Fragile Wings

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “Yes, why?” Evelyn asked, feeling defensive.

  “No reason. Only you look a little flushed.”

  “I expect it’s the excitement of being in a place like this. And of course, I’m a little tired.”

  “Yes. I’m sure a cup of tea will revive you. Plus, I’m fairly sure that the Sitwells are here, at the table right over by the wall. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “I’m not sure I know who they are.” Evelyn only half listened to Lilian’s enthusiastic explanation of who the Sitwell family were and why it was exciting to see them. Her thoughts had returned to Jos Singleton. To the way thinking about Jos made her feel, quite unexpectedly. Her head was light, her heart beating a little faster, and she was suddenly warm in a way that made her skin prickle. A queer sort of excitement rippled through her body. She had never thought of another person and felt this way. If this was how it felt to be attracted to someone, Evelyn suspected she was attracted to Jos. She should be alarmed by this, she realised. And yet it did not seem at all alarming. It seemed rather exciting and modern.

  Chapter Ten

  In her desire to return to the Yellow Orchid, Evelyn was frustrated for several days. She did not want to ask outright that they return, since she suspected Lilian would question her reasons. Explaining that she was fascinated to see Jos Singleton again was not something Evelyn expected to be well received by Lilian, who had not seemed particularly favourable towards Jos previously. So she remained silent on the subject and hoped to be taken to the cafe soon.

  In those days, Lilian took Evelyn to see some of the sights of London. They visited the Victoria and Albert Museum and the Natural History Museum. On another occasion Evelyn was delighted to see Nelson on his column above Trafalgar Square and to walk the short distance to see the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. Lilian could not be prevailed on to enter the Abbey to view the illustrious tombs inside, but Evelyn was still excited to finally gaze at buildings she’d previously only read about or seen photographs of. Around every corner was a famous address or statue, a museum she’d never believed she would have a chance to explore. As the days passed, she still found it difficult to believe the reality of it. She was in London.

  Her only source of growing consternation was the lack of news from home. Worlds apart from West Coombe though she was, part of her mind was always there, wondering what her family were doing. Edward was uppermost in her thoughts, but she could not help but think of her parents too, and of Michael and Annie. Were they thinking of her? Or was she so in disgrace, so beyond the pale, that she was not worth a thought? The notion made her feel cold. However much she craved this new life in London, it was painful to be disconnected from everything she had known, perhaps even rejected from that world now.

  Of course, Edward would not be able to write to her. But she had expected that at least one of her letters would receive a reply, even if only an expression of anger and disappointment. Perhaps Michael expressing his heartbreak, her mother hoping she was safe but letting her know how angry her father was. At the very least she expected something from Annie. The total silence from home was all too easy to interpret as a lack of care or concern, and this gave her sadness a touch of resentment. Perhaps they barely noticed she was missing, or were even glad that she was gone.

  In her quiet moments, Evelyn found these feelings were beginning to intrude more and more. In an effort to occupy her mind, she began to read the books Lilian had lent to her. To begin with, she picked The Rainbow, which, as a work of fiction, appealed to her the most. She was also fairly sure she’d heard of it, or at least of its author, Mr. Lawrence, at some point. Though the cover illustration suggested a light romance, she found the novel rather difficult to read. What seemed to be an account of several generations of the same family, their lives and loves, in the Nottinghamshire countryside, became far more intense and philosophical than the story warranted, and she grew rather frustrated. Perhaps she wasn’t intelligent enough, or modern enough, to read such a book. She had only made it through about a quarter of the novel when she laid it aside and looked to the other volume Lilian had given her.

  She took up the slim volume of Ideal Marriage. Just contemplating the subject matter made her nervous. Her mother would have surely told her she was evil for even considering opening the pages. And yet, frightened though she found herself over what she would learn, she was intrigued too, determined to banish the stupid innocence that so set her apart from women like Lilian. So she took a deep breath and began to read.

  Once she began to read, she did not stop until the fading light in her room brought her attention back to the passage of time. The text, expressed as creatively as a work of fiction, showed her an aspect to the world she had barely considered. She read every word, learned every lesson. The text told her the anatomy of the sex act, the physiology of the body’s response to arousal. The illustrated plates, rather artificially coloured in shades of orange, brown, and grey, revealed to her the secrets of her own body, showed her what a man’s body looked like. What surprised her was that nothing she read was frightening. The author described a process by which married couples grew closer, by which they found mutual pleasure in each other. How could it be wrong to understand such a primal function of her own body? She was angry at her mother, at the other women who could have educated her, for not sharing their understanding with her. Or perhaps they did not truly understand either. Ideal Marriage suggested there were many, many marriages which were far from this ideal and could, in fact, be torturous for both parties. Was that what Annie experienced? Her own parents? If she had married Michael?

  Relief flooded through her veins as she contemplated this. Chained to Michael, she might never have known that there was a realm of pleasure entirely hidden from her. Might have made him equally unhappy.

  As she dwelt on the idea, she found she began to understand Lilian’s point of view. If there was such pleasure to be attained, why did the ceremony of marriage actually matter? Of course, it was a sin to do something so indecent. And there was the fundamental fact that the act of sex was intended to produce a child for happily married parents. But Evelyn was not sure she would ever be married. And if that was the case, would she never experience the pleasure the book told her about? Or was it worth a risk? Lilian seemed to think so, Dorothy too. Neither seemed like bad women, or to be suffering any adverse consequences. The world was moving on, perhaps.

  The author then implied that anything other than intercourse between opposite sexes was abnormal. Unavoidably, Evelyn’s mind was drawn to Clara and Courtney, to Jos. Lilian and James certainly spoke of them and their desire for those of their own sex as abnormal. And yet, to converse with them, to watch them, they did not seem at all strange or wrong. Their desires seemed just as normal as any a woman might feel for a man. And now she understood the sex act, she found herself wondering about those women who loved each other. Surely they found ways of experiencing these mutual pleasures too? The book made it clear that sex was not purely about intercourse. If men and woman could tease each other’s bodies for the purposes of fulfilling desire and arousal, women could certainly do the same for each other. A woman’s fingers could find the same places a man’s could, her lips would be just as tender.

  The image of Jos Singleton came back into her mind, uncalled for. And Evelyn felt a hot, forbidden curiosity that might just be, she thought, real desire.

  *

  In the same afternoon as she finished reading Ideal Marriage, and with it taking up rather a lot of her consciousness, Evelyn realised for the first time that she needed to worry about James Grainger.

  James was not a large part of her days in London. After a shared breakfast, he was away at his architectural practice until early evening. She admired how hard James worked. Lilian’s idleness demonstrated that the family were wealthy enough not to require a salary to maintain them, yet James seemed to enjoy the process of earning his living. He certainly enjoyed architecture with a passion. Several of their
dinner conversations were about architects he admired. He considered himself a modernist and very much disliked the heavy, backward-looking Gothic revival of the end of the last century. Evelyn thought James the least modern of her new acquaintances, so she was quite surprised to learn this. He relished straight lines, geometrical shapes and decoration, and was excited by the stylistic influences of Ancient Egypt, used in a modern way. His firm was currently involved in building a new factory for a large tobacco company, who wanted a building to increase their prestige and demonstrate just what an up-to-date firm they were. James was clearly proud of his work.

  These conversations warmed Evelyn towards James. Although he remained rather awkward, it was a revelation to begin to understand the artistic streak that informed his technical work. James was every bit as engaged with the giddy, fast-paced London world as Lilian, only he looked on socialising and personal fashion as frivolities, preferring the permanence of bricks and stone and glass. As she saw more of his character, Evelyn found him easier to converse with and began to be glad when he returned home in the evenings, saving her from Lilian’s talk of dresses and jazz and ceaseless gossip about people she’d never met.

  On the evening that Evelyn finished reading Ideal Marriage, Lilian had gone out to visit an acquaintance who had the sheet music for a new song she wanted to sing at the Yellow Orchid. Evelyn was alone in the house when James arrived home. By the time he arrived, she had made her way to the sitting room, where Grace had brought her a pot of tea. She was glancing over Lilian’s latest edition of Vogue, admiring some of the colour plates, when she heard the front door open. A glance at the clock told her it was James, though he was a little earlier than most days. She listened as he removed his coat and hat in the hallway. Then the door opened and she turned to smile at him.

  “Good evening,” she said.

  “Good evening, Evelyn.” James came fully into the room. Evelyn could smell the smoke of a winter evening in London clinging to his clothes and hair, felt a chill of outside follow him into the room. “No Lilian?”

  “She went to visit someone, somewhere.” Evelyn smiled wryly. “I have to admit I can’t keep up with everyone she visits. I was invited but I stayed home to read instead.”

  “You have had a busy few days. With all the sightseeing.”

  “Yes, I’ve loved it though. I just wanted an easier day today.”

  “Naturally. Lilian’s rather madcap I’m afraid—she’s always been that way. I think in some ways, you and I”—he looked at her hesitantly—“are more similar to each other than you are to her.”

  Evelyn’s guard went up in a way it would not have done without that awkward pause in James’s statement. “Well, I think we both like a quieter life than Lilian,” she said cautiously.

  “Yes.”

  Evelyn wondered if there was going to be anything more. His face was pink, but she reasoned that he’d just been in the cold evening air.

  “It is a shame that I am at work so often. I should like to show you the sights of London myself. I thought perhaps I could take some leave.” He ended with a hopeful smile, making only brief eye contact before he looked away at something on the carpet.

  Evelyn felt a knot of nerves in the pit of her stomach. She was all too aware of the implications of James’s words, innocent though they seemed. He was not the sort of man to suggest sightseeing for the sake of it. He wanted to spend more time with her. And she was dependent on James’s hospitality for her accommodation in London.

  “That would be nice.” She was not lying, she told herself. She liked James. Only now she cursed herself for letting on that she was interested in his work, for softening her manner with him. Clearly she had hinted at something she had not meant. “I wouldn’t expect you to spend time with me instead of being at work though. Your work is important.”

  “Yes, it is. But we have a lull coming up, while they lay the foundations of the factory. Won’t be much for me to do for a week or so.”

  “Oh, well, then surely you need a rest, some time to relax. I couldn’t take that away from you.” Evelyn was increasingly concerned. She couldn’t reject James before he had even suggested more than a simple day’s sightseeing. And yet somehow she felt she needed to turn him away from this path now, before he progressed any further along it.

  “I would find it relaxing to spend time with you, Evelyn. I enjoy your company. I don’t feel as though we’ve been able to get to know each other yet.”

  “That’s true,” she admitted reluctantly, struggling for anything to add.

  “And I would like to get to know you further.” This time he maintained the eye contact with her and Evelyn did not like what she saw. He seemed to be making an assumption at the same time as fearing rejection. Evelyn looked away, finding her gaze settling on the brown pinstripe pattern of his suit jacket. Her mind was racing for an appropriate response, struggling to avoid a feeling of repulsion. It was not that James himself was repulsive but the idea of any kind of intimacy with him was so uncomfortable it was almost repulsive.

  “I would like that,” she found herself saying, before she could help it. What else could she say? James had power over her, she was living in his house. Anger, at herself, burned inside her. Why was it so difficult to say no? She’d been unable to reject Michael face to face, and now James too. Why did they assume she would be interested and why could she not disabuse them of the notion as soon as it arose?

  “Excellent.” James was clearly pleased, probably misinterpreting her discomfort as coyness. “Shall we say one day next week then? Perhaps we can visit the British Museum and take lunch close by.”

  “Yes.” Evelyn still avoided looking directly at James. She was relieved when she heard the front door open and the distinctive sound of Lilian’s heeled shoes on the tiled hallway floor. Moments later, Lilian, still in her outdoor hat and coat, breezed into the sitting room.

  “Oh, smashing, you’re both here! I’ve got a new song to sing which is just the cat’s pyjamas, I can’t wait for you to both hear it. I want to go and see Vernon tomorrow and run the idea past him. Do you fancy coffee at the Yellow Orchid tomorrow afternoon, Evie? I’ll ask Dorothy along too. Plus, we can find out what the New Year’s plans are. It’s always a top-hole evening at the Orchid.”

  “That would be lovely,” Evelyn said with enthuasiasm. Suddenly the idea of visiting the Yellow Orchid was more appealing because she knew James disliked the place. “I’ve been wanting to go back there.”

  “Excellent! Now, is it dinner time? I’m famished.” Lilian left the room to remove her coat and hat. Evelyn glanced briefly at James and then hurried after her, before he could speak again. Over dinner, she found her appetite much reduced, as a new tension clenched her insides. As if she did not have enough to make her anxious, with the beginnings of a new life in London, now she had to worry about James too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lilian and Evelyn arrived at the Yellow Orchid just after half-past two in the afternoon. Considering Lilian had told Dorothy they would meet her at two, it was no wonder, Evelyn thought, that Dorothy looked a little less than friendly. However, that seemed to be Dorothy’s default expression, so she tried not to be intimidated. She’d liked Dorothy when they’d first met, so there was no reason to be timid of her now.

  The Yellow Orchid looked a little different by day, although the windows at the front were not large, so it was still largely illuminated by the electric lights around the walls. The yellow light was tempered by what daylight did creep in, making the room seem brighter but also a little colder. The clientele were less colourful and less exuberant, and there were far more empty tables. Lilian did not receive greetings from the daytime coffee drinkers, although she still walked across to Dorothy as though she were the queen of the establishment.

  Dorothy did not bother to rise to her feet to welcome them. Instead she looked cooly up at Lilian. “Afternoon, Lilian. When will I learn to add at least a decent half hour onto any plans we make? Or si
mply to forget time entirely, since you seem to exist in your own world, free of such cares? Afternoon, Evie. Waiting for her to dress, were you?”

  Evelyn could not help but smile. “Good afternoon. Something like that.” Dorothy was exactly right. Lilian had been dressed and ready in one lilac dress before she’d decided it was making her skin appear sallow and disappeared to return in a navy and cream striped suit. Her skin had looked much the same to Evelyn, but Lilian had been much happier. For her part, Evelyn had borrowed one of Lilian’s jackets to complement her grey skirt and added a dark jade velvet scarf which Lilian had given her, saying she never wore it herself so Evelyn might as well keep it. She was used to Lilian’s disapproval of her appearance by now and was beginning to accept that one did not have to dress exactly as Lilian did to get by in the capital.

  Lilian and Evelyn sat in the seats opposite Dorothy, who was smoking but did not seem to have ordered a drink yet. A waiter was with them in moments—not Clive, who had served them previously, but a rather younger man with pale blond hair, who seemed quite nervous of their party.

  “Coffee, please, black,” Dorothy said.

  “Coffee for me too, but could you bring cream please. Evie?”

  Evelyn had only previously consumed coffee on one or two occasions and had no preferred way of taking it. “Coffee with cream for me too, please.” If it was what Lilian drank, she reasoned, it could not be too unpleasant.

  As the waiter went away to fetch their coffee, Evelyn was aware of Dorothy looking at her from across the table. “So, my dear, it looks like London suits you. How are you finding it?”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful,” Evelyn replied enthusiastically. “I’ve seen an awful lot of sights and Liliian’s been very kind.”

  “I try my best, darling.” Lilian smiled.

  “It’s quite out of character, I assure you,” Dorothy retorted. “You’re honoured.”