by Laura Wood
“I think she likes it!” Caitlin says, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.
“Women spend a lot of time and money trying to get their hair to wave like that.” Laurie nods. “You’re lucky.”
She picks up her glass of champagne and holds it up. Caitlin, Elodie and I lift our own and clink them together in a toast.
“OK,” Caitlin says breathlessly, her voice taut with excitement. “Stage One is complete. Now, you need to get dressed and I’ll do your face.”
“I’m going to go and get ready myself,” Laurie says, yawning and stretching languorously. “I think my work here is done.”
“Thanks,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She bends down and plants a warm kiss on my cheek.
“Happy birthday, honey,” she says, and then she sashays out of the room.
Elodie follows behind her. “Remember, Lou … tonight, you are bold!” she calls over her shoulder. “Tonight is yours!”
There are butterflies in my stomach. I am flooded with anticipation. It feels as though something extraordinary is going to happen tonight, and the fact that this night may be one of my last here gives it a charged, reckless feeling. “You should go and get ready too,” I say to Caitlin.
“Oh, it won’t take me long,” she says, and her hands flutter by her sides.
I give her a look, the look of someone who knows precisely how long it takes her to get ready, thanks to much experience.
“Fine, fine.” She laughs brightly. “But I’ll be straight back, you’ll see … tonight is all about you.”
“I already feel completely, utterly spoilt,” I say honestly.
“Good.” Caitlin lifts her chin, a satisfied look on her face. “Then my plan is working. See you in a minute.” She slips from the room, leaving me alone.
I look at my reflection in the mirror again, and lift my hand to my hair, tugging on one of my curls and watching it fall magically back into place. What will Alice say? I can’t wait to show her. Then, like a kick in the gut, I remember our fight and tears prick my eyes. I look around the room. Alice was right about one thing, I realize – all of this will soon be coming to an end.
I stand and move to the bed where my beautiful dress lies, the green silk flowing across the sheets. Taking my time, I strip off to the pale pink slip and underwear that Madame Carradice insisted on and slide the dress over my head. It fits perfectly, of course. The silk whispers against my skin, and it is so light that it feels almost indecent – as though I am wearing nothing at all. I clip the train to my left shoulder, and it spills down my back, falling almost to the floor.
Taking a deep breath, I stand in front of the mirror. It is the perfect dress for a sea sprite. It is the perfect dress for me. It ripples and shimmers when I move and the colour is amazing – it brings out the tiny bit of red in my hair, and the gold in my skin. Unlike the experience of wearing the beautiful dress in London, this time I don’t feel like I’m pretending to be someone else. It’s ironic, I suppose, when dressing for a masquerade, but I realize that I don’t need to pretend. I am someone. I notice then that there have been no shoes included with my costume, but this time I know that only bare feet will work.
And just then Caitlin bursts back through the door like a whirling dervish, true to her word for once about getting ready with great speed. She wears an incredible short, navy-blue dress embroidered with large silver stars and with silver fringe around the bottom that trembles as she moves. Silver stars are pinned in her hair and silver bangles jangle on both her wrists.
“Oh my God!” she squeals, and she claps her hands together, setting the bangles ringing. “You look amazing!”
“So do you,” I say, as Caitlin continues to run an approving eye over me, but the truth is she looks a little pale, a little drawn. She is certainly too thin now, and her cheeks are hollow, her shoulder blades visible beneath the blue straps on her dress. Was Lucky right? Is she burning away? I turn to face her, but her eyes show nothing but girlish delight over two beautiful dresses. I want to help her, but I don’t know how.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask, my hand on her arm.
Caitlin says nothing, but I notice there are violet shadows under her eyes.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” I say quietly. “It’s a masked party. No one will miss us. We can stay up here and talk.”
Caitlin’s face softens. “You’d miss your own party?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say firmly, although if I’m completely honest I do feel a tingle of disappointment.
“You’re so sweet.” Caitlin takes my hand in hers and squeezes it. “But, honestly, what I need right now is a distraction. I don’t want to be sad. I want to be happy, I want to dance and to forget my troubles. Let’s have a wonderful time … please, Lou?” She looks at me with pleading eyes.
“If that’s really what you want…” I say uncertainly.
“It is.” Caitlin is vehement. “I promise it is.”
“OK,” I say, and I can’t help feeling a little relieved. I know it’s selfish, but if Caitlin wants to dance and be happy rather than dwell too much on the future, then who am I to judge? It’s an instinct that I understand completely.
“If Charlie Miller doesn’t kiss you tonight then the man is an idiot.” Caitlin is gleeful as she gives me another look. “And Robert will be very pleased too, I should think.”
Something in the way she says it makes my insides squirm.
“Now, sit down,” she commands, “and I’ll just quickly do our faces.” She dusts my cheeks with something sparkling, lines my eyes with smoky make-up and paints my mouth the warm red of a ripe apple, before turning her attention to her own face. “Oh, drat,” she says. “I’ve left my lipstick in my room, it’s a darker red than this. Will you be a darling and fetch it? It’s in the gold tube on my dresser.”
“Of course,” I say, leaving her sitting in front of the mirror, blackening her lashes.
Stepping out on to the landing I can hear the sound of the band warming up and the chatter of guests already arriving below, and my stomach flutters with anticipation. I rush down the corridor towards Caitlin’s room just as someone emerges from one of the doors to the right, and I collide with a broad chest in a white shirt.
“Oof,” a voice exclaims in surprise.
I take a hasty step back. It is Robert.
We stand staring at each other for a second. His face is difficult to read.
“Well, what do you think?” I ask nervously, and my voice sounds a little high. I twirl around to give him the full effect of my costume.
“I think you look –” he pauses here, and I wait for the punchline – “beautiful,” he says finally. “You look beautiful.” There is none of the usual teasing in his tone. There is also something in his eyes as he takes in the sight of me in my dress that makes my stomach flip over. He looks a little stunned, and I know the feeling. I feel like I’m on fire, as if he must be able to see the glow coming off me. It’s almost unbearable.
“Thank you,” I choke and, unable to hold his gaze any longer, I look down at my bare toes. When I look back up, whatever I thought I had seen in his eyes is gone. “And thank you so much for the dress.” I smile, relaxing now. “I love it. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.”
“Good,” he says. “I’m glad. It was all Caitlin’s idea, of course.” He clears his throat.
“Of course.” I nod.
“I do have something else for you, actually,” he says, reaching into his pocket.
“I don’t need anything else,” I say quickly, but then he places an empty envelope in my hand.
I turn it over and frown. On the front is an address written in his elegant handwriting. I look up at him, confused.
“It’s time for you to send Lady Amelia out into the world,” Robert says, and he shifts nervously from one foot to the other. “I know the editor at this magazine. I’m certain he will love it. Just like I do.”
I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe. The envelope shakes a little in my hand.
“It’s your birthday, Lou.” Robert clears his throat again, looking anxiously for my response. “Time to be brave. Time for something new.”
“Thank you,” I manage. I realize I am blinking back tears. It is a wonderful gift. Not only the opportunity it might bring, but what it represents – his belief in me. Because I can see that written all over his face. He really thinks my writing is good enough, he believes that I can do this, and that helps me to feel brave.
I look up at him, and we still seem to be standing very close together.
He lifts one hand and softly brushes my hair. I freeze. “You cut your hair,” he says quietly.
“Yes.” My voice is almost a whisper. “I mean, no.” I shake my head like someone waking from a dream. “Laurie cut it. Do you like it?”
He smiles down at me. “I do,” he says, and he lets his hand fall, taking a step back.
I let out a long, shaky breath. It is then that I notice a red smudge on his shirt. “Oh, no!” I exclaim, pointing to it. “A casualty of our collision. I’m afraid I’ve ruined your shirt.”
He looks down at the mark. “Never mind,” he says, and unlike me he seems very calm. “I have another. I can change.”
“Oh, good,” I rattle. “I wouldn’t want you to have to explain lipstick on your shirt to Laurie.” I laugh nervously. “That could be awkward. Anyway, I’d better go; your sister asked me to fetch something for her and she’ll be wondering where I am.”
“Of course,” he says. “I should go and change, anyway.”
We both stand as though glued to the spot for another beat.
“Lou,” he says, and my nerves are shredded. Whatever he is going to say, I can’t stand to hear it. I am full of too many things that I know I shouldn’t be feeling,
“Sorry about that,” I interrupt him, darting by and towards Caitlin’s room. “I’ll see you later,” I call over my shoulder. “At the party.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Caitlin’s room looks like it is the site of a recent hurricane. I go over to her dressing table, and find that my knees are trembling so much that I have to sit down. The table in front of me is littered with objects, and I stare blindly at them for a moment before identifying the lipstick that Caitlin wants. There are also, I notice, a cluster of glass jars – some of which are empty – labelled “Veronal”. I pick up one of the empty pots. I have seen this before, I realize. Midge bought some for Aunt Irene after Uncle Art died, to help her sleep. It looks like Caitlin has used quite a lot of it. I place the jar back carefully where I found it. By the time I return to my room, Caitlin is ready. “What took you so long?” she asks. “Couldn’t you find it?”
“Yes,” I say. “I mean, no. But then I did, here it is.” I hand her the lipstick. I am not sure why, but I don’t tell her about running into Robert. I also don’t ask her about the Veronal. If Aunt Irene used it, it can’t be anything too dangerous, can it? I look closely at my friend, searching her face, but she is intent on her own reflection.
“OK,” she says, after carefully painting her lips. “Time for the finishing touches.” And she reaches for my gold mask, standing behind me and wrapping it around my eyes before tying the ribbons carefully at the back of my head. It feels funny, though not uncomfortable, and when I look in the mirror I understand what everyone has been going on about when they say that masks give you permission to behave badly. Looking at the girl I see reflected back at me, with the curving red smile and beautiful dress, I feel a thrill of excitement. It is strange, but liberating … like a pass to the kind of boldness that Elodie encouraged.
I help Caitlin with her mask, which is the same as mine but made of silver lace, and then there is a knock at the door. I open it and find Charlie standing there.
“Hello, ladies,” he says, and his eyes travel appreciatively over my costume. “You look wonderful.” I feel a little zing at the compliment. It is obvious from his face that it is sincere.
“So do you,” I say, and he does. He is wearing a black embroidered frock coat over a white shirt with black breeches and black shoes with silver buckles. On his head is a powdered wig. The effect is dramatic and very, very attractive.
“You look like quite the regency buck,” Caitlin says approvingly, peering over my shoulder.
“Thanks, I guess,” he says, scratching at his wig. “I’m pretty glad I don’t have to wear these things all the time, though.”
“But where’s your mask?” I ask.
“Yes,” Caitlin says. “Rules are rules.”
Charlie grins. “Don’t worry, I’ve already had this from my sister. Robert has it. I think he had to change, but I’ll get it from him in a minute.” He turns to Caitlin. “Laurie told me to tell you that everything is ready when you are.”
“OK, thank you,” Caitlin says, and Charlie wanders off towards Robert’s room. “Are you ready, birthday girl?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go!”
We descend the stairs into another world. A gold carpet runs down the middle of the staircase, which is lined with hundreds of small white candles in glass jars. The entrance hall is decked out in twinkling lights and the ceiling has been swathed in broad strips of black and gold fabric as if we are inside an enormous marquee. The space is absolutely heaving with masked people in extravagant costumes who turn and cheer as we walk down the stairs.
“Oh my God,” I hiss, grabbing Caitlin’s arm. “Don’t let me trip over with all these people watching.”
“Ssssh,” she whispers. “Stop worrying and enjoy yourself. You’re the guest of honour.”
There is a table to one side that is heaving under the weight of expensively wrapped gifts.
“What are those?” I ask.
“They’re your presents,” Caitlin replies easily.
“My presents?” I echo. “What are you talking about?”
“People know it’s a birthday party so they bring a present.” Caitlin says. “Don’t worry, it will mostly be stuff someone else gave them at their birthday party. Everything gets sent round and round in an endless circle. At my last birthday party, I got back three things I had gifted other people. One of them was a tiepin engraved with their initials!” I think about the gifts that I received from my family and friends, and about the thoughtfulness behind each one. This pile of “gifts” from strangers is just another performance, part of the illusion. There’s nothing real about any of them.
Waiters in black tie and black domino masks are circulating with gold trays. On the trays are champagne saucers full of a pale green drink. Caitlin grabs two and hands one to me.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I can’t remember,” Caitlin replies, “but it’s called a ‘Lou’.”
“What?” I ask again.
“It’s something special the bartender designed in your honour. I think it has chartreuse and gin and some other things in,” she says. “It’s delicious.”
I take a sip. “And lethal,” I gasp.
Caitlin grins. “As all good cocktails should be, darling. Now come, come.” She takes me by the hand and leads me through to the sitting room, which has been completely transformed. All of the furniture is gone, and the room is done up like a real nightclub, full of small tables covered in gold tablecloths and chairs with black velvet cushions. More candles burn, and the plinky plink of a piano fills the dim room with a seductive, almost sleepy feeling. This is a place for intimate conversation and slow dancing, the kind of place where scandalous things happen in smoky corners.
We walk through the room and out of the French doors that open on to the lawn. Out here the sky seems to be filled with enormous round white lanterns and twinkling lights.
“Oh, Caitlin,” I breathe. “How beautiful! I don’t understand. It’s like magic!”
“Aren’t they clever?” she says, pleased. “They’re attached to very thin wires.�
�� She points overhead. “You can’t see them now that it’s dark.”
There is a huge white-and-gold bandstand on which a seventeen-piece jazz band, all wearing masks, are setting up their instruments. It is not, I realize with a pang, Lucky’s band. Not that I really expected him to come, but when everything feels this much like a dream, it seems so easy to expect a happy ending. I don’t know if Caitlin is thinking the same thing, but her eyes seem to linger there too.
A dance floor of chequered white and gold stretches out in front of the bandstand, ready to welcome the growing crowd. A bar reaches along the front of the lawn, overlooking the sea, and eight bartenders stand behind it already mixing drinks for the hordes gathered there. We stop here for a moment, greeting people. I am surprised by how many people I know from various parties over the summer. When my green drink is finished I am handed another. I can’t stop looking about, reminding myself that this is for me. A party like this, for me.
“There’s still one last thing,” Caitlin says, tugging my hand. We walk around to the walled orchard. Hundreds of candles are lit on top of the wall, and when we make our way inside I can see that long tables have been set up, stretching the whole length of the tree-lined avenues. Down the centre of the tables run twisting decorations of fruit and flowers, interspersed with heavy gold candelabras. It looks like we have stumbled across a party in a fairyland forest.
“It’s for a midnight feast,” Caitlin explains. “People will need food to soak up the drinks.” She turns to me, her voice nervous, expectant. “Well, what do you think? It’s harder to tell when you’re wearing a mask.”
“What do I think?” I ask, dazed. “I think … I think it’s the most magical, ridiculous, extravagant, wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.” I shake my head. “I think you’d better pinch me because I feel like I’m in a dream.”
Caitlin obligingly gives me a good pinch, proving that I am, in fact, very much awake.
“Happy birthday,” she says, raising her glass. “Here’s to you!”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say, and we both drink, the green cocktail somehow both sweet and spicy at the same time.