Theo was once again flanked by the Doran brothers while the other dancers gave them a respectful berth. Jonathon saw me first and gave a small smile that barely stretched from one end of his moustache to the other, but still managed to convey loads of good will.
“How are you, darling?” Theo asked.
“As well as ever, thank you.” I watched her eyebrows rise incredulously.
“Some boy has been trying to break the dear’s heart, but Eve is too smart for that,” Theo announced to them as if I weren’t there at all.
My face went hot, but I didn’t speak a word. I would lambast her soundly later for declaring my private life like sport. And on top of that she didn’t tell it right.
“Well, we can’t have that!” Jonathon said. “Come dance with me and I’ll tell you what a fool he is.”
“Theo is misinformed,” I said. “My heart is far from broken.” I think I grimaced on the last word. The nearer he came the less I wanted him to touch me. The moustache was ridiculous.
But when he circled his arm around me, his hand touched my waist so lightly it barely floated above the fabric of my dress, and I found it the perfect mix of strength and restraint. He stood well back from me, his posture glorious, his arms light and powerful, and led me painlessly through the most wonderful steps.
“You are a fine dancer,” I told him with surprise. Then it made sense to me. How many grand houses he must have frequented with the most glamourous ladies.
“You follow magnificently.” His eyes met mine, sparking with life even though they were only a very dark brown. “Tell me, did he truly hurt your heart?”
“I would hardly tell a stranger if he had,” I reminded him pertly. “But no, he did not. He declared his love for me.”
Why that made him laugh I do not know; but he looked merrier with every word I spoke. “So perhaps you did the breaking?” he offered.
“Oh, no one broke. He only annoyed me.”
Jonathon laughed again, swinging us in a wide circle others stopped to admire. I found myself leaning into his touch, loving the way he braced my back so I could curve it elegantly far. “I am secretly glad,” he confessed and continued before I could feign being offended. “Firstly, because you are so little and young I don’t think anyone should fall too in love with you yet, if he can help it.” I opened my mouth to protest. This time I did not have to pretend to be offended. He shook his head to show he would not listen and kept speaking. “And secondly, it gives all other young men a sporting chance. How unfair to sweep you up before anyone can fight for you. ”
“Perhaps you have mistaken me for someone younger,” I retaliated. “I’ve been done with school for years. Oh do stop laughing!” I messed up our dancing by stomping one foot.
“Perhaps there are two men annoying you tonight?”
I squinted my eyes, refusing to answer. “Perhaps one more than the other. And how old are you precisely?” I asked.
“You are delightful! How old do you guess?”
“Thirty,” I let it sound as sharp and insulting as I meant it.
“It is the moustache, isn’t it? It adds at least a year.”
It confused me for a moment, trying to figure out if he was teasing again. “So twenty-nine?” I asked.
“Precisely.” He leaned into the word, mocking me.
“I don’t know why you wanted to dance if you only wanted to torment me.”
He looked into my face, all of his jocularity falling away. “Certainly you don’t mean that. We were having fun, weren’t we? And to show I meant nothing, I am taking you ladies home tonight. Theodora said you were nearly ready to go. But it is embarrassingly early and there are still a few scraps of food left.”
“She’ll tear you to pieces if she hears you call her that,” I warned him.
“I know. She looks murderous every time. I can’t help myself.”
“A flirt and a tease. And rich to boot.” I didn’t mean to say the last part out loud. For a moment I forgot I wasn’t talking to Theo and I blushed like mad. I couldn’t even bear to apologise. Suddenly I longed for Alan and his face that felt as familiar as the chipped flowerpot by the the back door of home.
“Not really any of those,” he returned in a low mumble. “Only very amused to find such original girls in such a cast-off place.” His dimples danced in and out of existence, like stars blinking on his face.
“Original I like. I’ll keep that one, if you don’t mind. And thank you for the ride. I am tired.” That was a lie. I felt as awake as noon but it seemed a safe excuse. The song ended and I let go of his hand, instantly missing the heat of his fingers. I’d have to teach Alan to dance like that.
He collected Theo and his brother Marion followed, refusing to be left out of the party.
“You didn’t think I’d let you take the two best ones all to yourself,” Marion joked, holding onto Theo’s arm. How good they looked together. All fair and glowing. I took a deep breath, trying to comprehend that the boy I dreamt of all my young life was hanging onto my best friend and smiling at me. He made me feel as breathless as a schoolgirl when he looked solidly at me. And here I was, as good as engaged. Perhaps we should have worn pink dresses and slowed it all down.
When Jonathon pulled his car around to the front steps I just managed not to gasp. Not rich indeed. It careened atop the snow like a long, low sled; every gleaming curve shimmered under the streetlamps. Jonathon opened the door and motioned us inside. Marion bundled Theo into the backseat, taking up very little room for such an expansive bench. I sat in the front with Jonathon where I could take in the instruments. The wood of the dashboard shone and the grain glistened as it wandered around the glass dials.
“It’s my father’s car,” he explained when he caught me staring. “Lovely, though. Am I taking you to your farm?”
“Goodness, no. Just to Theo’s house down the way. She lives here in town.”
The heavy snowflakes raced across the windows in a white blur.
Theo tried to give directions from the back while Marion spoke over her, telling his college stories.
“One too many,” is how Jonathon apologised for his animated brother. I wasn’t sure if he meant drinks or brothers, but I liked the joke either way.
In only minutes we were in front of Theo’s house and Marion gave her front lawn a perplexed frown. He must not have considered the complications of getting a goodnight kiss in front of an audience. I promptly exited the car, landing my foot in a sopping pile of snow and practically pulled Theo from her seat. “Goodnight and thank you,” I called.
“Do promise not to let anyone break your heart,” Jonathon said with a secretive grin.
Marion made a bit of a pout, but then gave up and shook Theo’s hand through the open door. “Good night.”
Only after they’d gone did Theo turn to me, shivering after leaving the steamy car. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“For what?”
“I would have kissed him.” She picked her way through the snow to the front door and ushered us both in.
“You are thanking me for stopping you from kissing Marion Doran?” I pushed my hand to her forehead as if checking for fever.
“Yes. Actually I am. Now he will have to come back and get it later.” She pulled one white curl behind her ear and I could see all of the triumph in her face.
“And you’re certain he will?”
She studied me, all concentration. “As certain as I am tonight was a blazing success. I’m not stopping until I get total capitulation, Eve.”
I sighed and leaned against the wall, taking care not to knock into the portrait of her parents on their wedding day. “How about settling for a hot cup of tea and taking off these blasted wet shoes?”
“Close enough.”
CHAPTER 2
7TH MARCH 1939
I was leafing through my stack of papers (how alarmingly it grows!) and realised you might think I was still in bed typing. Good heavens I’d burn through whole n
ights trying to say all that. It has taken me the better part of two weeks to record the dance, which is agonising because new things happened and I promised not to jump ahead. So finally I am jumping a bit because you don’t need to know everything about that night after we got home.
Theo and I had a bit of a row because she wanted me to flat out refuse Alan, but I kept picturing the future and by midnight I was already married, marching children out of my scrubbed kitchen, and listening for Alan’s footsteps in the cobbled yard. She said I’d grow out of it. I’m happy to report I haven’t. If anything I’m growing into it. The longer I think on it, the better it is. Truly, I am fully in love.
Alan and I haven’t spoken of it at all, which is fine with me. I don’t know exactly how to broach it with Dad, and Alan and I mostly avoid eyes, but in the most meaningful way. It is like we are storing all of our feelings in cold cellars, waiting to bring them up into the light and bite right into them.
Right now I am writing at the kitchen table, my Corona squeezed between four pans of rising dough. Despite the frozen world outside there are some valiant shafts of white sunshine slashing through the cold and sparkling off the snow. How long the last weeks of winter feel! I am watching Alan through the window as he loads barley sacks to take to the high shelters. I don’t know if he can feel my eyes, but I certainly feel his. He tries so hard not to see me that the air is thick with it. He just hoisted a four-stone sack onto his shoulder and I got the most breathless feeling as I watched. For a moment it felt like he had lifted me and was taking me through the barren snow to some forsaken spot where no one could see us. I sat with motionless fingers for at least five minutes, watching his strong steps as he grew smaller in the distance. To be honest, I don’t think I fully appreciated the kisses. But they were so unexpected and he didn’t give me a chance to get used to them. When he comes home from training in May the world will dance with warmth and life and I will try again then. I do not think I am frigid because I get quite warm with my imaginings. I just think I am more of a sunshine sort of kisser than snowflake. In truth, I wrote the kisses even better than they were. The longer I think about them, I realise I was very cold. How can one feel much of anything when one is exceedingly cold?
I know that must be true because the Dales people nearly turn to stone in winter, but in the summer they are a lively bunch, full of good will and shouts in the market place. Even the vicar—he came after the Great War full of fiery indignation. Dad says it took him a couple years to settle in, but now he is the calmest, most comfortable sort of fellow. Dad thinks he saw what good people we are and stopped worrying overmuch about our salvation. I am of the opinion the vicar just got very cold. That will knock the fire out of just about anybody.
How funny that every thought takes me back to Alan. I was musing over the vicar and his lonely life beside our austere, squat church and I suddenly pictured it with flowers everywhere and the bells ringing and Alan kissing me at the altar. I actually just put my hand against my ribs. Whenever I write and think of Alan at the same time it is like a storm races through every empty inch of me. It tickles around my lungs and feathers against my heart until all of my breath bounces up at the top of my skull instead of going where it should. That is the worst part of love, never feeling like you’ll breathe normally again.
I should like to try holding hands. I know it sounds childish, but I keep remembering Jonathon Doran taking my hand as we danced and the pliable way his fingers moved with minute commands to show me where the next steps would take us. It was so pleasant I would like to try it with a boy I love instead of a strange, moustached man. How I long for the warmth so I could attempt it with Alan. If we held hands outside now it would be to keep our fingers from frostbite. Perhaps if he came inside while William was at school and Dad was working we could find a warm, quiet corner to give it a go. I think the kitchen would be nice. But if we sat on the bench and held hands in front of the range, what would we say? Perhaps I could ask him to hold my yarn while I wind and creep ever closer as if I didn’t notice. And then when our fingers meet and his are all tied in soft wool I could wrap my hand around his and smile. In my mind it is evening and I’ve left the stove door open so the fire adds an extra glow to the electric lights and when his blue eyes meet mine I am not afraid or embarrassed at all. I stare back, all steady and smiling and tell him, “Well, our hands are tied now.”
I don’t know exactly what it means, but it sounds right all the same. And how a boy would let go of a girl’s hand who came up with a line like that is beyond me. I think we would sit there into the evening, sharing stories. I should very much like to know exactly how awful his people were to make him leave so young and never go back.
But there hasn’t been time to try any good loving because we’ve been occupied with the lambing preparations. Dad is convinced one of the rams got to some of the ewes early and thinks they will lamb the end of March instead of the end of April, which can be catastrophic if you’re not ready for it. We didn’t have enough money for the vet to check all of them, so we are trying to eyeball the suspected offenders and keep them close to the low buildings. It gives me a chance to work next to Alan almost every day, and even though I have to wear my coveralls, I do try to be extra feminine in other ways. Several times he’s smiled at me in a new way and I imagined it will be his special grin for me in the evenings once we are married. That is what I tell myself: whatever worries me now will all be settled in a few short years. (Who am I fooling? Years feel like eternities!)
15TH MARCH 1939
It seems the Ides of March truly is cursed with trouble. And this time all my trouble started with Theo. While I’ve been occupied with Alan, she’s been lamenting over not hearing a word from Marion Doran. She made certain to wear her finest things and linger on all of her errands in case he turned up in the village. It took a fortnight before she started to truly despair. She wouldn’t speak over the public line, so she made me come to her house while she tried on new girdles. They certainly worked on the local boys. I saw plenty of turned heads when we stepped out but she scowled at them all because they simply got in her way of hunting down Marion. I tried to be consoling. Of course, a boy like Marion could not be expected to lose his heart to a village girl from Kepsdale, but I certainly didn’t say that to her. I told her he could have been detained by school or work (though I don’t think he has a career) or family illness. Word is the his father has been ill for some time. I don’t think I’m a very good consoler.
Luckily, Marion eventually made consolation entirely unnecessary. A package of chocolates arrived at Theo’s doorstep with a note in gorgeous script. Theo says he must have dictated it to the shopkeeper because no university student has handwriting like that. I jotted down what it said so I could record it perfectly because it was so kind.
“Dearest Theo,
I wanted to send something to make sure you wouldn’t forget our meeting. I’ve been visiting with my brother in London, but will be home later this month. Perhaps you will save me another dance?
Yours affectionately,
Marion Doran”
I nearly fainted when I saw it and Theo confessed she did the same. When she opened the lid to show me the shell-shaped chocolates I saw she had only eaten one, even though she is often quite greedy with fine food. “I couldn’t bear to run out of them,” she said, replacing the lid with a hot blush. “Do you feel very jealous when you have only Alan?” she asked, her face creased with worried sympathy.
I laughed and told her not at all. But perhaps I lied just a pinch. It wouldn’t hurt if Alan were rich. I should like to know how it felt just once. Theo’s always had twice as much as any of the farmers’ daughters so we think of her as rich, but I’ve never even heard of the name on the chocolate box so I suppose there are kinds of rich I’ve never even imagined— whole worlds of money one must pay to see.
We began preparations for what she would wear and what she should say and how she should act when he returned, but they got
wasted because men never do comply with our plans. Though he said several weeks, it was only two days later on Saturday afternoon when someone rapped on Theo’s door. She opened it and caught a blast of cold wind which she blamed for losing her breath, but really it was the sight of Marion on her front stoop and not the temperature that undid her. She was in the middle of helping her mother Hoover and wore an old house dress with a duster round her head. She said she nearly screamed when she saw him but managed to check that impulse. Fortunately, her swagger and wit got pushed right out of her with the surprise of seeing him. She says she stood like a fool, but when I picture it I think I know what happened really. I think he startled her right into humility. Theo has no idea but nothing makes her as irresistible as when she’s caught being vulnerable. It rounds out all the tempting planes of her face and softens her aqua eyes. I believe Marion came hunting for a sassy young vixen, and got flattened in the open glance of a love-sick girl. That would explain Theo’s account because she says his smile melted as he took a larger breath than necessary. She tried to make her apologies for her appearance as she untied the duster and hid it in her clutched fist. Brushing off her faded dress, she stood in the cold doorway waiting for him to announce why he was there.
He cleared his throat and tugged on his tie. “I know I didn’t give you any warning. I came back from London early and the empty house is so boring. I wondered if I could take you out for dinner tonight. Perhaps dancing again.”
By then Mrs. Weller was at the front door to investigate and she was overcome by Marion’s beauty. Honestly, it won’t matter if he inherits nothing because he already stole all of the looks and personality in his family. I think Jonathon is the poor one for getting nothing but a house and land. She listened to Theo make her regrets and pushed her daughter straight toward the stairs.
“Don’t be silly, girl. Go get changed. I can finish up without you.” She turned her girlish grin to Marion and added, “She always thinks of others…” What she didn’t know was Theo’s reason for refusal. Almost all of her winter clothes were in the wash and she couldn’t bear to put on something for summer with two feet of snow outside. When she got upstairs everything was still torn apart from her cleaning and in desperation she grabbed a dress she hates with a vengeance. It is peach, and so washed out that it only works for picnics in the middle of July. She threw it on and tried two pairs of nylons just to find them with nasty runs so she jammed on some cream silk stockings instead. “I looked like a china doll for a four year old!” is how she described the fiasco to me. And then she had to go downstairs and see Marion, in his fine jumper that he probably had delivered from Selfridges in London, sitting on her sofa sipping tea while her mother tried to persuade him to take more sugar cubes. She took her mother’s beaver jacket that was actually her grandmother’s and has a cut so dated it is quaint again and wrapped up to hide the dress.
To Move the World (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 5
