autumn 1952)
Emily had fallen asleep at last. Julia crossed the landing back to the main bedroom and let herself half fall down onto the bed. She turned onto her side, huddling into the bedclothes. Today she was wearing only a dusty blue house coat over an equally old cream-coloured blouse and sturdy grew skirt. It was not a day for costumes. She was not the Ideal Housewife, nor the Perfect Political Host, or Belle of the Ball, or any of the other roles she had liked to play by turn not so long ago.
She supposed she should congratulate herself on growing up, or being sensible, or just herself, but all she only felt like barely anybody at all.
In the midst of mustering up weary self-pity, the door banged down below and Edward came up the stairs, two at a time.
“Julia,” he said, halting in the doorway and hanging onto the lintel. “Are you unwell again?”
She sat up and glared at him. “Ned! Don’t wake Emily!”
Edward held up a hand in acknowledgement, then disappeared for a few moments before returning, and carefully shutting the door to behind him. “She’s still asleep,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I realised I’d left my speech in the bedside table – second drawer – would you fish it out –?”
Julia heaved her legs over the side and off the bed, rifling through the drawer and pulled out two typed sheets of paper, much edited. She held them up.
“Thank you,” he said. He folded the paper and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, but he didn’t move away yet. “Darling,” he added, keeping his voice low. “Are you all right? If this is too much for you, I will have to insist on getting you help again.”
Julia shot up. “No! No more nannies, thank you very much! Honestly, I’m not ill. I just feel rather, oh, I don’t know. Beside the point, perhaps. I’m not useful any more. Except to Emily, which is important, but –” She hadn’t got as far as pin-pointing the cause of her trouble to herself, but as she said it, she knew where part of it lay: all those performances of hers – Edward was always the audience, and now she lay, permanently off-stage, having no idea what his current projects were.
“Not useful?” said Edward, frowning.
She sat back down on the bed and he perched beside her. “Oh, I don’t know what I mean.”
“You know,” he said, “I was talking to a Mr Gilchrist earlier, and thinking how much easier it would be if I could invite him over for a drink – let you have a go at charming him, if such a thing is possible – but won’t it disturb Emily?”
Julia lifted her head. “Oh, goodness, no. I don’t see why it should. Who is he?”
“A wavering party member,” he said. “New. You won’t have met him before, so don’t dazzle him too much on the first visit.”
She laughed. “Now who’s being absurd?” She let him kiss her, and then he raced off out of the room. As his footsteps disappeared down the stairs, she put her hand to her cheek and said aloud to the room and smiled a little mistily, before her reverie was rudely disturbed by the front door slamming, followed inevitably by the sound of Emily’s outraged yells.
“Shh, darling,” said Julia, picking Emily out of the cot. “I am dreadfully shallow, you know, but there’s no cure for it at this late stage. Let us hope that you do better.”
#10. dearly departed (1954)
Sunlight coming through the windows cast stained glass rainbows over a black-clad congregation. Julia raised her head. She was as morbidly dressed as anyone else: shaped black jacket fastened at the waist with two large buttons and a matching skirt. She gripped Edward’s sleeve – hadn’t let go since they got in there, as if he might float away like a balloon if she was so foolish. (If she took her eye off him, if she didn’t hang on, something malevolent might swoop in and take him, along with Mr Morley, the way it could so easily have done a few days ago.)
Edward did not turn his head and look at her. He did not shake off her hold, either, but it was only the fabric she had such a grip on – only the form of things. Julia wasn’t sure Edward was, in any other sense, there with her. It was the last of several funerals they had been to. Julia had been able to miss one, because nobody had been able to look after Emily, but that wasn’t possible for Edward. It was his duty, and he had been to them all. She wished he had rebelled; she didn’t think it could have helped his state of mind.
Julia was good at the form of things, at least. She went through the motions of mourning in the church, and back at the house, pressed Elaine Morley’s hand and said all the usual things one said. She was painfully aware of Edward in the room, all through the wake; that she had not lost what Elaine and others had. But was that entirely true?
Was there anything remaining under the façade? For the first time, Julia was not sure. She followed Edward out of the reception, let him usher into a cab – as black as their clothes – and followed him up the steps to the house afterwards.
It was only as he closed the door behind them that something finally cracked. She put her hand to her mouth and shook.
“Julia,” said Edward, actually turning around when she stayed in the hall, frozen; the tears sliding down her cheeks her only movement. He frowned and stepped back towards her. “Julia. Darling, don’t.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t till he reached her and helped her off with her coat, awkward and impatient in the face of her sudden immobility, and then pulled her into the sitting room, that she came back to life. She wiped her eyes with her hand.
“I know,” he said, sitting her down, rather nervously, as if she was another bomb that might go off, if surely not as destructively as the Whitehall Bomb. “It is awful. I keep feeling as if I’m the ghost at the feast – or the reverse, perhaps, whatever that might be.”
Julia caught hold of his wrist. “You don’t still think you ought to have died?”
He shook his head.
“Because,” said Julia, “I am terribly sorry, and it is awful, and I hope such a thing never happens again, and I liked Mr Morley a lot – he was always very kind to me – and Elaine, too, but if it came down to it, if I had to choose, then I would sacrifice him all over again to keep you.”
Edward leant further in and kissed her forehead. “Honestly, Julia. You must be overwrought. What time do we need to fetch Emily? I think you should lie down first.”
“Not yet,” said Julia, her hand still tightly gripping his. She drew in a breath, and realised that maybe Edward had only been a little distant because it had been such a vile week, and there had been several combined funerals, which could never be anything other than an ordeal. She was every bit as real under the surface as she ever had been. She managed a wan smile and caught his gaze. “You’re right, I expect. And we should both get out of these clothes.”
He startled her by pulling her up and into his arms, much more sharply than usual. She warmed to his touch and thought: yes, yes, it was all just a vile week – and they were both very much alive and here. She held him closer yet and set about proving it.
#2. thou shalt not (1957)
Julia had her Perfect Minister’s Wife performance down to a fine art. She knew all her lines off by heart, and while Edward planned and negotiated, conceded and refused by turns, she operated by means of appearance, misdirection, and charm. Few people looked deeper.
“Mrs Iveson,” murmured Sir Malcolm Wendover at her side. She had taken care to cultivate the Permanent Under Secretary to the Foreign Office, and one of the few she reckoned probably knew precisely how to evaluate her contribution. “If you wouldn’t mind amusing the French Ambassador for a while – M. Bernardin, that is, over there – ”
Julia nodded, and followed his gaze. Sir Malcolm was gesturing discreetly towards the tall gentleman with a red face who’d been ogling her for the past ten minutes. Tonight she was wearing a particularly fetching evening gown of cherry-coloured silk with a tight bodice in deep red velvet, intending to make an impact, but she didn't have to appreciate that kind of thing. Julia raised her head and sailed into the breach regardless.
She took a line of charming but distant, slipping out of the inebriated ambassador’s grasp at need as she smoothly, tactfully, turned in search of some other dignitary to whom she simply must introduce him.
One such turn brought her into Edward’s eye line, as he talked, being terribly serious, with some unfamiliar men in Saville Row suits. She gave a brief, elusive smile just for him, and he managed to pull a face in return – most unministerial. She would tell him so later.
“Really Julia,” said Edward in her ear, his arm suddenly encircling her waist. “Must you flirt with that odious man?”
She raised her eyebrows and had to clamp down on the urge to laugh. “Darling,” she said. “Sir Malcolm asked –”
“I know, and I won’t have him using you in that way.”
Julia couldn’t keep the quiver of amusement out of her voice. “That’s not your business, is it?”
“I think it is. You don’t get to be PUS for as long as he has without being a devious bastard,” said Edward. “And as for Bernardin – I appreciate you trying to smooth things over, but good God, do you have any idea of his unsavoury reputation? There’s no need for you to subject yourself to his attentions!”
Julia put her hand up and stroked his jacket sleeve. “Darling, surely you’re not finally jealous? After all these years!”
“I’m merely saying,” Edward said, turning aside briefly to give a nod and a smile to one of the anonymous men in suits, “that you’re not under obligation to –” His lips quirked, and he laughed. “Perhaps I am, a little. Envious at least. I don’t get to be the one standing next to you half enough lately.”
Julia ran her fingers down his sleeve to take his hand, briefly. “I know what you mean. All this performing for strangers.”
“Quite,” said Edward. “Nevertheless – a dance may be permitted, I trust?”
Julia held back. “On one condition.”
“What would that be?”
“I want you to tell me that my dress is very nice and that you didn’t like the way that awful man looked at me.”
Edward took her hand. “It is a beautiful dress, I agree, and I suppose the other is not entirely untrue.”
“Jealous,” said Julia, as he led her out. “Finally! I can die content. Although, honestly, do you think I can’t handle someone like him, with all these people around, not to mention Special Branch lurking in every corner?”
Edward shifted his grasp on her waist. “Nevertheless, I don’t believe I am obliged to like it.”
“I can’t tell you how delighted I am to hear that,” said Julia. “Which tells you I’m still just as dreadfully shallow as ever.”
Edward directed a sharp glance downwards. “Julia. You may tell that lie to anyone you please, but don’t expect me to believe it.”
It was quite unfair, really, that the one person to whom she directed all her best performances always looked too hard, and saw beneath the surface.