by Laura Wood
“I know how much you like this room,” she whispers so low that only I can hear. This is, of course, the room where she and Robert almost caught me three months ago. It feels like a lifetime ago. I glance at her, but in her face I see nothing but mischievous appreciation for a prank well played. This world feels topsy-turvy, and I don’t understand the rules.
Looking around, I can hardly believe that this is the same room I chose as my own – but there is the fireplace into which I have cast many an apple core, and there is the rug that I’ve spent so much time lolling on. It no longer looks faded or worn but, like the rest of the house, restored to something better and more vibrant. The space feels smaller now, warm and intimate, and the sound doesn’t echo. The walls have been papered in the palest blush pink with something that contains tiny flecks of gold, the floorboards have been polished until you can almost see your face in them. There are plush, moss-coloured velvet sofas to sink into and a room full of elegant people waiting to talk to Caitlin, and possibly – I think, with a nervous lurch of my stomach – even to me. There are about twenty people milling about, but at this moment, through my eyes, it feels like an awful lot more. The men are dressed in white dinner suits with white bow ties, the women in white dresses almost – though not quite – as spectacular as Caitlin’s.
“Everyone, I must introduce you to my friend,” Caitlin sings, and all heads turn eagerly in her direction. “This is Lou.” She pushes me forward and I stand awkwardly, not really knowing what to do. Finally, I raise my hand in a sort of feeble wave.
“Hello,” I say.
“I have to go and check on the rest of the preparations,” Caitlin says to me. “Will you be all right?” She must see the panic in my face. “They’re all perfectly harmless, I promise you,” she says, “and Robert will be down in just a couple of minutes.” She rolls her eyes. “So unfair that it takes men so little time to get themselves ready.”
“Yes.” I manage a weak smile. “Go, go and do what you need to do. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry about this.” She grimaces. “There are just so many things to see to, and there’s no one else … but later we will get a chance to talk properly. Bernie –” Caitlin turns from me then, and calls into the crowd – “come and take care of Lou, won’t you, darling?”
A man saunters slowly in our direction. He’s wiry and elegant in his white tie, and when his face is still it rests in a slightly sneering look.
“I live to serve,” he drawls, and I’m relieved to see the sneer lift a little, replaced by something a bit friendlier. He raises a cigarette to his lips and sweeps into a bow. “By the by, where is that delightful brother of yours?” His eyes look eagerly over Caitlin’s shoulder.
“Robert’s just gone up to change,” Caitlin replies.
“And the guests of honour?” Bernie raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, you know Laurie.” Caitlin laughs. “She loves to make an entrance. There’s not a chance she’ll be down before everyone else is assembled.”
“Of course,” Bernie murmurs, then turns, his eyes running over me with undisguised interest. “Well, come, come, my little chick, let me take you under my wing. We must go and fetch you a drink.”
Seeing that I am to be taken care of, Caitlin turns and trips out of the room.
Bernie guides me towards a drinks trolley and gestures expansively. “So, what will it be? They have it all, I think. The Cardews are always very well prepared in the liquor department.”
Unfortunately, the memory of the ginger wine is still strong enough to turn my stomach when coupled with my terrible nerves. “I’d just love a glass of soda water, please,” I say, hoping that I don’t sound too prim. “I’m not a big drinker usually,” I add by way of explanation. “I can’t keep up.”
“Well, that explains why you look so disgustingly healthy,” Bernie says, pouring the drink and adding ice. “You make the rest of us look positively haggard.”
I look at Bernie’s face. I guess he is in his early thirties, though I suppose he could be older. He is handsome in a dissipated sort of way, very pale and angular with hollow cheeks and a rather pointed chin. His dark hair is swept back from a high forehead, and he has slim, elegant hands that flutter while he talks. There’s something about him that makes me uneasy, a sharpness in his gaze that is at odds with his languorous movements. If anyone is going to out me as an imposter, I have a feeling it will be him. I sip carefully at the drink that he hands me, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
“How do you and the Cardews know one another?” he asks, watching me from beneath heavy eyelids.
“Um, we’ve known each other for a while,” I say clumsily. “How about you?” I ask. “How do you know them?”
“Oh, how does anyone know anyone?” Bernie sighs, waving his cigarette in the air as if to emphasize the ethereal nature of his relationship with the Cardew siblings. “We’ve known each other for ages. Must have met at one dreary party or another. Sadly, they all blur into one in the end… They’re endlessly dull, all the parties, you know, but one must make the effort.”
“Of course,” I mutter into my drink, thinking that it will take an awful lot of parties before I become bored by this sort of evening.
“Always the same parties,” Bernie continues, “always the same people. That’s why you’re so interesting. But then Caitlin does tend to collect the most fascinating people,” he says, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“Me?” I squeak in surprise. “I’m not interesting.” I have to stop myself from snorting with laughter at the very idea.
“But you’re new, darling.” Bernie leans towards me. He smells of violets and cigarette smoke. “And new is always interesting.” His eyes rake over me, and I shift uncomfortably. Is this what Caitlin meant? Am I the new, different thing for them?
“Well, all of this is new to me,” I say, gesturing around at the party and our glamorous surroundings.
Bernie continues to look at me through half-closed eyes. “You do have a certain … freshness about you, you know, I can quite see the appeal.”
“You make me sound like a pint of milk,” I grumble. The feeling that I have been “collected”, that I am on display somehow, as if I am a slightly curious object rather than a real person, nettles me, and I draw my shoulders back, lifting my chin. I may be excited to be here, but a girl has her pride.
Bernie laughs softly, reading the emotion in my face. “I apologize.” He blows a stream of smoke through his nose. “I just mean that you’re something different from the usual. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself an object of interest amongst this lot.” He gestures around the room, and I do see that a couple of people are casting furtive glances in our direction. I fiddle nervously with one of my sleeves. I wonder what they see when they look at me. Hopefully not a total fraud.
There is a chorus of greetings from over by the door and I turn to see that Robert has arrived. My spirits lift as my eyes meet his and he begins to make his way over to us. It must truly be desperate times, I find myself thinking, when the sight of Robert Cardew bearing down on me is a relief.
“Ahhh,” says Bernie, and I turn to find him looking at Robert through narrowed eyes as if he wants to unlatch his jaw and swallow him whole. “What a singularly attractive man.” He sighs again. Bernie does a lot of sighing, I notice.
“Um, yes,” I agree, because it’s impossible to deny that objectively Robert Cardew is looking quite good, with his cheekbones and his broad shoulders and his dark hair curling over the starkly white collar of his shirt. He makes a very pretty picture. Until he starts talking, of course.
Robert appears at my elbow. “Hello, Bernie,” he says. “I hope you’re not corrupting Lou already?”
Bernie bats his eyelashes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did Caitlin abandon you so soon?” Robert asks me, not at all perturbed by Bernie’s flirtation.
“She didn’t abandon me,” I say quickly. “She just had
to check on some things for the party.”
“And she did make sure to leave Lou in my capable hands,” Bernie chimes in. “I’ve been enjoying the opportunity to get to know this friend of yours, Robert. Tell me, how do you know each other? Lou didn’t say.”
Of course I didn’t. What could I say, after all? Actually I’ve been breaking into his house on a regular basis? I force myself to meet Robert’s eye.
“Lou is … an old friend,” he says smoothly. “She practically grew up at the house, knows it inside out.”
I hide my face by taking a deep swig of my water then, nervous laughter rising to the surface like the bubbles still fizzing in my glass. I’m surprised by this display of humour. For a moment it feels as though Robert and I are conspirators.
“Oh, really?” Bernie raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, absolutely,” I sing in my best cut-glass voice, matching his tone. “Old friends. Some of us much older than others.” I smile sweetly at Robert, and it’s possible that an answering smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, before he gets it back under control.
“Yes,” Robert continues. “In fact, Cait must be so pleased to see you again.” He turns to Bernie. “Their last visit was so brief, you see, that Lou was practically out of the window before they could catch up.”
Bernie looks so bemused that I can’t stop the laughter rising up and bursting out of me, and this time Robert really does smile. It’s a victorious smile, I think, because he’s made me break and laugh in front of Bernie, but for some reason I feel like I’ve won something.
Bernie is looking back and forth between us. “Well, Robert,” he says, a slow smile spreading across his own face, “I don’t know what you’ve been thinking about hiding her away from us all. She’s such a breath of fresh air.”
“We weren’t hiding her from you, Bernie.” Robert begins to fix himself a drink. “Lou lives here in Cornwall. She doesn’t come up to London terribly often.”
Or ever, I mentally correct him.
“And who can blame you, darling, when London is such a dead bore.” Bernie is nodding at me sympathetically. “I mean it. When Robert and Caitlin suggested this jaunt to the countryside, I tell you I was positively delirious. What a joy to escape the city, particularly in this unspeakable heat.”
“I can’t imagine being bored in London,” I say wonderingly. I’ve dreamed of going to London for years. It looms large in my imagination, a city of soot and smoke and noise and possibility.
“Lou is of the opinion that only boring people get bored,” Robert puts in here, and I glare at him.
“Well, exactly,” Bernie drawls, blithely ignoring any insult to himself. “And the people in London are the most dreadful bores of all.” He nods at me approvingly as though I have made a very astute observation, and I sneak a glance of triumph at Robert.
Suddenly, the door to the sitting room is thrown open and every conversation comes to a screeching halt. All eyes swing in that direction.
I feel my mouth drop open. Standing in the doorway is the most spectacular-looking woman I have ever laid eyes on. She is tall and voluptuous, far from the ideal figure the magazines splash about, though one look at her is enough to tell you she couldn’t care less about that. Her white silk dress ignores the modern lines dictated by fashion and clings to her curves, emphasizing her hourglass figure. Her dark hair is shingled, cut daringly short at the back, and her eyes are enormous, pansy blue with almost comically long lashes. A collar of stunning diamonds glitters at her throat, and despite the warmth of the evening (and the fact that we are currently indoors) she has some sort of white fur stole slung casually around her shoulders. Making sure that all eyes are on her, she shrugs this off, catching it up in one hand and letting the end trail along the floor before turning and dropping it on to a nearby sofa. In doing so she reveals the back of her dress, which is cut into a daringly low V-shape, showing off a good deal of smooth skin. Everything about her and the way she moves is sensual, full of a promise I don’t quite understand.
“Well,” she says, running her eyes over the stunned crowd. “Don’t you all clean up nice.” Her voice is warm honey, her accent unmistakable. Here is Laurie Miller, southern heiress and Robert’s fiancée.
The thought startles me, and my eyes fly to his face. Of course I know that he is engaged. I know, even, that the party tonight is in his fiancée’s honour, but knowing it and seeing it are two different things somehow. It’s almost been possible to forget that the Robert in front of me is the same one I’ve been reading about for so long, but Laurie’s presence brings the fact back into sharp focus. There’s no way to ignore that a creature as dazzling as this belongs in the pages of a fashion magazine.
If I expect to find any sign of burning passion in Robert’s eyes (and naturally I do, when confronted by such a goddess) I am to be sorely disappointed. Robert’s face shows only the faintest trace of amusement, and he sips nonchalantly from his drink as the others in the room move forward to envelop Laurie in a cloud of noisy air kisses. Robert’s eyes slide away, to the clock on the mantelpiece, and – unbelievably – I am sure I see a tic in his jaw, as if he is stifling a yawn. It’s a million miles away from the way that Jack looks at Alice.
I am about to speak, to say something to Robert about how stunning Laurie is, when I am stopped in my tracks by the arrival of another person. Walking in behind Laurie is a boy of such golden beauty that I actually feel myself go weak at the knees, a phenomenon that I thought only happened in romance novels. He is, quite honestly, the most good-looking man I have ever seen, and I almost have to pick my jaw up off the floor as he begins shaking hands with people and patting them heartily on the back.
“Who – who is that?” I manage, trying not to sound overly interested.
“Ooh!” Bernie nudges me with his elbow. “Seen something you like?” He grins at me wolfishly.
“N-no,” I stammer. “I just wondered. It’s not important.”
“That is my future brother-in-law,” Robert says. “Would you like me to introduce you?”
“Oh, no,” I say, my eyes fixed on the floor now. “That’s not necessary. I like it over here.”
“You like it over here?” Robert repeats.
“Yes,” I say, more firmly. “I think that this is a particularly pleasant part of the room and the … view … of everything is so nice and I wouldn’t want to, um, leave off enjoying such a…”
“Oh, dear,” Bernie sighs, interrupting my rambling. “Another one lost at sea. Not that I can really blame you, of course. He is altogether too delicious.” He takes a silver case from his pocket and withdraws another cigarette. “Robert,” he says. “Put the dear girl out of her misery and call him over. I have a longing to play matchmaker. Two such fresh, young daisies would make a sweet pair.”
I stand struggling for words, making small squeaking noises as Robert strikes a match and lights Bernie’s cigarette for him.
“Of course,” Robert says, and his voice is disinterested. “Charlie!” he calls across the room, and the boy looks up, a grin lighting his face. Instinctively I clutch at Robert’s sleeve.
“Robert!” he exclaims, shaking Robert’s hand enthusiastically. “What a shindig! Especially welcome after that godawful journey.”
“Glad you approve,” Robert responds, extracting my hand, which is apparently still clamped to his jacket, and pushing me forward a little. “I know you’ve met Bernie, but allow me to introduce Louise Trevelyan. Lou –” he turns to me “– this is Charles Miller.”
“Nice to meet you, Louise.” He holds out his hand and grasps my own. “But, please, call me Charlie.” His accent is glorious. I stare up into the velvety blue eyes, fringed with the kind of long eyelashes that are completely wasted on a man.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I say, feeling my temperature rise as his fingers wrap fleetingly around my own. “But, please, call me Lou.”
“Lou it is.”
Charlie Miller is film-star handsome. His
sandy blond hair is cut short and swept back, though an unruly lock falls over his forehead and my fingers itch to push it gently away. He has a strong, square jaw and when he smiles – as it seems he often does – his eyes light up and his white teeth flash. It is all I can do not to ask for his autograph.
“Come on, Robert, leave the children alone to play,” Bernie purrs, giving me a very unsubtle wink. “I’m longing to catch up with your fiancée. I must know who dresses her.”
“I believe she dresses herself,” Robert says, allowing Bernie to lead him away.
Now I am alone with Charlie. My mind races, trying desperately to think of something interesting to say.
“I’m sorry to hear you had a bad journey,” I say finally. “Were you coming back from America?”
Charlie nods. “Yes, we were stuck on that ship for five days, and I have to admit that I’m not much of a sailor.” He smiles ruefully.
“Oh, I love being on the sea,” I say. “Not that I’ve ever done such a long journey,” I add quickly. “My sister and I used to make all these elaborate plans to stow away on one of the ships to America and disguise ourselves as boys so that we could work in the engine room.” I grin at the memory. “We never got very far with it in reality, though. Once we’d got through the cheese sandwiches Midge packed us and it got dark, we’d end up turning back and heading home.”
“Midge?” Charlie repeats, a frown crinkling his forehead.
“My mother,” I explain.
“Your mother used to pack you cheese sandwiches so that you could run off to sea?” He looks vaguely affronted, and I’m a little surprised by his stuffiness.
I laugh. “Oh, yes,” I reply. “She used to wish us happy voyages, and then of course we always came back because by giving us permission to go she took all the excitement out of it.”
Charlie looks bemused, but smiles politely. I haven’t thought about those games Alice and I played for a long time. What would Midge say now, I wonder, if I told her I wanted to go away? Would she wish me happy voyages? Would I have the nerve to actually go?