When she woke at mid-morning she was awash with lassitude. She opened the connecting door and saw that Marina was still asleep. It was too difficult to decide whether to dress and go out for a walk, or simply remain in bed and give in to the heavy, liquid sensation in her limbs. Room service seemed to be a reasonable option, but when Camilla turned to the phone she noticed an elaborately wrapped packet on her bedside table. There was a note attached to it, and she read it several times before putting it aside.

Darling Camilla,

Your father gave me this on the day you were born because he loved us both so much, and we were so happy. We want you to have it now, because we still love and cherish you above all else in our lives. We hope that you will wear it and think of us, in the wonderful life you have ahead of you.

I love you, my darling, my precious, beautiful daughter, on your twenty-first birthday and every day.

M

Camilla undid the ribbon and peeled off the paper. The flat leather box was dark green in colour and tooled with gold. Her mother’s initials were on the lid. Inside, the necklace lay on a bed of velvet. It was a collar of complex and delicate artistry, made of coral beads and pearls with a centrepiece of small enamelled flowers and leaves, joined together by a web of fine gold chains. Camilla recognised it as a Renaissance piece. She had never seen it before, and did not remember her mother ever wearing it. Her fingers trembled as she lifted it out of the case and walked over to the mirror to fasten it round her neck where it lay, glittering, against the pale skin of her throat. Her eyes starred with tears, fracturing the image, and she returned to her bed and slid between the sheets. Within moments she was asleep, her hand resting lightly on the necklace, and a jumble of childhood images cramming her dreams.

Chapter 21

London, December 1965

‘I don’t understand why you spend so much time with that ghastly, vulgar crowd, Camilla. There are models, and even photographers, who are educated, well-groomed people with some sort of acceptable background. Couldn’t you see more of them?’ Marina’s voice was peevish on the line. ‘You looked so glamorous and civilised in the photographs John French took.’

‘I can’t always look the same, Mother. Clients need a variety of images and styles, to show their clothes.’