And when he held on to her hand for the rest of the way down the steep mountain track, Lissa did not pull away.
Afterwards they ate scones and jam and drank tea at the Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel, which Lissa poured from a silver pot. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.
Summer passed in the blissful pursuit of uncomplicated happiness. It seemed to be filled with raspberries and ice cream, happy laughter and daring pursuits.
They often took one of the many footpaths or trails that traversed the heights around Carreckwater, Ambleside and Rydal. From those windy tops the visitors looked liked ants, riding the toy steamer up and down the lake.
Derry’s friends would often come along too, bringing their girlfriends to form a happy, relaxed group. They would spend whatever spare time they had either on the lake messing about in boats and dinghies, or high on the fells. Loughrigg was a favourite walk. Or they would explore the eastern sides of the lake, even so far as Jenkyn’s Crag, from where they had a wonderful view of the whole Windermere valley. Once they climbed right to the summit of Wansfell Pike, relishing the sparkle of clear fresh air after the dusty days confined to shop and office.
Derry made no move to repeat that magical kiss, which proved how little it had meant to him. Lissa took care to studiously avoid being anywhere alone with him, preferring to keep a safe distance between them at all times. She watched the other girls hang on his arm and told herself Derry Colwith was not her sort at all.
If she saw something like disappointment in Derry’s eyes she refused to let it trouble her. He was only playing a game, wanting to notch her up on his belt along with his other conquests. She was not so stupid.
In July she paid a fleeting visit home to Broombank, and found she could return quite happily to Carreckwater. She worked hard in the shop during the week, and the Sundays she wasn’t out with the gang she spent tidying the boathouse, or resting by the lake where she loved to hear the slip-slap of water against the shingle. Cooking a good meal for herself and Jan.
Once Lissa saw Philip Brandon eating his lunch on a bench by the lakeshore and she stopped for a chat. He seemed embarrassed to be caught doing anything so human as eating and she very nearly giggled out loud, only that would have been unkind.
‘I’ve been meaning to call upon you,’ he said in a rush and she took him to mean concerning the sale of Ashlea.
She was anxious suddenly. ‘I should have called on you. I’d rather you didn’t come to the shop.’
He looked attentive and sympathetic. ‘Of course. Then perhaps you could call at the office one evening next week?’
‘No problems I hope? Meg wrote to say that Nick was happy with the price.’
‘Everything is splendid. I need you only to sign some papers. Though I’m sure you could have got a touch more for it.’
Lissa shook her head. ‘I told you. The family have lived there for donkey’s years. It wouldn’t have been fair.’
Mr Brandon very kindly assured her that she might call upon him at any time, should she feel the need of advice. Lissa thought how much smarter he looked now summer was here. He’d stopped wearing that old fashioned trilby and given up the dull black suits. Today he was wearing pale grey and looked quite dashing.
‘You’ll soon think of me as a friend, I hope,’ he said, and Lissa felt grateful and humbled that he could spare her so much time from his busy schedule.
But even as she talked to him, her eyes lifted to scan the path that led out from the church yard through St Margaret’s Walk, in case Derry should appear as he sometimes did at lunchtime. ‘Must get to work,’ she said, backing off. ‘I’ll settle my account with you next week, if you’d like to have it ready.’
Then she whirled about and skipped away on light steps, looking so young and carefree it made his heart ache to watch her. He wished he’d thought to ask her out. What was the matter with him? He’d missed an ideal opportunity. Wished she’d look back and give him a bright wave then he could call her back, perhaps offer to take her for a sail.
But Lissa was too busy wondering where Derry was and feeling ridiculously disappointed that he hadn’t come.
But then why should she care? He was far too interested in himself anyway, in her opinion. If he wasn’t talking about his music and his guitar he was planning how he would win the Yacht Club races which were held every year in the first week of September.
‘Have you ever won one’!’ she had asked him.
‘No,’ he’d said, the light of battle in his eyes. ‘But I intend to. This is my year. I can feel it.’
When September came and the races were held it was Philip Brandon who won, as apparently he usually did. His yacht was so smart and fast Lissa didn’t wonder at it. Derry was disappointed, and vowed to persuade his father to help build him a better boat for next year.
‘I’d give anything just to win one race, so he couldn’t lord it over me in the office and make me feel so small. If I got a boat like his I could enter in the same class and maybe beat him.’ Derry’s eyes lit up. ‘God, that would be something.’
‘He wouldn’t like being beaten by his clerk,’ Jan warned. ‘I should stick with your dinghy if I were you.’
Lissa kept quiet, not understanding all the fuss. Later, Jan asked her to come to the Yacht Club dance and hear Derry and his group play but she refused.
‘I don’t think it’s really me.’
‘Aw, come on,’ Jan urged. She moved about their small home, closing windows against the growing chill of the September evening, clicking the latch on the door then shutting it firmly against the world. Lissa had lit the lamp and it was cosy here, by the fire. ‘He won’t take no for an answer, not this time. The group has never played at the Yacht Club before and they’ve been asked to fill in at the interval while the main band is taking a break. They’re a bit toffee-nosed up there, more into trad jazz, and he says he needs all the support he can get.’
‘Do you mean that rock ‘n’ roll stuff?’ Lissa asked, feeling herself weaken. She wished Derry no harm, for all his arrogance.
‘They play skiffle mainly, but some rock ‘n’ roll too. The dancing is pretty much the same.’
‘You go. I’ll be quite happy here. I could start to crochet that cover for the old arm chair.’
Jan pulled a face. ‘Or knit socks?’
Lissa’s lips curved into a smile. ‘Don’t mock. People in my dale are good at knitting socks. And sweaters. Meg and I spent hours each evening doing it. Sally Ann too.’
‘What a talented family you have.’
Lissa grinned. ‘Not really, there’s not much else to do up there.’
‘Well, we don’t knit socks in Carreckwater. In the evening we jive and rock. So do come, you’ll be an old woman in bed socks soon enough.’
‘But I don’t know how.’ There was a tremor of longing in Lissa’s voice and Jan burst out laughing.
‘Is that what this shyness is all about? Right, no time like the present.’ She selected ‘Hound Dog’ from her collection of 78s and put it on the record player. The music rang out with a tinny fervour, echoing wonderfully in the wooden building. What followed was the most hilarious hour and a half of Lissa’s life. She twirled and shook, jived and rocked, till her head was spinning and both girls fell gasping on to the rag rug.
But she agreed to attend her first dance.
Chapter Six
The dance floor was crowded when they arrived at the Yacht Club and Lissa very nearly changed her mind and went straight home again. She hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. Now they’d actually arrived, fighting for space against a tide of other girls in a stuffy cloakroom, Jan was urging her to put on some pink lipstick.
Lissa looked doubtful. ‘I’ve never worn lipstick.’ But seeing Jan’s expression, obediently took out a small mirror from her bag and complied. She did feel rather good in a lavender linen dress that had a small Peter Pan collar and turned back cuffs on the short capped sleeves. Its skirt was full, the waistline fitting
snugly, nipped in with a broad black belt.
Jan nudged her. ‘Look at these toffs coming in, all dressed up to the nines in their little bow ties. Lord, they look like penguins.’ She started to giggle. ‘I can’t see them getting up and dancing to our Derry’s racket, can you?’
Since Lissa hadn’t yet heard him play so felt unable to comment but they did seem somewhat forbidding, very stiff and formal. The two girls put their cloakroom tickets inside their shoes and headed for the dance floor.
It was crowded, hot and stuffy with a big silver ball hanging from the ceiling that sent little coloured lights all over the walls as it turned. The band was playing ‘Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing’, and a host of stout dowagers in stiff taffeta and satin were dancing, elbows at 45 degrees, with even stouter men in evening dress.
There were girls in long dresses with elbow-length gloves and matching satin slippers, and others like themselves in bright summer dresses. Such a rainbow of bouncy net petticoats that Lissa wondered how some couples could get near enough to dance together.
When the dance ended everyone stood about gossiping, as there weren’t enough chairs for everyone to sit down. Then the band struck up a cha-cha and there was much chatter and laughter as people started following each other to pick up the steps.
Jan went off to dance with a young man with a toothy grin while Lissa hid in a corner, hoping no one would notice her. It was a world far removed from the quiet fells of Broombank. Would she ever have the courage to get on to that floor herself? The prospect seemed too daunting.
A waltz followed, then a succession of quicksteps. Lissa could see Jan changing partners, clearly enjoying herself while she herself declined every offer. Privately she wished Derry would come and ask her to dance but knew he was too busy getting his skiffle group organised. She longed for the interval when she would see him up on stage.
The memory of that kiss rose in her mind, making her stomach go all wobbly. Yet she knew for a fact he’d been out with several girls since, so it was just as well she hadn’t thought too much of it.
Even so, she wanted tonight to go well for him and didn’t envy the skiffle group facing this lot. Lissa hoped he wasn’t dressed too outlandishly. Somehow she knew that she would be embarrassed if he looked too much the Teddy Boy.
‘Would you do me the honour of this dance?’
Startled, Lissa was about to refuse when she looked up into a familiar face. ‘Oh, Mr Brandon.’ He looked different, smartly attired in evening dress with a silk shirt and cummerbund. His best bib and tucker, as Jan would say.
‘It’s a slow waltz, not too difficult. I noticed you don’t seem too keen on dancing but you look far too lovely to hide away in a corner. Perhaps you would care to try? I’ll be most gentle with you, I promise.’ He smiled, which made him look younger somehow. Very debonair.
‘I’m not really hiding,’ Lissa protested, smiling shyly up at him. She didn’t want to appear a complete fool. ‘Well, perhaps I was, a bit. Thanks. I’ll give it a try if you don’t mind my two left feet.’ She placed her hand in his and let him lead her out on to the dance floor.
‘No legal matters tonight. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ she said, her smile warming.
He guided her with perfect expertise right around the floor, not once crashing into any other couples. Nor did he step on her toes or attempt to take liberties by pulling her too close. Lissa began to relax and enjoy herself, clinging tightly to his shoulders as he whirled her around. She couldn’t help noticing that his dark eyes rested upon her in a most admiring way.
When the music ended he didn’t take her back to her seat as expected but stood smiling down at her, chatting about the weather, saying how good the band were, waiting for the music to start again.
He talked to her all through the next dance and listened most carefully to her replies, as if he were truly interested. Though what he asked and how she answered Lissa could not afterwards recall.
‘You must remember something,’ Jan insisted as they exchanged notes over a Coca-Cola in the bar. ‘You do realise who you were dancing with, don’t you?’
Lissa looked puzzled. ‘Yes, of course. Philip Brandon. What of it?’
‘He’s not normally one for dancing. You must have caught his eye.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Lissa felt herself flushing.
‘He’s a very good dancer as a matter of fact. A real gentleman.’
‘He never goes out these days, though he used to at one time. Or so Derry says.’ Jan pulled Lissa close to whisper in her ear against the loud chatter of voices all about them, and above the music coming from the other room. ‘He was engaged, just after the war, to a girl called Felicity. Only she had some mysterious illness or other. Very highly strung and delicate apparently. He was supposed to be absolutely devoted to her but she died.’ Jan’s myopic eyes were wide as she nodded at Lissa’s expression of horror. ‘Found her drowned in the lake, just like the poor mad girl in that fairy story.’
‘What fairy story? You mean Ophelia? That was Shakespeare, not a fairy story,’ Lissa laughed. ‘Are you telling me the truth, Jan?’
‘Course I am.’ Jan looked affronted. ‘Just because I’m not informed on books and stuff, like you, doesn’t mean I don’t know the truth about life and death.’
‘Sorry. When did she die?’
‘About three years back.’
A wave of compassion for Philip Brandon washed through her. Why was life filled with pain? ‘How terrible. No wonder he looks sad.’
As they walked back on to the dance floor Lissa’s eyes circled the room and found him gazing across at her. She turned quickly away, blushing in scarlet confusion.
‘He’s been a lonely bachelor ever since, so watch out. Don’t get mixed up with him,’ Jan said.
‘Why not? He looks harmless enough.’
Jan wrinkled up her tiny nose. ‘He’s thirty.’
‘Then he’s probably learned a bit of sense,’ Lissa smartly replied.
As luck would have it, Philip Brandon chose that moment to ask for another dance. ‘How are you on the tango?’
‘My favourite dance for getting in a muddle,’ said Lissa, and cocked a cheeky grin at Jan’s stiff-faced disapproval as he led her out on to the floor.
‘But have you any sense, lass?’ Jan murmured.
The band departed at the end of the square tango. Lissa and Jan held their breath as Derry’s Skifflers sprinted on to the stage. Would he be successful? Would the Yacht Club members like him?
Lissa’s heart swelled with pride. He was dressed in smart narrow black trousers topped with a red silk shirt shot with silver thread, and a black bow tie. He carried a guitar which he started to pluck with something he held in his hand. Jan explained it was a pick, to save his fingers.
‘You should have seen them when he first started to learn. Made them bleed it did.’ But Lissa wasn’t listening. She was swaying to the lilt of the music, a Lonnie Donnegan number, thrilled by the skill with which Derry played, the way his hips swayed to the beat of the music. He looked so good up there, different from the young man in cords and sweater. It was hard to work out what kind of a person Derek Colwith really was.
Her eyes shone, her smile widened, and she nodded her head and tapped her pointed toes in time to the music. It was pulsing and irresistible. Yet the dance floor remained empty.
There were five in the group. One other guitar, played by Tony who strummed the chords while Derry picked out the melody. John, who rattled a washboard with dancing fingers tipped with silver thimbles. Another boy was getting a surprisingly rhythmic and pulsing beat from a single string attached to a tea chest and broom handle, while the fifth member of the group played his heart out on a set of drums. Even if Lissa had not known the hours they’d spent in practice she would have been able to tell. They were good, no doubt about it, they deserved to be appreciated.
‘Why didn’t I come before?’ she shouted to Jan, clapping her hands in time to the b
eat. ‘They’re great.’
Jan grinned delightedly. ‘Told you. Think of all those dances you’ve missed, sitting at home being sad.’
Lissa realised Jan had guessed her unhappiness but had made no comment on it. But she wasn’t miserable now. Oh no, this was glorious, this was living. Just to listen to this music made you feel happy.
She glanced about the room and found that the stuffy, over formal Yacht Club types were not even paying any attention to the skiffle group playing their hearts out. They stood about in tight little groups, their backs to the stage as they chatted to each other and laughed too loud. It was as if the group didn’t exist.
‘Why aren’t they dancing?’ forgetting that only a short time ago she had been the retiring wallflower, reluctant to join in.
Jan’s face was grim. ‘They wanted a trad jazz group in the interval and since they didn’t get one, they’re determined to make their feelings known. They like to imagine themselves above this sort of music. Derry was afraid it might be like this. If no one dances, the MC will get fed up and could sack the group on the spot. Then they mightn’t get paid and certainly wouldn’t be asked again.’
The prospect of Derry failing, of not being liked by this crowd, had not until that moment occurred to Lissa.
‘Then we must do something.’
‘What can we do?’
‘We must make them dance,’ Lissa said.
‘Oh, yeah? How? Brought your magic wand, princess?’
Lissa spoke without even thinking, aware only of the expression of pain and discomfort that was tightening Derry’s face, of the faltering beat as unease began to affect his confidence. ‘If no one else will dance, then we must. We’ll shame them into it.’
‘Go out there alone, you mean?’ Jan sounded appalled.
‘Come on, don’t just stand there. Action is called for.’ The two girls’ eyes met and mischievous excitement bubbled out of Lissa. She could have been that young girl again, daring Nick to catch her a jar of fish.
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