A Fragile Peace

by A Fragile Peace (retail) (epub)

  Ray took her hand and kissed it with drunken courtesy. ‘You lie like the proverbial trooper, my dear. Something greatly to be admired in a girl, I always say. Your carriage awaits.’ He waved his hand at the small MG that led the parade of cars that were parked by the kerb. ‘Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!’

  Much later, when she knew that the party at home would be well under way, Allie telephoned again, from the Ace of Spades roadhouse, the door of the kiosk closed firmly on the revelry outside. The telephone rang for a long time before anyone answered, and then it was a voice that she did not immediately recognize. She pressed the button.

  ‘Hello? Hello, who’s that?’

  ‘Bestworth’s the name. Did you want one of the Jordans? There’s a bit of a shindig on here, but I daresay I could…?’

  ‘No, no, Uncle Bertie, don’t bother. It’s me. Allie.’

  ‘God bless my soul. Allie? Where are you? Your mother and father have been very worried…’

  ‘I’m – well, it’s perfectly awful, Uncle Bertie. A friend of mine was giving me a lift back from town and his car’s broken down. We’re stuck in this garage in the middle of nowhere…’ Suddenly and inexplicably sober, the anxiety in her voice owed nothing to play-acting. ‘I know they must be worried. And absolutely furious, I expect. I promised to be home for the party.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my dear. Where are you? I’ll come and fetch you. We’ll have you home in the shake of a guinea-pig’s tail, eh?’

  For a dreadful moment her mind stopped working altogether.

  ‘Hello? Allie? Are you there?’

  ‘Hello, y-yes, I’m here. Th-there seems to be something wrong with this phone. I can’t hear you very well.’

  ‘I said I’d come and fetch you,’ bellowed her uncle, almost deafening her. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly let you do that. It’s bad enough that I can’t be at the party. Mother’ll kill me if I drag you away too. If you’d just tell her – well, explain for me? Tell her I’ll be home as soon as I can.’ In her sudden, miserably sobered state the whole silly deception seemed shoddy and childish. Desperately Allie found herself wishing that she had never embarked upon it.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure?’ asked her uncle.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. I’ll see you later, I expect.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better let me know where you are? Just in case—’ His voice was interrupted by the regular pips that denoted that their time was up.

  ‘Sorry, Uncle, I’m out of pennies—’ She held the phone and then carefully cradled it, standing for a moment, quite still, staring at the instrument as if expecting it to ring again, summoning her. The little telephone booth was dark. She wanted to go home. Oh, how dreadfully she wanted to go home…

  As she pushed open the door, a gust of warm, moist air met her like a tangible wall. She wondered, feeling it, why she could not see it, like fog. Through open double doors she could see the great ballroom with its square of polished dance floor beneath flamboyant red, white and blue decorations, its glittering, mirrored lights, its tables littered with the wreckage of finished meals – a shambles of bottles and glasses, discarded, crumpled napkins, empty coffee cups and full ashtrays. The dance floor was crowded. There was a sheen of sweat on faces and on bare shoulders as the dancers jiggled in the scant space. Allie looked down at her own dress. It was the brown satin, smuggled from Ashdown that morning in a paper bag. She had changed in the house of one of Ray’s friends in London, and had only realized much later that she had left the bag containing her other clothes behind when they had left for the Ace of Spades. At the time it had seemed rather funny; now she did not think so. If she arrived at Ashdown dressed as she was, they would know that she had planned this, that she had lied.

  She caught sight of herself in a long, flatteringly peach-tinted mirror. She was frowning ferociously. She smoothed her expression, fluffed out her hair, peered at her slightly smudged make-up. The corsage that Ray had bought from a street vendor in London looked wilted and dispirited, its scent was sweet and stale.

  ‘Allie! There you are!’ A young man she knew only by sight swooped on her. ‘Come on! You’re missing all the fun!’ He grabbed her hand and she allowed herself to be pulled into the hot and crowded ballroom. She was here; she might as well make the best of it. Already the odd mood of a moment before was slipping from her. She laughed as an unknown young man in a red, white and blue boater seized her and gave her a smacking kiss. The band had struck up a rhythmic two-step. Long lines of dancers were linking arms and forming wavering ranks as they stepped and kicked their way, with much raucous laughter, through the Palais Glide. Allie stumbled a little, almost pulled off her feet by a burly, middle-aged man who insisted on stepping to the left when everyone else was stepping to the right. They scrambled through the last few choruses, kissed each other goodbye and at last Allie found herself back at the table she was sharing with Ray and the others.

  ‘All right, old thing?’ Ray Cheshire was a tall and very thin young man with floppy straight hair and a rather bad skin. In moments of honesty Allie had to admit to herself that her parents’ swift judgement of him came very close to the mark. But he was twenty-one, and was considered, by himself and some of his acquaintances, to be a man of the world. The flattery of his attentions had so far made up for the lack of any real regard or attraction. He was fun to be with. That was enough.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ she said. ‘A bit thirsty.’

  ‘More bubbly!’ Ray waved a bottle in the air. ‘And then more! The old man’s excelled himself tonight – he’s footing the bill for the lot and no questions asked. So drink up, me hearties—’

  ‘Lucky beggar!’ said a girl named Dora and, inevitably, giggled at the entirely inappropriate phrase. Ray’s indulgent parents were, more than anything, responsible for his social standing among his peers.

  ‘Come on now, the blessed stuff’ll get warm! Down the hatch. Here’s to our new king—’ Ray drained his glass. Allie followed suit. The champagne bubbled in her throat, deliciously refreshing. She held out her glass for more.

  ‘That’s the ticket!’ Ray tilted the bottle, raised his glass again. ‘And damnation to his enemies! Rule Britannia!’

  There was a roar, and the glasses were drained again. In the gratifying, misty glow of warmth and friendship, Allie felt the last of her unexpected despondency disperse like morning mist in the warmth of the sun. The night became a kaleidoscope of fragmented sensations, pleasantly blurred one into the other as her champagne glass magically emptied and apparently with equal enchantment speedily filled again. She neither noticed nor cared how much she was drinking. Laughter and music and raised, loud voices rushed in her ears like the sound of the sea. She smiled, and nodded, and laughed immoderately at jokes that she could not hear. Bright, flushed faces and open mouths swam about her. Inexplicably, she suddenly found herself sitting on Ray’s lap, her arm about his shoulders, his bony hand warm and possessive upon her thigh.

  ‘I want to dance,’ she said, but her voice was drowned and no one heard her. She took Ray’s ear between finger and thumb and pulled it close to her mouth: ‘I want to dance.’

  In the same, easy, miraculous way that she had found herself sitting on his lap, she now found herself in his arms on the dance floor, with apparently neither effort nor thought required from her. She giggled. Ray’s arm tightened about her waist. She wriggled, unable to breathe. He grinned down at her, stumbled a little, picked up the rhythm again. Someone had flung open the tall windows, which opened onto a dim-lit terrace and a shimmering pool. The refreshingly cool air that blew through them was delightful. She tilted back her head and breathed deeply and a little dizzily. The current of air grew stronger; when she opened her eyes it was to discover that Ray had steered her expertly off the dance floor and towards the tall, open windows.

  She lifted her chin, pouting a little. ‘Where are we going? I want to dance.’

  ‘We’re going to,’ he said, soo
thingly, ‘but wouldn’t it be nice to dance outside, where it’s cool? Just look at the stars. Come on, Al…’

  With some reluctance she allowed herself to be led to the windows, stepped across the low sill and onto the paved terrace.

  ‘There,’ he said encouragingly, ‘isn’t that much nicer?’ He wrapped his arms about her and drew her very close to him, moving slowly in time to the music, which drifted with the smoke and the laughter on the glimmering night air. She relaxed. Above them the black velvet of the sky was diamond-studded with stars. The terrace and swimming pool were screened and surrounded by wooden trellises covered in rambling roses from whose depths shone hundreds of tiny fairy lights. The air was marvellous after the clammy heat of the overcrowded ballroom. They were alone. Coloured lights danced and shimmered in the waters of the pool. Ray pulled her head gently down onto his shoulder and for a moment they stood, swaying to the music, in silence.

  In a pleasant limbo of glittering lights and champagne, Allie’s eyes drifted shut. She felt Ray’s hand in her hair, felt the insistent pressure of his hand turning her face to his and then was astonished to find his lips on hers, hot and moist. She tried to pull away, but his hand behind her head held her firmly to him. She stood absolutely still, unresponsive, letting him kiss her, her mind all at once uncomfortably and absurdly clear. She felt absolutely nothing apart from a faint revulsion as their wet lips, tainted sweetly, slid against each other. Was this, then, what all the fuss was about? She felt a vague lift of disappointment, a sense of having been cheated. She remembered with quick, awful clarity, her father’s head bent above Celia, the movement of Celia’s hand on her father’s face. Desperate to erase the vision, she pressed suddenly against Ray. She felt his increased excitement. His teeth pressed painfully into her lower lip and with a shock she felt his tongue pushing and probing into her mouth. This time she did manage to pull away, moving her head sideways and onto his shoulder. His enterprising mouth and probing tongue transferred themselves to her ear. She shuddered and buried her face deeper into the curve of his neck, trying to escape the awful, hot wetness.

  His hand was on her breast, kneading it clumsily and painfully. She felt the strap of her dress slip from her shoulder, and the hot mouth and sharp teeth were on her bare skin. With all her strength, she pushed him from her. He stumbled, caught off balance. ‘I say—’

  At that very moment they were engulfed by a shrieking, laughing crowd of young people.

  ‘What did I say? I said they’d be out here…’

  ‘Dirty devil, Ray!’

  ‘Cradle snatcher!’

  ‘Looking at the stars, are we?’

  Bemused, Allie pushed the strap of her dress back up onto her shoulder. ‘We were – dancing…’

  That brought forth a great shout of laughter. ‘Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?’

  ‘Jolly nice kind of dance if you ask me. Who’s going to teach it to me?’

  Above the sea of laughing faces, Allie could see Ray; his expression was a weird mixture of hurt surprise at her rebuff and a kind of infantile pride at being singled out for such envious, if misguided, attention. Suddenly she felt sorry for him. He had been kind to her today, his inept lovemaking notwithstanding. She did not want him to think her cold or ungrateful. Cold. The word trickled uncomfortably through her mind. Was that it? Was she – what was the word? – frigid? Was that why she had not enjoyed Ray’s advances? He made to turn away, a sullen set to his reddened mouth. She slipped through the laughing crowd and caught his hand. ‘Ray – I’m sorry…’

  Someone pushed a glass into her hand and upended a champagne bottle into it. The liquid overflowed the top of the glass and ran in a golden stream over her hand and down her dress. She lifted the glass to Ray’s lips. He hesitated, then, to cheers, he swallowed it awkwardly. In the ballroom the band had struck up a Charleston. Frenetic figures flailed across the dance floor beneath the shifting, mirrored lights. With a shout, a young man grabbed Allie and began to dance. In an instant the terrace was alive with flying feet and clapping, waving hands. Breathlessly Allie passed from one partner to another until she found herself, by accident or design, dancing once more with Ray. His ill-temper forgotten, he caught her hands and swung her round faster and faster until terrace, pool and lighted windows dissolved into a single, swinging ferris wheel of coloured lights. As the music stopped she collapsed into his arms. Several people sank to the floor, fanning themselves.

  ‘Good heavens!’ squealed someone. ‘Dora! What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Cooling off.’ Plump Dora, with great aplomb, was standing by the pool calmly divesting herself of dress, stockings, suspender belt, shoes.

  ‘Topping idea!’ A young man began to pull his jacket off. ‘A swim! Just what the doctor ordered!’ He dragged his shirt over his head.

  Dora, clad only in shining satin underclothes, made a very creditable dive into the water. The young man, stripped to his underpants, jumped in close behind her, causing a tidal wave to break across the poolside. A girl, spattered with water, shrieked.

  ‘What’s it like?’ called Ray as Dora surfaced.

  ‘Wonderful! Come on in and see! Last one in’s a donkey!’

  There was a tipsy scramble for the poolside. Shirts, trousers, sparkling dresses and high-heeled shoes were discarded as their wearers scrambled to be the first in the water. Allie stood back. There was a great deal of splashing and shouting.

  ‘Come on, Allie, in we go.’ Ray, shirtless but with his trousers and shoes still on, grabbed her hand. He was having some difficulty in standing up straight.

  She shook her head. ‘No, Ray. I don’t want to.’

  ‘Don’t be a spoilsport, old thing. Can’t have that, you know.’

  With sudden and surprising strength, he scooped her from her feet, one bony arm about her shoulders, the other under her long legs, the brown satin of her gown rucked to her thighs.

  ‘Ray, don’t be stupid. Put me down.’ Growing angry, Allie struggled in his arms. Ray staggered, recovered himself and gripped her tighter. The onlookers whooped and screamed.

  ‘Ray! Will – you – put – me – down!’

  He teetered on the edge of the pool, swaying, grinning stupidly. Really alarmed now, Allie stopped struggling and clung to him. The noise around them died as the watchers held a drunken breath. Ray half-turned, his eyes unfocused, hesitated for a moment, then with little grace and no sound keeled over into the water, taking Allie with him.

  * * *

  Ashdown was almost entirely in darkness. A single light burned in the window of her father’s study beside the front door. Debris from the evening’s celebrations skittered in a lifting breeze across the littered, dark lawns. Beyond the house, the silent marquee loomed, deserted and quiet, a faint pale mass in the star-thrown shadows.

  A sobered Ray rolled the car to a halt outside the door. ‘Would it be better if I came in with you?’

  Allie shook her head, her teeth chattering. ‘No. It’s best for me to go in alone.’ They were almost the first words they had spoken to each other on the journey home. She shivered a little. Beneath Ray’s dinner jacket, which was draped around her shoulders, her crumpled dress was still chillingly damp. She made to take the jacket off.

  Ray lifted a hand. ‘Keep it for now. You’ll catch cold if you take it off. You can let me have it back another time.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She swung her legs from the car, her eyes on the steadily burning light by the front door.

  ‘Allie?’

  She turned.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. It was as much my fault as yours, I guess.’ She smiled, fleetingly. ‘And more the champagne’s than anything…’

  ‘You’re sure you’ll be all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.

  ‘Will I see you next week?’

  She shrugged. She could not think. In all but body she was already facing her father. Whe
n, realizing at last the unforgivable lateness of the hour, she had telephoned the house, an hour before, his voice had been more coldly angry than she had ever heard it. ‘Perhaps. We’ll see.’

  He did not press her. As she stepped back from the car, he rolled it forward into a tight turn and, with a lift of his hand, was gone.

  She had been right to be apprehensive; one look at her father’s face jolted her into something close to panic. She stood just inside the study door, Ray’s jacket still draped lopsidedly over her ruined dress, her head up, her face chalk-white in the lamplight.

  There was an acid edge to her father’s voice when he broke the silence. ‘Come in, please, Alexandra, and shut the door behind you. There’s no need for the whole household to be disturbed. I’ve already told them you’re safe.’