Lily shot out of her chair, her eyes flashing angrily. ‘I don’t know what the hell’s got into you, Max Holcroft,’ she said between gritted teeth, ‘but you’d better shut your mouth before I shut it for you!’
Max’s mouth fell open. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were so smitten.’ He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I know what that’s like, Lily, and I just hope Ronan’s worth it.’
‘What does that mean? What have you heard that’s turned you against Ronan? I thought you liked him.’
Max shrugged. ‘I told you that first day he was a mystery – I guess I know more about him now than I did then.’
‘What do you know, Max?’ demanded Lily. ‘What do you know about Ronan Carver that’s made you dislike him?’
A shadow fell over her and Ronan’s voice fell between them. ‘Trying to decide whether I’m still worth knowing, are you, Lily?’
She spun around, her cheeks flaming scarlet. ‘No! Of course not. I don’t care what other people think!’
‘Really?’ he said, and she could hear the mockery in his voice. ‘So, not interested in what friends or grandmothers might think of me, then?’
Lily didn’t think she could blush any harder. She wanted to talk to Ronan alone – to explain that she hadn’t meant to desert him, that her grandmother wasn’t really such a terrible person, that Lily hadn’t stopped thinking of him since Saturday and that she really, really cared for him . . .
There was so much to say, but she was uncomfortably aware of Max, listening intently to their exchange, and in the end, all she said was, ‘We need to talk.’
She knew it sounded cold and flat but she hoped Ronan would read the message in her eyes and not be offended. She gazed into his frosty green eyes, her own soft and pleading, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘No, I don’t think we do,’ he said stiffly and walked away.
‘Let him go, Lily,’ said Max. ‘I’m telling you, he’s not –’ but Lily didn’t wait to hear Max’s opinion of Ronan Carver.
She caught him just as he was leaving the dining hall. ‘Please, Ronan, can’t we talk?’
He stopped, and she saw something flicker in his eyes. Was it hope?
‘Okay,’ he said after a long pause. ‘Meet me in the tower tonight.’
She stared at him, her heart thudding as she said the words she knew he would almost certainly take the wrong way. ‘I – I can’t, Ronan,’ said Lily. ‘I’m truly sorry, but Grandmama is taking me out –’
He scowled. ‘Of course, she is. I should have known.’
‘I can meet you tomorrow night,’ offered Lily.
‘No, that’s okay. Forget it.’
She looked at him in dismay. ‘But – but I want to meet you and I need to explain.’
He frowned. ‘No, Lily. You don’t need to explain a thing. I totally get it.’
She laid an urgent hand on his arm. ‘No, Ronan, you don’t get it and you have to let me explain. Please!’ she whispered in an undertone as a couple of Dragons came into the hall. ‘Meet me in the tower tomorrow night.’
He gazed down at her, his green eyes dim and sober, and she felt his hand cover hers, gently prising her fingers from his arm. She suddenly remembered how he’d done the same thing the day of the Depiction, then held her hand in his.
‘All right, I’ll meet you,’ he said, and released her hand.
CHAPTER 36
On Wednesday night, Lily made sure she got to the tower early, but Ronan was already there.
He was busy at the easel and did not look up straight away.
Lily stood on the threshold for a moment watching him. His hair had grown a little longer in the weeks since they’d first met and she wondered if he would get it cut. She tried to imagine him with shorter hair and decided that, long or short, he would still look as tempting as he did now.
She stepped forward and Ronan looked up; it was only then that Lily realised what he was doing.
‘Y–you’re packing up?’ she asked in a faltering voice.
‘I think it’s better,’ said Ronan. ‘For both of us.’
‘No, Ronan, please. You have to let me explain about Grandmama. What happened on Saturday was a mistake. She got it all wrong and she said terrible things, but only because she doesn’t know you. If she could just meet you . . .’
He laughed, a derisive, scornful laugh that cut Lily to the heart. ‘Yeah, I can see that happening.’ He put on a posh accent, ‘Do you take tea, Mr Carver? Will that be one lump or two?’ He shook his head, pulled the black cloth from the window, wrapped his paintbrushes in it and pushed them carefully into his backpack.
‘Grandmama’s not a snob,’ protested Lily. ‘Not really. Okay, I can see how she must have appeared that way at the White Hart but that’s because – because she wasn’t expecting to see me or – or you – especially not in a bath towel!’ added Lily, trying to make him smile.
He did smile, but not in the way she wanted. It was a cynical smile, full of hurt and disillusionment. ‘So you reckon that if your grandma met me somewhere else and I was wearing clothes she’d welcome me with open arms, think I was the ideal boyfriend, introduce me to all her posh friends?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Grandmama would love you if she knew you, Ronan.’
‘You’re delusional!’ he snapped, sweeping palette knives, spray bottles, scissors, spatulas and sponges off the shelf into a plastic bag and dropping it on the floor.
‘I’m not!’ said Lily. ‘If you’d just give her a chance to talk to you, get to know you, see your art even, Grandmama would discover that you’re not what she thinks! She might even be able to help you.’
‘Help me?’ scoffed Ronan. ‘Sure, she’d help me right back to the council flat where she thinks I belong.’
‘She wouldn’t! Grandmama’s not like that – she’s different from anyone I know and she’s interested in young people and art and fashion and – and loads of other things. Okay, so she behaved badly on Saturday but that’s because she didn’t know – she had no warning that –’
‘– that her granddaughter was going out with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks?’ asked Ronan, his voice dangerously quiet.
‘No – I mean, I can see how it looks that way, Ronan, but the fact is you don’t know Grandmama any more than she knows you and – and –’ Lily put her hands on her hips and looked him in the eyes. ‘The truth is, you’re judging her the way she judged you – without knowing anything about her!’
He paused in his packing. ‘Okay, fair comment. But even if I liked your grandmother, so what? She’s already decided I’m not good enough for her precious granddaughter.’
‘Don’t say that!’ cried Lily, distressed.
‘Why not? It’s what she thinks,’ said Ronan tersely.
‘Well, she’s wrong and we just have to show her –’
Ronan kicked the bag of painting things savagely across the room. ‘We have to show her nothing!’ he snarled. ‘I don’t have to justify myself to anyone! I know who I am, Lily, and I don’t need you or your grandmother or anyone else to approve of me or like me or be there for me!’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ retorted Lily. ‘I get it, I get that no one can know the real Ronan Carver, and I get that you’re mad because your dad betrayed you and your mum and ended up in prison and you’ve both suffered ever since!’ She took a breath and said gently, ‘But it doesn’t work to stand apart and try to keep real people and the real world at bay. You taught me that, Ronan.’
He stared at her for a long moment and then, to her surprise, he laughed, a strange, bitter laugh that made her stomach turn over.
‘You think I stand apart,’ he said, his eyes gleaming. ‘That’s pretty funny.’
‘Why?’ asked Lily, her heart thudding uncomfortably as Ronan reached up and pulled the dust sheet off the easel.
‘You have the whole world at your feet, Lily de Tourney,’ replied Ronan, lifting the canvas from the easel a
nd turning it round to face her. ‘But you still choose to hide up here in the tower, and wait for people like your dad and your grandmother and Arathula Dane to tell you who you are and how you’ll live and what you can achieve when you should be deciding for yourself!’
Lily would have liked to argue, but the painting literally took her breath away.
At its centre were two exquisitely painted Madonna figures. They sat back to back with their faces turned to the front so that they gazed directly at the viewer. The figure on the left had a thick fall of golden hair that fell almost to the floor; her wide blue eyes were full of tears, but on her lap she held Thalia’s mask of comedy. The figure on the right wore her hair in a golden coronet that wound around her head; her eyes were bright and a faint smile lingered on her full red lips, while on her lap lay Melpomene’s mask of tragedy.
The women were almost Renaissance-like: each of them painted with fine, delicate brushstrokes; their ethereal, translucent beauty a stark, almost shocking, contrast to the great grey stone tower that loomed, huge and forbidding, behind them. The tower was painted in thick, heavy layers, its surface scratched and textured so that the stones looked real. It gave the painting a strange, three-dimensional quality, as though the two women were both inside and outside – trapped and free. The picture was majestic and claustrophobic, exhilarating and terrifying, and unlike anything Lily had ever seen.
‘Is . . . is it me?’ she whispered.
Ronan turned the painting around and gazed at it for a moment. ‘You inspired it,’ he said.
‘It’s amazing,’ said Lily softly. She looked directly at him. ‘You’re amazing. I think you’re the most amazing guy I’ve ever known and I don’t want to lose your friendship because of some stupid misunderstanding.’
‘You think your grandmother’s reaction to me was a misunderstanding?’ demanded Ronan incredulously. ‘Sorry, Lily, but it’s way more than that.’ He stared down at her. ‘This is two worlds colliding. Your world and my world – two separate, totally different entities that are not meant to invade each other’s orbits.’
‘No –’ began Lily, but Ronan interrupted.
‘No matter what you say, nothing will ever alter that fact.’ He stared at her, stony-faced. ‘I’d love to be with you, Lily, but I’m pretty sure this is where it ends.’
‘No, Ronan, I –’ Tears rolled down Lily’s cheeks.
‘I want you to have the painting,’ he said abruptly, holding it out to her.
‘I don’t want it,’ answered Lily.
‘Suit yourself,’ replied Ronan, shrugging. He put the painting back on the easel, then reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, crudely wrapped package. He held it out to her. ‘I carved this after we’d been to the Third Dimension. If you won’t take the painting, then maybe you’ll take this.’
Lily stared at him, her eyes bright with tears. ‘I don’t want anything that means goodbye.’
‘So think of it as a souvenir of the night you got out of the tower,’ said Ronan. He pressed the parcel into her hand, then bent down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, Lily D.’
He wheeled away, his face grim, his hair whipping against the collar of his jacket.
Lily put out her hand to stop him, but he moved too quickly. His long strides took him from her faster than she could think.
She wanted to run after him and throw her arms around him, to inhale the smell of leather and linseed oil that she knew she would forever associate with Ronan Carver. She wished they could ride away on his motorbike and go back to the churchyard to sit beneath the linden tree; just the two of them, safe and alone, telling each other their secrets . . .
‘What about the painting?’ she cried, hoping he would turn back.
‘I’ll come back for it,’ said Ronan as he strode through the doorway. A moment later, he was gone.
Lily didn’t know how long she stood there, waiting, praying that Ronan would change his mind and come back to her.
Eventually, she turned away from the door and dropped dolefully onto the window seat, his final gift held tightly in her hand.
She stared at it blindly for several minutes, reluctant to open it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be reminded of the wonderful night when she’d taken a leap of faith and followed Ronan Carver into the unknown.
Eventually, she unwrapped the paper and saw at once that it was another carving.
This time it was a tiny tower, its brickwork and crenellations incredibly detailed, its large, open arched window a replica of the one behind her and, climbing from the window, her long hair falling away as she abseiled down the side of the building, was Lily.
CHAPTER 37
Thursday passed in a gloomy haze of misery. The only bright spot was when the Dane actually told her that her Puck had ‘presence’. The rest of the time Lily couldn’t stop thinking about Ronan and how to fix things between them.
By lunchtime on Friday she’d reached the point of imagining myriad crazy schemes – all of which ended with Ronan being enthusiastically embraced by her family. Unfortunately, her distraction earned her more than one rebuke from her teachers.
‘Goot Gott, Lily, I haff seen a block of concrete viz more fluidity zan you!’ snapped Mr Dreyfuss, rudely interrupting her vision of Ronan rescuing her from a burning building and thereby earning her grandmother’s undying gratitude.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, trying not to blush as she pushed Ronan from her mind.
But it was impossible not to think about him and by the time lunch was over, she’d actually started wondering whether she could convince Henri to help her kidnap Ronan and take him to the Comtesse’s reception, where she would force the Comtesse to talk to him properly.
‘What time is Henri picking us up?’ asked Charlotte as they left the dining hall and headed to Art Class.
‘Sorry?’ said Lily, dragging herself away from the mental image of her grandmother welcoming Ronan into her home.
‘Tonight’s reception. At your grandmother’s. What time will Henri be here?’ repeated Charlotte patiently.
‘Seven o’clock.’
‘Dinner’s in the dining hall at six, but I think we should skip it. We’ll need time to get ready,’ said Charlotte. She darted a worried glance at Phoebe and Gemma a few yards ahead. ‘What are we going to tell them?’ she whispered. ‘It’s not like we can get all dressed up without them knowing.’
‘We’ll tell them the truth,’ said Lily.
‘Okaaay,’ said Charlotte doubtfully. ‘Only, won’t they be –’
‘And we’ll invite them to come with us,’ added Lily.
‘But they’re not members of the Debutante Club,’ objected Charlotte. ‘Won’t your grandmother be angry if we invite a couple of random strangers?’
‘They’re not random strangers, Charlotte.’ Lily stopped abruptly and faced her. ‘Phoebe and Gemma are our friends and that should be good enough for Grandmama and Binky and anyone else who might be there tonight!’
‘You’re right,’ approved Charlotte, nodding. ‘I just hope that Mummy and the Comtesse agree.’
‘We’ll just have to make them,’ said Lily. ‘Besides what are they going to do? Throw us out?’
‘I guess not,’ replied Charlotte. ‘But if they do,’ she smiled wickedly, ‘we can go out clubbing instead.’
‘Great idea,’ said Lily, ‘except we’d never get in.’
‘I don’t know,’ murmured Charlotte as they entered the art room. ‘The four of us, dressed to the nines – you in that divine Vidal evening gown – I think we’d get in just about anywhere.’
‘It is gorgeous, isn’t it?’ said Lily, only half-listening to Miss Potter’s instructions for painting the scenery for Act III of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, as she pictured the stunning gold evening gown.
‘Are you kidding?’ enthused Charlotte. ‘That dress would knock a bouncer between the eyes. Heck, it’d knock any man for six.’
‘I guess –’ Lily broke off as a s
udden thought burst like a glorious firework inside her head. The gown her grandmother had had made for her was the most beautiful dress Lily had ever seen – maybe if Ronan saw her in it . . .!
She thought of how she’d felt in the Vidal dress when she’d tried it on at Grandmama’s apartment. It was made of a rich gold silk with tiny plaited shoulder straps and a low, fitted neckline that accentuated the curve of her breasts and the line of her shoulders. The skirt was full, with shimmering silken layers that cascaded to the floor like a swirling, golden waterfall.
When she’d looked at herself in the mirror, Lily had felt transformed.
The gown was now upstairs in her room, all ready to wear to the Comtesse’s reception. What if she sent Ronan a message, asking him to meet her downstairs before Henri arrived?
Surely, if she could get him alone, dressed like that, with her hair falling down her back the way he liked, he’d at least listen to her.
Lily picked up a pot of paint and began dabbing it on the canvas, oblivious to the Duck’s instructions as she imagined Ronan’s expression when he saw her . . .
As soon as Art Class was over, Lily decided, she’d cut out of Mime and run over to Pendragon with a note for Ronan asking him to meet her at the front entrance just before seven. She’d ask the porter – Dawson? No, Dawkins – she’d ask Dawkins to deliver it and give him ten pounds to ensure Ronan got it. If she could only see him before she left for Grandmama’s reception, maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to come with her . . .
For the next ten minutes, Lily’s imagination ran wild and it was only when a voice suddenly cried, ‘Blue? Blue! Not blue!’ that she snapped back to reality. Looking up she found the Duck beside her, her face pale with horror as she stared at the unicorn Lily had just painted bright blue.
‘What are you doing, Lily?’ demanded the art director. ‘The unicorn is Titania’s mystical steed. It cannot be blue!’
‘Oops,’ said Lily, trying to ignore Charlotte and Phoebe, who were falling about with laughter.
The Rapunzel Dilemma Page 26