‘That’s Freddie there. Isn’t he dreamy?’ She smiled in a most un-Andrea-like way.
I followed her pointed finger and saw a young man surrounded by a crowd of acolytes, all listening attentively as he held court. As I looked at him, I had the strangest sensation of time standing still. I watched his full lips open and close in slow motion, his hands gesticulating as he spoke. His dark hair was thick and wavy and fell to his shoulders like the paintings of the romantic poets I’d seen. His eyes were big and expressive and the colour of a young fawn, his cheekbones high and his jaw chiselled like a sculpture. He would make a very beautiful woman, I thought to myself as Andrea pulled me into the milieu and I extracted myself from my reverie.
‘Freddie, darling, may I introduce you to Posy Anderson, a great friend of mine.’
I felt a jolt like a thousand bolts of lightning run through me as he took my hand in his and kissed it, his eyes upon me as if I were the only person in the room.
‘Delighted,’ he said, in a deep, melodious voice. ‘And what do you do to keep you occupied here in Cambridge?’
‘Botany,’ I managed, feeling my wretched blush sweep up my neck. In my red dress, I imagined I must resemble an overripe tomato.
‘Well now, we have a scientist amongst our aesthetic ranks!’ he said to the crowd, and I couldn’t help but feel as though he was making a joke of me, even though his eyes – which were still locked to my own – were kind.
‘So where do you hail from, Posy?’
‘Suffolk originally, but I was brought up in Cornwall.’
‘Suffolk?’ Freddie smiled. ‘Well, that’s something we have in common. It’s where I was born too. Let us talk later, Posy. I’m fascinated to hear why a beautiful woman such as you’– I felt his eyes sweep down my body – ‘has ended up in a white coat staring through a microscope.’
I nodded and grinned like an idiot – I literally couldn’t speak, and was only glad when someone else took Freddie’s attention away and his eyes finally left me.
Of course, we never did get to ‘talk later’; Freddie spent the night surrounded by the kind of sophisticated women that I, in my plain red dress, with my untamed curls, could not begin to compete with. Andrea soon got lost in the crowd and forgot about me, so I left an hour later and made my way home to dream about Freddie and the fact he had called me ‘beautiful’.
Winter in Cambridge was an unexpected joy. The ancient stone buildings were smothered in a blanket of sparkling white frost, and venturing into the greenhouses in the Botanical Garden felt like being in a giant igloo. It was nearing the end of the Michaelmas term, and dinner conversations in New Hall all revolved around one subject – the Christmas Ball at St John’s College.
‘I shall wear trousers,’ Andrea had declared. ‘I’ll be like Marlene Dietrich, and any man who dares approach me will have to prove his mettle.’
Celia and I spent a Saturday morning shopping for the perfect outfit, and I had parted with some of my allowance to buy a blue velvet dress, cinched in at the waist with a bow at the front of it. I thought ruefully of all Maman’s beautiful evening dresses at Admiral House and wondered if they had found a new home in her palazzo.
Celia persuaded me to buy a pair of high heels to go with it, as I owned none. ‘Don’t you dare go digging for plant samples in them,’ she’d warned me with a grin.
‘I’m far more worried I’ll topple over and make a complete fool of myself,’ I told myself as I practised walking in them around my tiny bedroom.
On the last day of term, I ran out of the Botany School, sliding over the icy steps then fumbling to unlock my bicycle. I was already late to meet Celia, who had promised to help me style my hair into some semblance of fashion for the ball that night. It was already six o’clock as I hopped onto my bike and pedalled towards Silver Street, ignoring the honks of irritated drivers as I steered around the potholes.
Suddenly, the world toppled upside down, and I came face to face with grey slush on the cobbled street, my bicycle a few inches away from me, the wheels spinning.
‘I say, are you all right?’ came a voice from above me.
Shaken, I staggered up from the ground. ‘I . . . yes, I think so.’
‘Come and sit down and collect yourself. That was quite a fall you took,’ the young man said. I felt him put a reassuring arm around me as he led me off the road. He settled me on the bench at a bus stop, then went back to fetch my bicycle, deftly kicking out its stand with his foot before settling it next to me. He had kind blue eyes and a smile below his neat moustache, and I could see wisps of blonde hair under the brim of his hat.
‘Thank you,’ I said, pulling at my skirt to make sure it hadn’t ridden up. ‘I’ve never had a fall like that, I’m usually very careful—’
‘It’s unavoidable with the roads this icy,’ he said. ‘The council haven’t got round to gritting the streets on time. Typical. I’m Jonny Montague, by the way.’
‘Posy Anderson,’ I replied, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it. I stood up. ‘I’m so sorry, I must be getting on, my friend is waiting for me—’
‘I can’t let you get back on your bicycle after a fall like that,’ he said. ‘Where were you going? I’ll escort you.’
‘Really, I’m fine.’
‘I insist.’ He took hold of the handlebars of my bicycle, which admittedly looked rather bent. ‘Lead the way, m’lady.’
As we walked towards New Hall together, I discovered that Jonny was reading Geography at St John’s College.
‘. . . But I’ll be going into the army after university, just like my dear old pater,’ he said. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m doing Botany . . . Plant Sciences,’ I said. The word ‘science’ had the expected effect on him.
‘A scientist?’ he said, looking down at me in surprise. ‘My, my, what kind of science do you do on plants?’
Before I could explain to him about grafting and taxonomy and ecosystems, we had arrived outside the college.
‘You need someone to take a look at that bicycle before you get back on it. It’s been lovely to meet you, Miss Anderson, despite the dramatic circumstances.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and thank you again. It was very kind of you to stop.’
‘The least I can do.’ Jonny nodded, then with a doff of his hat, walked off into the night.
Slightly dazed, I went up to my room where Celia was waiting for me, tapping her foot impatiently and wielding a frightening-looking set of curling irons.
‘But my hair is already curly,’ I protested.
‘Not the right kind of curly,’ she said. ‘Now sit down. Oh Posy, what on earth have you done? Your hair is a fright!’
An hour and a half later, trying not to walk too unsteadily in my heels, a group of us New Hall girls approached St John’s College. The darkness was kept at bay by candles and tapers set into the frost-covered lawns, illuminating the ancient stone towers and neo-Gothic facade, and we could hear the sound of a swing band coming from inside the Great Hall and the murmur of voices already well lubricated with alcohol. In one smooth move, my coat was taken from me by an attendant and a glass of champagne was placed in my hand.
‘Come along, Posy.’ Celia took me by the arm and led me into the Great Hall. She had managed to smooth and curl my hair into delicate waves, then pin them back from my face with diamanté clips. She’d also done my make-up, and I was scared to move my lips in case the bright red lipstick smudged.
The hall was full to the brim with men in black tie, their voices echoing up to the high ceiling above us.
‘Cheers, girls,’ Andrea toasted us. ‘Here’s to a happy Christmas.’
‘Hello, darling. Glad I’ve found you in this crush! Want to come and dance?’
Matthew, Celia’s beau, appeared beside us. They’d been walking out with each other since October.
‘Of course.’
They floated away and I was left with Andrea.
‘She’ll probably end up marri
ed and pregnant in a couple of years’ time,’ Andrea snorted. ‘And her degree will simply go to waste. God, this kind of thing is so not my scene. Come on, let’s go and find some grub. I’m starving.’
The two of us pushed through the crowd over to the long trestle table heaving with food. I wasn’t hungry, my stomach churning with nerves, but Andrea piled her plate high.
‘Only reason I’ve come,’ she smiled, tucking in.
‘Hello there,’ said a voice from behind me.
I turned round and saw Jonny, my knight in shining armour from earlier, standing beside me.
‘Hello.’
‘Golly, you look different,’ he said admiringly.
‘Thank you.’
‘Have you recovered from your fall?’
‘I have, yes.’
‘Enough to join me for a dance?’
‘I . . . yes,’ I replied, feeling the usual blush spread up my neck.
He held out his hand and I took it.
‘Another one bites the dust,’ I heard Andrea say under her breath as we moved towards the dance floor.
Later, we moved outside to get some air and smoke. (I had started the habit because everyone smoked all the time and I didn’t want to look square.) We sat companionably on a bench in the courtyard.
‘So where are you heading for the Christmas holiday?’ he asked.
‘Cornwall. I live with my grandmother.’
‘Really? What about your parents?’
‘My father died in the war. He was a pilot, and my mother lives in Italy,’ I found myself telling him. It was rare for me to open up to anyone at Cambridge about my home life, but he seemed to invite confidences.
‘I’m sorry to hear about your father,’ he said gently. ‘I know I’m very lucky to still have mine after that wretched war. Your father must have been a hero.’
‘He was.’ I noticed that he had edged closer to me, and the sleeve of his dinner jacket was brushing my arm. I could feel his warmth and didn’t move away.
‘What about you?’
‘My parents live in Surrey. I have two sisters, one cat and an ageing Labrador called Molly, so that’s me. Pretty standard all round, I’d say.’
‘So your father was in the army?’
‘Yes. He was injured early doors at Dunkirk – he lost a leg, actually, so he sat out the rest of the war behind a desk. He always said losing the leg was a blessing. At least he kept his life. I’m sorry your father didn’t.’
‘Thank you.’ I stubbed my cigarette out with one of my new shoes, then shivered. ‘Shall we go back inside? It’s awfully cold out here.’
‘Then let’s have a dance to warm up.’
He took my arm and led me back into the Great Hall.
Over Christmas in Cornwall, I thought about Jonny endlessly. After the dance, he’d walked me home and given me my very first kiss. He’d said he would write to me, and every day I hurried to greet William the postman, feeling a thrill every time there was a letter addressed to me in Jonny’s neat handwriting.
Granny raised an eyebrow and smiled, but didn’t probe, for which I was grateful. When I returned to Cambridge for the Lent term in the new year, Jonny and I were soon officially stepping out together. It seemed to happen naturally and before I realised what was happening, I wasn’t simply ‘Posy’ any more, I was one half of ‘Jonny-and-Posy’. We saw each other twice a week; once on Wednesday in between tutorials for a spot of lunch at a cafe, and on Sundays at The Eagle. I discovered I quite liked kissing, even if his moustache tickled my skin, but I had not yet experienced any of the other things that the New Hall girls liked to whisper about in the common room in the evenings.
Andrea was less discreet. She had insisted on meeting Jonny and giving him a grilling in order to ‘approve’ him.
‘He seems sweet enough, Posy, but to be honest, he’s rather dull, isn’t he? All that talk of his ghastly suburban background – are you sure you don’t want someone more exciting?’
I ignored Andrea, understanding she enjoyed being as rude as possible just for effect. After my unusual upbringing, I positively welcomed the description of his family, and hoped he’d take me to meet them one day.
Estelle, my old friend from school, who was now in the corps de ballet at the Royal Ballet in London, came to visit me one weekend, and we shared a bottle of cheap wine and confidences long into the night.
‘So, have you, you know, done it with Jonny yet?’
‘Golly no,’ I blushed. ‘We’ve only known each other for a few months.’
‘Darling Posy, you haven’t changed a jot since school,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve slept with at least five men in London – without even thinking twice!’
The Easter break came, and I spent all my time at home in Cornwall studying hard for my first-year exams. Back at Cambridge, Jonny complained that he hardly saw me.
‘After the exams are finished, you can see me as much as you want,’ I consoled him, wondering why he wasn’t studying hard for his own exams.
Finally, the exams were over and I felt that I’d acquitted myself relatively well and could relax. The May Ball season was upon us, and Jonny and I debated which one to choose. Jonny managed to get four tickets to the Trinity College May Ball, the most popular ball at Cambridge.
‘I’ll invite Edward’ – this was Jonny’s best friend – ‘and why don’t you invite Estelle? I know he’s had a crush on her since he met her in February,’ Jonny suggested.
Estelle duly arrived and we spent the day together getting ready.
‘Do remind me what this Edward looks like, darling,’ Estelle said as she twisted her flaxen hair into a practised knot on top of her head. ‘Is he a dish and worth getting dressed up for?’
‘You must remember him, Estelle. We spent the evening in his rooms, drinking gin and toasting bread over his fire.’
‘Oh, that was aeons ago, Posy. Do you like my dress, by the way?’ she asked, twirling in a shimmering creation of white satin and tulle. ‘I stole it from the costume department.’
‘It’s very . . . floaty, and suits you perfectly,’ I said, feeling like a great lumpen elephant next to my dainty friend, as I asked her to fasten the buttons on the back of my gown. Granny had come to the rescue and had her dressmaker (who she said cost a snip compared to city seamstresses) make me a beautiful periwinkle-blue dress, with a full skirt that swished around my ankles.
When we were both satisfied with our appearances, we walked outside in the warm June air to meet Jonny and Edward.
‘You look utterly beautiful, darling,’ Jonny smiled, taking my gloved hand in his and kissing it.
We joined other revellers walking towards the ball, and Estelle and I fell behind the men by a couple of paces.
‘No wonder I didn’t remember him, but I suppose he’ll do for tonight,’ she whispered.
‘Estelle, you are perfectly awful,’ I muttered back.
During the champagne reception held in Trinity Great Court, Estelle pointed out gowns that she recognised from Vogue. Then we sat down to a delicious five-course meal, before the dancing began.
I was content to sway in Jonny’s arms, as Estelle pirouetted around Edward and generally showed off to the admiration of the crowd. After the fireworks display and the survivor’s breakfast, the four of us sat on the Backs to watch the dawn. There was a gentle mist over the river, and the sleepy beginnings of birdsong heralded the arrival of another warm day.
‘I could stay at Cambridge forever,’ Edward mused, looking up at the approaching sunrise.
‘Not me,’ said Jonny. ‘I’m looking forward to my officer training at Mons when I leave. I’m only here because Pater insisted I should get a degree in case I wanted to bail out of the army early. I can hardly wait to travel, see the world.’ He squeezed my hand and turned to me. ‘You’ll like that too, won’t you, Posy?’
‘I . . . well, yes,’ I said, taken by surprise, because up until that minute, I hadn’t really thought about the future, or at least not
one with Jonny . . .
‘Right.’ Estelle came to my rescue, slipping off her shoes. ‘Let’s go and see if we can break this famous Trinity Great Court record. Race you!’ She dashed off, leaping like a sprite, and before Jonny could hold me back, I was running after her.
That summer, I was finally to meet Jonny’s family. I took varying trains from Cornwall to Surrey, with jams and pickles that Daisy had given me to present as a gift. Jonny met me at Cobham Station in a smart racing-green Ford saloon.
‘Darling girl! How wonderful to see you.’ He greeted me with a kiss and I slid into the leather seat, watching in fascination as he drove the car along lush leafy lanes, past pleasant houses with manicured lawns. We finally pulled into the drive of a house with symmetrical hornbeam hedges that looked like they had been trimmed with the aid of a spirit level. Jonny bounded out of the car and opened the passenger door for me. I stepped out onto the gravel, my stomach turning with nerves.
The front door opened, and an old Labrador ambled out first, followed by a pretty woman in her early forties with a smooth blonde bob and a sweet smile. Behind her was a tall, slim man with a walking stick and a moustache like Jonny’s.
Jonny took my hand and pulled me forward. ‘Posy, these are my parents.’
Mr Montague shook my hand first, his touch dry and firm. ‘Wonderful to meet you, Posy, Jonny’s told us so much about you.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ added Mrs Montague. ‘Welcome to our home.’
I followed them inside, the Labrador panting at my feet, and I noticed that Jonny’s father, despite his wooden leg, had a very smooth gait.
‘Jonny, darling, take Posy’s case up to the guest bedroom, please.’
‘Of course, Ma.’
Jonny obediently went up the stairs, whilst his mother led me through the hall and into a clean white kitchen. A Victoria sponge was sitting resplendent on the sideboard. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I thought we’d take tea outside in the garden, it’s such a beautiful day.’
‘I’d love that,’ I smiled. I followed her out of the kitchen door and onto a terrace lined by a border full of sweet-smelling gardenias. Two young women were setting china teacups onto a table and looked up at me with a smile.
The Butterfly Room Page 27