Fragile Wings

by Rebecca S. Buck

  So now, when she smiled at Clara, it was a smile that held a certain confidence. Nervous though she was when greeting new people, and intimidating though it was to be looked at by a roomful of women she did not know, she did not feel out of place. Clara’s and Courtney’s welcome made it even easier to feel relaxed. They were pleased to see her, and they seemed to be pleased to see her with Jos too. She liked the idea of their approval.

  “I’m not a scotch drinker,” she replied to Clara. “So what do you recommend?”

  Clara grinned. “Dangerous tactics, Evelyn.”

  “Now, Clara, I didn’t bring Evelyn here to be corrupted by you,” Jos said.

  “Oh, how dreadfully disappointing,” Clara replied, with a wink at Evelyn.

  “I don’t think Courtney would approve of you corrupting anyone except her,” Jos pointed out, as Courtney crossed the room to join them.

  “Are you talking about me? Should my ears be burning?”

  “Talking about me, not you, sweetest.” Clara wrapped an arm around Courtney’s shoulders.

  “We were discussing Clara’s corrupting influence, actually,” Jos said.

  “Oh, well, then I’m the prime example. I was such an innocent before I met her.”

  “Don’t believe a word of it,” Clara said to Evelyn. “It was she who seduced me. Although, of course, I’m only in it for the money.”

  “If it’s only the money, you’re welcome to sleep on the settee tonight,” Courtney said, pretending to look offended.

  “Perhaps it’s a little more than the money,” Clara conceded. “She is rather a doll, don’t you think?”

  “Everyone loves me,” Courtney said with a bright, insouciant smile. “And now that’s established, here’s your scotch, Jos. Evelyn, can I recommend the gin? With ice, of course, tonic if you want.”

  “That would be lovely, thank you,” Evelyn replied. She’d enjoyed being part of another conversation with Clara and Courtney, who seemed to take nothing too seriously and yet to live a fascinating life.

  She watched as Courtney went towards the drinks table again, admiring her black and gold dress, fringed all around the bottom. Courtney’s clothes always seemed to fit her to perfection, but Evelyn did not feel any pressure to live up to her standards of fashion, not in the way she did when Lilian looked her up and down. She glanced at Clara, whose Eton-cropped hair was immaculate as ever and who was attired in a striped sports jacket. They were such a striking couple, it really was quite hard not to stare.

  However, she was also increasingly aware of the other women in the room, still looking at her curiously.

  Eventually, one of them called to Jos, “So, Jos, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  The woman who had spoken was more plainly dressed, in a simple blue dress. Her hair was in a short bob and she wore no make-up. So not everyone in this world was fashionable or unconventional, Evelyn thought.

  “Of course I am, Catherine. Give a woman a moment to enjoy her first scotch of the day, won’t you?” Jos sipped her drink.

  “No, I won’t. You can’t leave the poor thing just standing there, with us all looking at her.”

  “All right, settle down.” Jos glanced briefly around the room. “Ladies, this is Miss Evelyn Hopkins, she’s new in London, and we met at my brother’s questionable establishment. I’ve been showing her backstage at the theatre today and I thought it would be nice for her to meet you all. So play nicely.”

  “We always do,” Courtney said.

  “Except when we don’t,” Clara added, nudging Evelyn with her elbow and winking. Evelyn giggled and waited for the second half of the introduction.

  “Evie, you’ll never remember their names, but here in the room we have Catherine Wakefield.”

  Evie nodded to the woman who had demanded the introduction. Next to her on the settee sat a woman in a rather austere blouse, with short, straight dark blond hair.

  “That’s Stevie Robertson. Across from her are Gisela Blumstein and Abigail Blessing-Cooper.” The two women, seated in separate chairs but close to each other, smiled at Evelyn. Gisela was a very slim dark-haired woman who wore a bright red dress and seemed the most likely of the gathering to compete with Courtney in terms of style. Abigail was a rather plump young woman, whose long platinum-blond hair was tied into a long plait which hung down over her shoulder. She wore a masculine black tuxedo, but it did not fit as well as Clara’s and gave her a slightly ramshackle appearance.

  Jos went on with her introductions. “The triumvirate on the chaise longue there are Lottie Green, Irene Jacobs, and Ronnie Mackenzie.”

  Evelyn smiled and realised she had no chance of remembering these women’s names at all, just as Jos predicted. She barely had time to make brief eye contact with each of them. Lottie had bright ginger hair styled into ringlets and very pale skin. Irene had a very aquiline face and was wearing a vivid green dress. Ronnie was a little older, her dark brown hair beginning to grey. She wore loose trousers and sat with her right hand holding Irene’s left.

  Jos went on. “Helping herself to the best scotch is Suzanne Flint. Next to her is her sister Sarah. And last but not least, this is Caro Booth. I think that’s all of them.” Suzanne and Sarah were both tall and long limbed, with light brown hair, Suzanne’s short and Sarah’s worn pinned onto the top of her head. Caro wore an embroidered cap that covered most of her auburn curls, and her most memorable feature was a face liberally sprinkled with freckles.

  Evelyn took a deep breath and looked around the room again. “It’s good to meet all of you. Jos is right, I can’t remember a single name, so do forgive me. Hopefully I’ll remember by the end of the night.”

  “And if you don’t, lass, we won’t be offended.” This was Ronnie, who spoke with a Scottish lilt in her voice. “There’s no standing on ceremony here. Just a likeminded gathering and plenty to drink.”

  “Then might I suggest we start drinking?” This was Clara, who raised her glass to toast the room. “To new friends and a long night to enjoy them!”

  “New friends!” was returned by most of the women in the room, who raised their various glasses. Evelyn was shown to an armchair. Jos, clearly reluctant to move too far away from her, perched on the arm. Evelyn was pleased that Jos wanted to stay close to her, despite being in a roomful of her friends.

  For a short time, she sipped her cold gin slowly and simply observed the room. It seemed as though they had arrived in the middle of a conversation about a book that had recently been published, which the other women now resumed.

  “Well, if she can get it published, that will be a fine thing indeed. A novel about us! Who’d have thought?”

  “I suppose it’s better than being a passing story about a girl and her teacher in The Rainbow. Do you know, I’ve never been sure whether I approve of Lawrence doing that or not. I told him so too, when I last saw him.”

  “At least he acknowledged we exist. That’s half the battle sometimes.”

  “But a novel about us—do you think the reading public will cope?”

  “I’m not sure if anyone will even publish it. And what price the chances of it being prosecuted if someone does?”

  “I rather like the idea of my daily activities being too obscene to put into print.” This was Clara, who came to stand at the side of Evelyn’s armchair. “Don’t you, Jos?”

  Evelyn noticed Jos flush a little. She sensed that her presence placed a restricton on what Jos felt able to say, which made her slightly anxious. She did not want Jos to feel constrained by her in any sense. Part of what drew her so much to Jos was her apparent sense of liberty.

  “Clara, you are incorrigible,” Jos responded. “I don’t think anyone would dare write a novel about you.”

  “Ha, perhaps not. Not one they’d want to publish, anyway. I shall always be an interesting background character, I fear. I add colour but no substance.”

  Jos smiled. “I don’t think any of us would make the most thrilling of protagonists. Perhaps Evie
would, with her big move to London.”

  Evelyn smiled at the thought. “I hardly think so. My life’s been pretty dull apart from that.”

  “I’ll bet it’s more colourful now you’re in the capital, eh? And certainly now you’re spending time with Jos.”

  “Clara,” Jos said with a warning in her tone. “We’ve not really spent much time together.”

  “It’s quality, not quantity, darling.” Clara ran a hand over her smooth hair, a knowing smile on her lips.

  Evelyn was not sure whether to smile or feel concerned. What Clara implied was between her and Jos was real, their mutual acknowledgement in the street confirmed that. But to talk about it like this, to suggest it could actually happen—that it was happening—was something new and not entirely comfortable. Jos seemed equally on edge and Evelyn wondered if she was trying to make less of her feelings, in order not to make Evelyn feel pressured. She was not sure. It seemed safest, at this stage, to change the subject. “What book is it that everyone’s talking about?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s a friend of ours, John,” Clara said, “I mean her name’s Radclyffe Hall, you might have heard of her, but we know her as John. Anyway, she has written a draft of a novel about what it’s like to be a woman who loves women. The thing is, Catherine’s read some of it and she said it made us look awfully miserable. But then, even that seems to be better than not exisiting in books at all, don’t you think?”

  Evelyn hesistated for a moment. It was hardly something she’d had reason to think about before now. Even in this room, it seemed strange that such interesting and strong women could be written out of the world of literature because they loved each other instead of loving men. It wasn’t as though they’d made a concious choice about it. Her own feelings for Jos had come from nowhere, unprompted, and felt as natural as any other feeling she’d ever experienced, even more natural and honest. To feel that way and yet find it led down a path of not exisiting seemed like a terrible position to be in. “I think it’s definitely better to exist than not to,” she said. “I have to admit I’ve not really stopped to think about it before now, but I’d say that even a book that shows the characters as unhappy would be better than no book at all. Perhaps if there’s one where the characters are unhappy, people will think twice about things. And then someone will write a book where the characters are happy.”

  Jos was smiling. “I like the way you see things, Evie. It’s simple.”

  Evelyn frowned, not sure if Jos was suggesting she didn’t understand the complexity of the situation.

  “Oh, Jos, you don’t tell a lady she’s simple,” Clara said, seeing the frown.

  “That’s not what I meant, sorry, Evie.” Jos hesistated. “It’s more that you come to things with a fresh perspective. You’ve not spent so long thinking about it and discussing it that you’re half-mad with it and entirely cynical. You see things as they are, which shouldn’t be as complicated as people make it, really. That’s what I mean by simple.”

  Evelyn smiled now, understanding the compliment. “I really just say what I think.”

  “As should we all,” Clara said. “I make a policy of it myself. And what I think right now is that I need some of the very good food Maggie left for us.” She raised her voice and addressed the whole room. “If any of you ladies can stop talking for long enough to eat, there’s some tasty morsels over at this side of the room. And stop eyeing Courtney that way, Stevie, she’s not one of them.”

  “Aww, and I thought I was tasty,” Courtney said, pouting. “I mean, you like to eat—”

  “Later, darling,” Clara interupted smoothly, with a wink. “If you’re good.”

  “Oh, I’m very good.” Courtney approached Clara and gave her a brief kiss, directly on the lips. “You know that, my love.”

  “Don’t I just.” Clara ran a hand over Courtney’s back and lower, caressing her bottom. Evelyn watched them, so openly showing their affection and attraction, astonished and yet captivated. The idea of something of what existed between them growing between herself and Jos was almost impossible to imagine and yet already tangible. She felt herself growing warm.

  “You two need separating, if we’re not all to feel sick by the end of the evening.” This was Caro, interupting good-naturedly as she lit a cigarette in a long black holder.

  “Yes, and you might remember that some of us are single with not a trace of romance on the horizon,” Sarah Flint added.

  “Hear, hear,” came from Lottie Green. Evelyn smiled at the happy, if teasing, tone in the room. Clara and Courtney had gathered a group of interesting, intelligent women as their friends. And in this room, the idea that they all loved other women seemed a long way from remarkable. For them, it was normality. As such, Evelyn took confidence from them. If they felt that way, then it was entirely possible for her to do the same, surely.

  As the night drew on, Evelyn talked mostly to Jos, although Clara and Courtney would join them from time to time. She learned a lot more about Courtney’s life in New York and listened to a detailed comparison of the two cities from Clara. America was a place Evelyn had barely considered and certainly not a place she had dreamed of visiting. But Courtney’s presence here in London, this woman who had grown up on the other side of the Atlantic, made anything seem possible.

  Nor, she learned, was Courtney the only foreigner in the room. Gisela Blumstein was German, having fled her country in the immediate aftermath of the war, seeking a better life in England. She had travelled to England with a husband but had since been divorced, amicably, from him. Irene Jacobs was half-Belgian and had been living in Ypres when that town had found itself the centre of the battlefield. So she had sought the sanctuary of her mother’s British family in South London. Suddenly, moving from West Coombe did not seem at all dramatic or unusual. Evelyn felt rather relieved to find this. Her Devon accent did not set her apart in a room of such diversity. To her surprise she realised she felt more comfortable with these women than she had at any time since she came to London. In addition, she wanted to know what they did, to know Jos like they knew other women. She wanted to share herself with Jos in the way that she saw Clara and Courtney share with each other, or connect with her in the way that Ronnie and Irene sat so comfortably hand in hand, even when conversing with different people.

  The hours flew by. Evelyn barely gave a thought to the Grainger household, or to where she would say she had been if Lilian asked. It barely seemed important. She was happy and felt carefree. Besides, every word and look she exchanged with Jos drew her closer. She sipped her gin purposely slowly so that, although it relaxed her and made her more inclined to giggle, she did not lose the sharp edge of her perceptions or the sting of her desire for Jos, which only grew more and more. The women in the room seemed to already accept and understand that there was something between them and their acceptance made it seem more real, more possible. If only she knew exactly what was expected of her in such a situation. But all she could do was wait for Jos and try to demonstrate that Jos wouldn’t panic her by taking another step along a path they both wanted to explore.

  It was approaching midnight when Jos was cornered by Gisela and Abigail. Evelyn overheard the beginning of their conversation—it seemed Gisela had written a play about the current situation in Germany and they were seeking advice about how to put it into production. Evelyn liked the idea that Jos was considered an expert in such a creative field. She tried to listen to more of their conversation.

  Suddenly, the place at her side was taken by Suzanne Flint. She smiled but looked at Evelyn rather intently. Clearly, Suzanne was a little more than tipsy, which made Evelyn cautious. “Hello,” she said. “I’m doing terribly with names, but I think you’re Suzanne. We’ve not had a chance to speak yet.”

  “Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you properly. Now, you must spill the beans, what’s happening with you and Jos?”

  Evelyn looked back in astonishment. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. She had understood the
question but she was not sure what she was supposed to say in response.

  “Oh, poor thing. I suppose, being from the country, you’re not used to our London ways. What I mean is, are you and she sleeping together?”

  “No,” Evelyn replied impulsively, before she had chance to consider it any further.

  “Good. Because I wanted to warn you. It’s not that I don’t like Jos, I do. But I know more than one girl who’s ended up in her bed and it’s all ended very badly. Oh, I don’t mean the night itself. From all accounts, she’s very good at that. But she can’t deal with being close to someone. It’s since her parents died, I’m sure. But she’ll love you by night and dismiss you by day, that one. I hear her brother’s the same. Excellent at luring a girl in, terrible at showing any concern for her afterwards. So yes, flirt if you will, but prepare yourself. She won’t commit to anything.”

  Evelyn was staring at Suzanne now. She didn’t understand why she was being given this information and quite why Suzanne, who she’d not even spoken to until now, felt the need to provide this warning. At the same time, it was difficult to ignore the words. What if she did share everything with Jos, only to find it had been a mistake? How would she feel if Jos discarded her? The idea was horrendous. But would Jos do such a thing? It was even possible Suzanne was lying, although she had no apparent reason. Evelyn looked across at Jos, smiling as she explained something to Abigail, and found it hard to believe that she would mistreat anyone.