Under A Dancing Star

by Laura Wood

  “This is ridiculous.” I sigh, but I’m no match for Hero’s pleading face. “Go on then,” I say reluctantly.

  “Take off your clothes,” Hero orders as she snatches up a large white sheet victoriously.

  I stand in my underwear and let Hero wind the sheet around me, moving the white cotton this way and that, her face screwed up in concentration.

  “Ow!” I exclaim as she jabs me with a pin.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she mutters. “It looked much easier when Filomena did it.”

  “I can’t believe I’m letting you get away with this,” I say. “And I can’t believe Ursula did either.”

  “Not just Ursula.” Hero smirks. “Klaus looks very fetching in a sheet.”

  “Don’t tell me Fil’s got the boys to agree to this as well?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” Hero nods, a frown of concentration on her face as she fiddles with the sheet at my shoulder. “OK.” She smiles, standing back and looking at me proudly. “All done.”

  I turn to look in the mirror and it is, unfortunately, not a transformative moment.

  Far from resembling a Roman goddess, I look exactly like I’ve been wound up in two long white sheets, one around my waist and one around my torso, which is tied together on one shoulder. The outfit is finished off with a white-and-gold braid cinching me in at the waist, which I recognize as being a curtain tie from Leo’s study.

  Still, Hero looks happy, so I murmur something about it being surprisingly comfortable. (That part at least is true, even if I do look like a badly prepared mummy.)

  “Let me do your hair now,” Hero commands, gesturing imperiously to the chair in front of the mirror. I sit, and she spends the next few minutes carefully plaiting and coiling my hair into a glossy dark knot on top of my head which she pins in place. This part of the costume, I must admit, is rather flattering and I tip my face from side to side enjoying her work.

  “You are clever, Hero,” I say.

  “Filomena taught me,” she says. “I suppose Mother might have shown me how to do it one day…” She trails off, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. I reach up and squeeze her fingers.

  “I suppose she might,” I agree, even though I find it hard to imagine Aunt Thea having anything at all to do with tonight’s festivities.

  “Are you happy, Hero?” I ask. “About Uncle Leo and Filomena, I mean?”

  “Oh yes,” Hero says, just a shade too brightly. “I think Filomena is wonderful. I suppose it is a bit strange imagining them actually being married.”

  I know what she means. Marriage sounds so respectable and ordinary that it is difficult to imagine Filomena doing it. Perhaps that is the reason for the slight reserve I have noticed on her side, I think, and the fact that no one ever mentions a wedding date. Maybe it isn’t what she really wants.

  I bite my lip and look up at Hero’s reflection. She is playing with a loose curl that she has left out of my elaborate hairstyle, toying with it so that it brushes my bare shoulder, her face a mask of concentration. I hope that if Filomena changes her mind about the wedding Hero will not be too upset.

  “Right,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” I say, getting to my feet.

  “Then let’s go.”

  Hero leads me through the house and outside. I’m surprised when we pass by the empty terrace and keep going through the grounds, heading for the dense treeline that borders the edge of the villa’s property.

  It is twilight and the night is perfectly clear, not a raincloud in sight. The stars are just beginning to show themselves, winking against the bruised blue-black sky and I know that soon there will be thousands of them, scattered as carelessly as glitter across the darkness. I know this because it happens every night, but it still feels like a gift.

  The balmy air is still warm against my skin, and the humidity is high. I suppose that going out dressed in a thin bed sheet has its advantages. As we push further into the forest of ilex trees, the carefully executed scene comes dramatically into view.

  There’s an abrupt opening in the woods, a glade, I suppose, and it’s exactly the sort of place one might expect to trip over a cast of Roman gods. In the middle of the space is a firepit circled in large white stones and the beginnings of the fire are already kindling there, orange flames licking over the tall pyramid of crackling dry branches, casting the scene with a strange, feverish glow.

  Brightly coloured picnic blankets are spread on the ground around the fire, and there are dark stone dishes dotted about, piled high with cold roast chicken, bread, cheese and deep purple grapes. These are interspersed with flat silver platters holding clusters of tall pillar candles. The heat from the fire adds to the other-worldly effect of the scene, and it sends shadows leaping around us as if we find ourselves standing in the middle of a magic lantern.

  “Beatrice,” Filomena cries, her voice throaty as she strides towards me. The fire behind her highlights the curves of her silhouette, though I notice that her toga, unlike mine and Hero’s, is blood red and she wears a circle of fat red roses in her hair. “This is for you,” she says, holding a crown of laurel leaves tied with a white ribbon, which she sets gently on my head.

  “Um, thank you,” I say, trying to inject my voice with solemnity, and I hear a muffled snort of laughter. I notice Ursula stretched out on one of the blankets like a cat, half in darkness. Only the cigarette in her hand and the familiar flash of scarlet lipstick betray the fact that she isn’t an ancient goddess fallen out of time. I can’t help but observe that the white toga looks far more convincing on her.

  “Come and sit with me, Goddess Beatrice,” she murmurs. “You might enjoy the view.”

  I move to sit beside her, the heat from the fire flaring across my skin. Then I see what she means. Walking towards us are Ben and Klaus.

  Ben gives me a courtly wave and I smile.

  “I take it the experiment is progressing well?” Ursula says.

  “I think so.”

  “Your flirting is already more accomplished.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Careful you don’t have my brother falling all over you as well.”

  I laugh. “Ben was rather put out by my success there.”

  “Men, darling,” she sighs. “So insecure.”

  As the boys reach us, Ursula and I cheer and whistle.

  Klaus smooths down his toga. “This is far less restrictive than usual evening dress,” he says. “I could get used to it.”

  “I can’t believe I let Filomena talk me into this nonsense,” Ben says, though his grin belies his words.

  “Oh, don’t,” I say. “Look how happy Hero is.” We all look over to see Hero laugh as Filomena straightens the laurel crown on her head. Ben’s face softens.

  “She does look happy,” he says.

  “And I think you both look very handsome,” I add.

  “I have to say, I agree,” he says, glancing down at the makeshift toga, which I must admit is showing off his muscular arms and shoulders to their best advantage.

  “Both of you,” I stress.

  “But me in particular, I expect.” Ben preens and I groan. Hero dances over with laurel wreaths for the boys.

  “Please, be seated,” Hero says solemnly. “It is time to begin the sacred ceremony.”

  Ben rolls his eyes but drops down good-naturedly beside me on the blanket, reaching across to pluck one of the purple grapes from the bunch and popping it into his mouth.

  “Don’t start the feast yet!” Hero cries, making Ben jump. “There’s an order to things that must be observed,” she says seriously.

  “Hero is right.” Filomena stands beside her now, the light from the fire dancing across her face. “Tonight we come to make a bargain with the gods. We shall feast, celebrate, dance, and we will do so to honour the ancient ways.” She pours red liquid from a glass bottle into a large, earthenware bowl. I think I recognize it as the fruit bowl from the kitchen. “We begin with the ceremonial wine.”<
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  “Ceremonial wine is just what I need to get through this,” Ben says, but when I catch his eye he composes himself and sits straight.

  Hero takes the bowl from Filomena and insinuates herself into the circle, standing between me and Ursula.

  “Oh, Jupiter,” she intones. “We come tonight to ask for rain, that the scorched earth may feel your tears once more upon her lovely face.” She lifts the bowl up high and then brings it to her lips, taking a sip before passing it to Ursula.

  “That was excellent,” I whisper as she takes a seat beside me. “Very dramatic.”

  “I wanted to say it in Latin, but I couldn’t remember my declensions and I didn’t want to mess it up,” she murmurs, her face intent. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to anger the gods.”

  “I thought it was a very effective toast. Poetic, even.” I reassure Hero before turning to Ben, who is holding the bowl out to me. I take it from him, lift it to my mouth and take a sip before handing it back to Hero.

  “And now…” Hero pauses dramatically. “The feast BEGINS!” and with that she hurls the bowl into the fire where it cracks in two.

  Her audience cheer loudly, though I can’t help but think it was a waste of a perfectly nice fruit bowl. Still, I suppose it all adds to the drama.

  Great platters of chicken are passed around and we fall on the food, laughing and throwing the chicken bones into the flames as further evidence of our sacrifice.

  When we have finished, Filomena stands and recites a poem in Latin. She’s much more convincing than Ben, when it comes to the drama; her voice is low, but compelling and I can just about understand the words.

  “Da mi basia mille, deinde centum,

  dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,

  deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.

  dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,

  conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus.”

  “What is she saying?” Ben whispers, his voice warm on my neck.

  “Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,” I begin, and then I turn to see him looking at me, the flames from the fire dancing in his eyes, and my mouth goes dry. I shake my head. “I-I’m not sure about the rest,” I finish weakly. The truth is that the parts that I do understand are so achingly romantic that I can’t bear to say them out loud, particularly to him.

  The wine flows. They have brought out the wind-up gramophone and Hero puts on a record. The music sounds wilder out here, all shrieking brass and jangling piano. The crackle of the needle over the record echoes the sound of the flames, as though the music itself is burning. We dance barefoot around the fire, happy and dusty and raising our glasses over and over again to the God of thunderstorms. It feels a bit magical, this, a little like we really are in touch with the elements. As if anything could happen.

  The flames twist higher and higher, sparks flashing in the air like pieces of copper foil falling around us. Klaus grasps my hands between his own and reels me round and round until I am doubled over, laughing and breathless. It’s feverishly hot now; the air is smothering, thick with the taste of smoke, and the stars have begun to disappear as clouds roll in across the sky.

  A hand grabs mine and I spin around to find myself looking up at Ben. He takes me in his arms and the music slows down, a dreamy melody with a man singing about lovers and starlight. Ben’s hand is tight on my waist, and as I put my palm on his chest I can feel his heart beating as fast as my own. We come to a halt and when I look up I see his eyes are on mine.

  “It’s working, it’s working!” Hero cries as a rumble of thunder groans and the air around us trembles. I pull away from Ben as the first drops of rain start to fall. With a crack of lightning scissoring through the sky in the distance, the heavens finally open.

  “Yarooooo!” the cry goes up and the others dance, laughing, half-running back towards the house, their arms in the air and their delighted screams echoing around us.

  I go to follow them, but Ben stops me, putting a hand on my arm.

  “What is it?” I ask, looking up at him. A nervous feeling shivers through me.

  “It’s about the experiment,” he says, drawing me closer. “I think there’s something that Ursula mentioned that we haven’t tried yet.” The briefest glimpse of uncertainty flashes in his eyes. “If you’re interested, I mean.”

  Suddenly I’m not afraid at all. I feel utterly, uncontrollably alive. Rain drips from his curling gold hair, and an unstoppable grin spreads over my face.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” he murmurs.

  I lean towards him, my hand going to his cheek to pull him towards me, my lips against his ear. “Do you want me to kiss you, Ben?” I whisper softly, and I feel him freeze. “You only need to ask.” I fight the laughter rising inside me; the joy of turning the tables is so complete. “Nicely.”

  There is a pause, half a second that feels like for ever.

  “Yes,” he replies. “Please.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  There’s a split second where I can’t believe it’s really going to happen and then, just like that, it is. I am kissing Ben, and it turns out that kissing Ben is magic.

  His mouth brushes against mine, soft at first, and my arms twine around his neck seemingly of their own accord. I lean towards him with a little sigh and feel his smile against my lips. I pull him closer to me, my eyes fluttering closed as I enjoy the sensation of being so near. He tastes of wine and something sweet and spicy, like cinnamon.

  The rain hammers around us, as the kiss deepens into something hungry, as if my body is starving for something that I don’t even understand, need pooling in my belly. His hand tangles in my hair, all of Hero’s carefully placed pins tumbling to the ground, and it feels as though electric currents pass between us, as though everywhere he touches me sparks and shivers. It’s greedy and urgent and it leaves me trembling.

  After a moment that feels both fleeting and endless, I seem to come to myself again. I pull away and blink, the world coming slowly back into focus. The others have completely disappeared. Ben and I stand in the rain staring at each other. His pupils are wildly dilated, and we are both breathing heavily.

  I try to remember the experiment, to think of this kiss as an intriguing result that needs recording, but all my usual poise has deserted me. All I can do is look at Ben, and the only relief I can find is that his expression is as stunned as mine must be.

  Another crack of lightning slices through the sky and it’s that which finally jolts me out of my stupor. I am, I realize, standing in the middle of a forest during a thunderstorm, kissing a man in a bed sheet. I choke on a giggle that contains more than an edge of hysteria.

  “I can’t believe it really rained,” Ben says, looking around him.

  “The significant increase in humidity today made it likely,” I reply automatically.

  “Or the God of thunderstorms has been appeased.” Ben’s dimples flash and just like that I’m thinking about kissing him again. His eyes drop to my mouth and I know the feeling is mutual; we lean in towards each other again, like magnets irresistibly drawn together. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my wet cheek.

  “We have to go,” I manage, my voice hoarse as I take a firm grip on myself.

  “Absolutely,” says Ben, blinking. “Yes.”

  I swing around, wrenching myself away from him, my legs still unsteady as I march back to the house. I don’t turn to see if Ben is following me. Impossible as it seems, we arrive back at the villa only a couple of minutes after the others, who are still shrieking and shaking the rain from themselves. Only Ursula seems to notice our brief absence and the look she gives me is enigmatic.

  I am shivering, a fact that I put down to the chill as the water evaporates from my skin. Filomena is already handing out towels and I wrap one around myself, welcoming the rough warmth.

  “We did it! We did it!” Hero exclaims as she skips about the kitchen. She throws her arms around Ben in excitement. His eyes meet mine over the top of he
r head and my stomach feels as though I’m suddenly falling from a great height. What on earth is the matter with me? Perhaps I’m ill. I touch my fingers to my wrist and my pulse is certainly a little faster than usual.

  “I’m going to go and get changed,” I say, longing for a moment alone to sort through my disordered thoughts and feelings.

  “Yes, yes,” Filomena says, waving a hand. “Go and change into dry clothes and then we will have hot tea in the kitchen. I will not have everyone succumbing to influenza while Leo is away. I know how delicate you English are – I have read my Jane Austen.”

  Closing the door of my room behind me, I lean back against the solid oak for a moment, catching my breath. My heart is still skittering. I glance at the mirror and looking back at me is a wide-eyed, bedraggled, drowned wreck of a girl. My hair stands out around my head in a sodden tangle, my face is a pale moon. My makeshift toga is soaking but, thanks to Hero’s enthusiastic wrapping, at least it is not transparent.

  “It was just a kiss.” I surprise myself by saying the words aloud into the empty room. They seem to linger in the air. My voice is firm, convincing.

  Still. I raise my fingers to my lips again, and the pale girl in the mirror does the same. That kiss. It was as if all that strange crackling tension between Ben and I was the gunpowder leading to that inevitable explosion. I had no idea, no idea that it would be, could be, like that. I wonder if it always is. I wonder if Ben is as startled as I am or whether that was just another kiss for him with just another girl.

  Mechanically I begin to undress and change into my nightgown. I towel my hair and do my best to untangle it, scraping it up and away from my face, then I get into bed and hide under the covers like a child.

  I can’t go back down there tonight. I’m too full of it all. I think if I see Ben now then I might burst. When Hero calls softly through my door I pretend to be asleep.

  In the distance I can hear the revelry continuing in the kitchen, the odd squawk of laughter or shout of excitement. The rain is still drumming outside, against the earth, against the pine needles. There’s a music to it that sings through the window and I listen to it for a long, long time before I finally fall asleep.