by Radclyffe
Annie was not the only one on the terrace. A few others had drifted out to enjoy the night air. They stood talking quietly in pairs and trios. Red lights flickered like fireflies as people drew on their cigarettes. A sudden burst of laughter, quickly hushed, caught Annie’s attention. She looked over, but her quarry was not there—nor had Annie expected it. She knew where to look.
Stairs at either end of the terrace led down to the garden. The sound of Annie’s footsteps changed from the sharp click of stone to the crunch of loose gravel. As she walked down the path, the sounds of the party faded and gave way to the song of crickets and the whisper of wind through the bushes. At first no more than a faint undercurrent, but growing louder, was the boom of the sea washing against the bottom of the cliffs. Annie took a deep breath, expelling the last of the smoke and alcohol fumes from her lungs.
At the end of the lawn the path passed between a pair of topiary bushes in the shape of peacocks before rounding a now-silent fountain. Beyond lay the less formal area of the garden, degenerating into an overgrown rockery. The path no longer ran straight. After another minute, it ended at a promontory where an old, round wooden summerhouse overlooked the ocean. The building appeared deserted in the brilliant moonlight, but Annie had little doubt of who would be there.
She stopped in the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness inside. Sitting to one side was the heir to the Fitzpatrick shipping fortune. A stray beam of moonlight glinted off the shimmering silver evening dress clinging to her slender form.
“Your father sent me to find you, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Well, please don’t tell him you found me, and please don’t call me Elizabeth.”
The rich, warm voice made Annie’s insides melt. Before trusting herself to reply, she took a second to ensure she had full control of her lungs. “Lizzie.” The name felt more stilted on her lips than it used to.
“Annie.”
Even without seeing her face, by the lilt in Lizzie’s tone, Annie knew she was smiling. Just the memory of that smile was enough to make Annie’s pulse leap and her knees weaken. She leaned against the door frame for support.
“Can you do me a favor? Go back to the party and get me a glass of bubbly.” Lizzie paused, reflectively. “Actually, make that two, and see if you can snag a bottle as well.”
“Supposing I meet with your father, what will I say?”
“What exactly did Daddy ask you to do?”
Annie searched her memory. “To tell you to get your sweet butt into the party.”
“Consider me told.” Lizzie laughed. “If you see him, you don’t have to lie. You can say you couldn’t find me in the house. Which is true. And you can say you’re going to try find me in the garden. You don’t need to add that since you know where I am, your chances of finding me are extremely good.”
Annie shook her head, in amusement rather than denial. If truth be told, she would have lied for Lizzie, willingly.
Back in the house, the party was, if anything, even more exuberant than before. The absence of the birthday girl did not appear to be hampering the proceedings to any noticeable degree. A few young men were wandering around as if in a very halfhearted game of hunt the parcel, but even they seemed more interested in the champagne.
Annie did not run into Mr. Fitzpatrick, so was spared the need to be inventive with the truth. No one else paid her any attention, the black maid’s uniform rendering her invisible, unless she was carrying drinks. Unfortunately, this was the fate suffered the first four glasses of champagne she acquired, but she was eventually able to get away safely, drinks and bottle in hand.
By the time she returned to the summerhouse, the moon had moved on, and now enough beams reached the interior for her to see Lizzie’s face, highlighting the plains of her fine high cheekbones and small upturned nose. The colors Annie had to provide from memory, the gold in the ringlets of Lizzie’s hair and her cornflower blue eyes.
Annie handed over a glass of champagne and looked around, wondering where to place the other. A bench ran the full circumference of the walls, but it was not level enough to stand the glass on without risk, and there was no table. She bent, about to place the second drink and the open bottle on the floor by Lizzie’s feet.
“No. That one’s for you.”
Annie placed a hand on the ground for balance and looked up, uncertain. “I don’t…”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Annie, sit down and drink it. I want to ask your advice.”
“Why me?”
“Because I trust you and you know me better than anyone else. Like you’re the only one who knows I can’t stand Beth and prefer to be called Lizzie. Now sit down.”
Annie did as she was told, taking a safe position at the other side of the summerhouse, and sipped the champagne. The bubbles tickled her nose. “What are you wanting advice about?”
“Daddy’s given me an ultimatum.”
“Another?”
“He’s serious this time. I have to get married.” Lizzie gave a humorless laugh. “He’s even given me a schedule. I’ve got my choice of the young bucks here tonight, with a view to announcing our engagement within six months. I’m to be married by next Christmas, and he went as far as to hint at a grandchild by the end of the following year.”
“You’re wanting to know how to wriggle out of it.”
Lizzie laughed and pointed the now half-empty glass at Annie. “That’s why I’m asking you. Do you know, any of my friends would have assumed I wanted advice about which man to pick.” She tilted her head to one side, appraising Annie. “You really do know me. We used to be close.”
“We used to be children.”
“True. Growing up isn’t all it’s made out to be.”
Annie smiled, slightly sadly. In truth, it had all been so much easier when they were children. She had started work at the Fitzpatricks’ straight off the boat from Ireland and needed to lie about her age to qualify for employment. It had been such a strange new world she found herself in.
Lizzie had been a scant year younger than herself, equally lost. Her mother, Margaret Fitzpatrick, had succumbed to cancer a few months earlier. Notwithstanding their difference in station, they had become friends, supporting each other as they adjusted to their new situations. At the time, it had felt like being sisters. But as they became older, things had become more complex. Things always do. The way Annie now felt about Lizzie was not an iota less affectionate, but it could not be described as sisterly.
When Lizzie had been sent to finishing school in Switzerland, Annie had tried telling herself it was a blessing. She would be spared the daily torment of seeing Lizzie and the fight to keep her words and actions under control. But being around Lizzie had been the sweetest of torments, and her life had been so very empty without her, so lacking in joy.
With each passing month, Annie had told herself she was coming to terms with her feelings and was over the worst of it. She had been lying to herself. Deep inside she had known it all along, and if she hadn’t then, she would now, sitting alone with Lizzie in the dark summerhouse.
Lizzie had returned from Switzerland a month ago—a month that had passed at a hectic pace, catching up with old school friends and the like. Lizzie had spent more time out of the house than in it. Again Annie had lied to herself, saying they were adults, with utterly separate lives, and she did not want, and certainly did not expect, anything else. This meeting in the summerhouse was the first time they had exchanged more than a sentence and already the thin shell of self-deception was melting, like ice in a blast furnace. She had missed Lizzie, like a drowning man misses oxygen.
Annie felt her pulse race and her stomach tightened in a knot. Her mouth grew dry. She took a quick gulp of champagne. Unwise. Already she could feel the first faint blurring of alcohol. She put the glass down. Keeping her head clear was vital. “Why do you think your father is so much more serious this time?”
“Because he spent money on this party. Daddy never spends money unless
he’s serious.”
“What will happen if you refuse?”
“He’s threatened to cut off my allowance.”
“Do you think he will?”
Lizzie shrugged by way of answer.
“So what options do you have?”
Lizzie drained her glass and got to her feet. Annie’s heart jumped at the thought Lizzie was coming to sit beside her, but instead she stood in the doorway of the summerhouse, resting her shoulder on the frame, her back to Annie and stared out across the bay.
“Europe was wonderful. Not the school. That was a waste of time. Nothing of value, except I can now say ooh la la and
la dolce vita, which passes for sophistication around here, so Daddy’s pleased. But the places…”
Lizzie turned and rested her back against the door frame. Her gaze fixed on the ceiling, but Annie had the sense she wasn’t seeing it. Her mind’s eye was fixed on other scenes, other times. Annie waited for Lizzie to speak again.
“Europe’s nothing like here—the buildings, the people. The world is filled with so many places I want to see. Places I have to see.” Her eyes dropped, fixing on Annie. “Do you remember my camera?”
“Of course.” How could she forget it?
The camera had been a present for Lizzie’s fifteenth birthday. For the following two years, they had done nothing except play with this new toy. Lizzie had talked her father into equipping a small darkroom. Standing cramped together, in the dark, Annie had first begun to realize just how her feelings for Lizzie were changing, and what she wanted. And then everything had all become just too difficult.
The camera had not been a fad. Lizzie carried it everywhere with her. The cupboard in one of the spare rooms was filled with boxes upon boxes of photographs. Nor had Annie’s new understanding of herself been a fad. But in her case, it was her heart that was filled, with memory upon memory, and hopeless dreams.
Lizzie continued. “During the summer break they took us on the grand tour. France, Italy, Greece, the lot. It was supposed to make us cultured. But I have to tell you, some of the girls I was with, it was a complete lost cause. We went to Naples. The other girls who had cameras took snaps of Pompeii.”
“And you didn’t?”
“I gave the chaperones the slip one afternoon and wandered around downtown Naples. There was a fruit market. That’s what I photographed. Old women arguing over cabbages. Young men carrying barrels. A boy crouched down, peeking between a donkey’s legs. A baby sleeping in a makeshift crib sculpted from sacks of oranges.”
Annie couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds like you. Never doing what everyone else does. Do you have the photographs with you? I’d like to see them.”
“I’ve got a few prints, but I sold the negatives.”
“You sold them? Who to?”
“A magazine.” Lizzie’s tone gained a sharp edge of excitement and possibly pride. “It’s the first money I’ve ever made for myself.”
Things were becoming clearer, and Annie could guess where they were heading. “How long could you live on it?”
“Oh, not long at all. But the magazine said if I had other photographs, they’d like to see them.”
“You’re thinking you can make a career of it?”
“I don’t know. For the last year, I’ve been putting aside some money from my allowance. Daddy doesn’t know. It’ll see me through a short while, but beyond that…” She sighed. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
“And this is what you’re wanting my advice about?”
“Yes, Annie. What would you do if you were me?”
Wisdom be damned. Annie took a large mouthful of champagne, and then another. If Lizzie went, if she never saw her again, could she bear it? But how could she be less than fair? And what hope was there, even if Lizzie stayed? Either way, her own case was hopeless, but at least she could know she had been honest, she had been true. And at least one of them could be happy.
“For me, coming to America was a big step. But what with me Da not coming home from the war and me Ma with too many mouths to feed, there was nothing for me in Ireland. My aunt gave me the chance to come over with her, but I didn’t know what to do. So I asked my Gran, and you know what she said?”
Lizzie tilted her head to one side. The rhetorical question needed no answer.
“She said, in life it’s the things you don’t do you end up regretting the most. And my Gran was right. Life has been better for me here. I’d have been a fool to stay behind.”
“You think I should give the photography a go?”
“Yes. And I don’t think you’ve much to lose. Even if it doesn’t work out, if you came back with your tail between your legs I’m betting your father would welcome you back with open arms, just to show he’d been right all along.”
“But could I bear to give him that satisfaction?” Despite her words, Lizzie sounded happier.
“Then don’t fail.”
Lizzie’s answer was no more than the softest of laughs. Her body relaxed and her head dropped. For a long time she stayed in place. Clearly her thoughts moved to something else. At last she drew a deep breath and raised her head. “There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, Lizzie left the doorway and picked up the bottle to refill her glass. For a moment it looked as if she would reoccupy her previous spot, but after two hesitant half steps, first one way, and then the other, she crossed the summerhouse and threw herself down on the bench next to Annie, so close their knees were almost touching. Annie felt the tension flare up inside, her skin at the same time too hot yet icy cold. What more could there be? She clasped her hands together around her glass, frightened they would reach out of their own accord.
Lizzie held out the bottle. “You’re empty.”
Annie let her fill the glass, fighting so the trembling of her hands did not betray her. She risked a sideways glance. Lizzie was concentrating on the task, her lips pursed in concentration—like a kiss. When Lizzie leaned to put the bottle on the ground, Annie quickly looked away, before their eyes could meet.
“The places I’ll be traveling, they’re not always safe for a woman to go alone. Well, to be honest, they’re not too safe for anyone, sometimes. And I’ve got all my photographic equipment to carry, and I was wondering…”
Heart in mouth, Annie waited for Lizzie to continue. Normally, she might guess where Lizzie’s words were heading, but in taking the next step, were her own dreams feeding her false hope? When no more came, Annie gathered her courage, to finish the sentence, trying to pitch her voice so she could pass it off as a joke, if need be. “Are you saying you want someone to help carry your bags?”
Lizzie smiled in response, but the set of her lips was less confident than normal. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I want a companion, an assistant. Someone who can help me. Someone a bit more practical than me, and a bit more worldly wise.” She paused, staring down at her own hands, but then looked up. “Would you be willing to come with me, Annie?”
Annie felt her heart pound again, more fiercely than at any time that evening. It roared in her ears, but not loud enough to drown out, softly through the intervening years, her Gran’s voice and the advice she gave. It’s the things you don’t do you end up regretting the most.
Dare she say yes? If she did, how would she bear the months ahead, with Lizzie so close yet out of reach? But how could she live with herself if she didn’t? Annie’s mouth was painfully dry. Yet she drained her drink more in hope of summoning Dutch courage than for the sake of easing it. She put down the glass and faced Lizzie.
“I’ll come with you on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
Annie slid along the bench so their legs were in contact from knee to thigh. She was close enough to see the moonlight reflecting in Lizzie’s eyes, hear her breathe, smell the perfume on her skin and the alcohol on her breath. Close enough to see the pulse beating in Lizzie’s throat.
; “That you ask me again in one minute’s time.”
“What do you think is going to happen in the next minute to change my mind?”
“This.”
It was too late to debate the wisdom. Closing her eyes, Annie leaned forward. Her lips brushed softly against Lizzie’s before returning again, hard.
At the first touch, Lizzie flinched, but did not pull away. Her face and lips were frozen, possibly in outrage—Annie dared not open her eyes to see. Then Lizzie’s hand rose to Annie’s face. At first it seemed as if she was preparing to push Annie away, or slap her, but instead, at the last moment, it slipped behind Annie neck, pulling them yet closer. Their lips molded together.
It was the kiss Annie had fantasized about for years. The kiss that had haunted her dreams and tormented her days. This was what she wanted from Lizzie—wanted with all her heart and soul. She wrapped her arms around Lizzie, hugging her close. The solidity of Lizzie’s body against hers filled a gaping hole in her heart. If nothing else in her life ever went right, this was the moment she would draw on for the rest of her days, the moment that made living her life worthwhile.
At last they broke apart, both breathing deeply. Lizzie raised her hand to her mouth, as if to reassure herself that her lips were still her own. Her expression flitted between confusion, uncertainty and surprise. She stared at her fingers with the bewilderment of someone expecting to see something new and strange imprinted there, and then her eyes lifted to meet Annie’s. Slowly the confusion faded, replaced by the softest of smiles.
“Annie O’Donnell, will you run away with me?”
PALABRAS
Anna Meadows
The only secret I ever kept from Sawyer fit inside an orange crate.
She almost found it once, the day we moved in together. I had buried it in the backseat of my car, beneath my great-aunt’s quilts and the box that held my mixing bowls. When I saw Sawyer come up the stairs with that wooden crate my grandfather had painted the cobalt of a blue glass jar, my heart was tight as a knot in cherry wood.