by Laura Wood
And then, as if she’s made it happen with sheer force of will, the band starts playing again and I’m able to lose myself in the music.
I dance all night. In fact, I dance well into the morning. The music is pulsing and insistent, making it impossible for me to walk away. It seems to fill my body with a kind of fierce energy that I can’t ignore, tethering me to the dance floor.
For the rest of the night Caitlin and I are rarely more than a few feet from each other. Like magnets irresistibly drawn together, we spend the evening shouting and laughing over the music. I have never had a close female friend besides Alice. I suppose that with her around I never felt the need to find one – I definitely never experienced any sense that I have been missing out on something important. But now with Caitlin I feel something strange … it’s almost like a crush. I want to be near her, I want to make her laugh, I want to hear her thoughts on … well … everything. I hadn’t realized before tonight that this can happen, that you can fall in love with your friends.
Finally, finally, the party begins winding down. People disappear to find a bed to fall into (alone or together) and the roaring sound of departing motorcars cuts across the music. I am almost asleep on my feet when Caitlin takes pity on me. The band has stopped playing, but music is drifting out of a gramophone, and Caitlin is still whirling around like a spinning top, showing no sign of quieting down at all. Her eyes are unnaturally bright.
“Charlie! Will you show Lou up to her room?” Caitlin catches him by the arm and looks up at him beseechingly.
“I’m fine!” I insist. “I can go on for hours yet.” This statement is unfortunately undercut by a yawn so big that it sets me swaying. Caitlin laughs and twirls off, diving into the small group that seems to have no intention of sleeping ever again.
Someone else is calling Charlie’s name and I see him glancing over in their direction.
“It’s honestly fine,” I say, patting his arm. “I can find my own way back.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, looking down at me.
“Oh, yes.” I laugh. “I know my way around this place pretty well.”
“Well, OK, then.” Charlie smiles. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight,” I call over my shoulder, already making my way out of the orchard and towards the house.
I’m surprised to come across a man on the front steps, hunched forward and smoking a cigarette. A pool of light from the open front door falls over him.
“Hello,” I call as I walk towards him.
The man lifts his head and smiles at me; his smile is a friendly flash of white teeth that reveals a perfect dimple in his right cheek, his eyes are large and dark, his skin is burnt umber. It’s the singer from the band. I hesitate a little. Penlyn isn’t exactly a melting pot, and outside of my beloved jazz records we don’t see a lot of black faces here.
“Hello,” he replies, jumping briskly to his feet as I get nearer. “Sorry for sitting here in the dark, I’ll get out of your way.” His careful politeness leaves me thinking that he saw the hesitation in my face, and a wave of shame washes over me.
“Don’t be silly,” I say, returning his smile. “How can you possibly be in my way? These stairs are wide enough to support a full marching band.” I eye the stairs speculatively. “Although, now that I think about it, some of the guests are weaving about enough to need the full range of the space.” I peep back at him. “Not me, though. I only had one Mary Pickford.”
“Mary Pickford?” the man repeats, and his nose scrunches up in confusion.
“Those pink drinks,” I clarify. “The ones that people have been knocking back with a little too much abandon.”
The singer laughs, and even his laughter is musical. “Oh, yes.” He nods. “I’ve … er … noticed a few people enjoying the benefits.”
Just then, as if perfectly timed, a loud retching sound emanates from some nearby shrubbery.
Our startled eyes meet and we both dissolve into a fit of giggles that we try – unsuccessfully – to keep quiet.
“We shouldn’t laugh,” I whisper, remembering with a lurch the morning after the ginger wine. “They’re going to feel dreadful in the morning.”
“I don’t think we’ve met before,” the singer says then, holding out his hand to me. “I’m Lucky.”
“Lou,” I say, placing my hand in his.
“Lou, huh?” Lucky’s nose crinkles again, and his voice is quiet but friendly. “Is that short for something?”
“It’s short for Louise,” I reply.
“Oh.” His eyes light up. “Like the song?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Like the song.”
“We didn’t play that one tonight.” He tips his head to the side a little. “I wish I’d known. I’ll have to owe you one.”
“You’re really wonderful, by the way. I love the way you play,” I say breathlessly, cringing a little at how unsophisticated that sounds.
“Oh, yeah?” He looks pleased.
“Yes,” I say foolishly, because I don’t really have any words for what the music has meant for me tonight, for the way it seemed to respond to the restless need in me, for the sense of freedom it gave me to dance. I think he understands, though.
“That’s always nice to hear.” Lucky’s voice is warm, and I feel a bit less silly.
“We don’t get to hear a lot of jazz in Penlyn,” I say. “Only on the record player.”
Lucky looks surprised. “You’re from here?” he says. “You’re not…” He trails off and his eyes dart back towards the last remnants of the party. There are still enough people dancing and talking to make quite a bit of noise.
“One of them?” I say, and I force my voice to sound relaxed. “No.” It hurts a little, but it’s the truth. My evening of pretend is almost over, and the thought cuts through me.
Lucky doesn’t reply to that, just nods thoughtfully and lifts his cigarette to his lips. It’s gone out so he lights it again.
“I’m afraid we’re stuck here at the moment,” he says then, and points out to the causeway, which is underwater. “We have to wait to get the van over with all our equipment.”
“I suppose that’s a strange problem to have,” I say.
His smile is rueful. “Not one we’ve run into before, that’s for sure. This place is pretty wild.” He looks around him as though taking it all in for the first time, and then he shakes his head and lets out a long breath. Some fleeting emotion flashes across his face, but I can’t make it out in the moonlight.
“The Cardew House,” I say, coming to stand beside him. “It’s a magical place. It gets under your skin.” I look around now as well, and the beauty of the house works like a cocktail, warming the blood in my veins.
“The Cardew House,” he echoes, but his voice is hollow, as though he doesn’t see what I do. There’s a pause as he finishes his cigarette. “It’s certainly not the sort of place you want to walk away from.” He sighs.
“Not if you can help it,” I agree. “But I guess we can’t stay for ever.” I feel my heart lurch at that.
“I guess not.” Lucky sounds sad about it too.
“Anyway –” he takes a step away “– I’d better get back…” Lucky gestures to the van, where I can see the rest of the band are packing their instruments away.
“Oh, yes,” I say. “It was nice to meet you. I really did love your music.”
He puts his hands in his pockets and saunters past, a pleased smile clinging to his lips. “It was nice to meet you too, Louise,” he says, and as he turns and walks away, I hear him singing softly in his beautiful voice.
“Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise…”
I stand under the blanket of stars, listening for a moment. It’s the perfect end to a perfect evening, and I wander inside with a huge smile on my face.
Until I realize that I have no idea where I’m going.
How can I have forgotten that I haven’t been shown which room I’m staying in? What was it that C
aitlin said earlier? The blue room. But they’ve redecorated everything. I don’t know which room that is. My heart sinks.
It sinks even further when I hear someone clearing their throat behind me.
Turning, I see Robert leaning against the door frame, his arms folded, his white bow tie undone and an inscrutable look on his face.
I groan under my breath.
“Are you lost?” he asks.
“I don’t know which room I’m staying in,” I grind out.
“And here was me thinking you knew the place better than we did,” he says, walking towards me.
I stay quiet. Mostly because I’m worried about what words might come out of my mouth if I don’t. Why does he make me feel so cross all the time? His dismissive words about the party and his sister still ring in my ears.
“Follow me,” he says, and he walks past me and up the stairs, his jacket thrown over one shoulder. His strides are long, and he takes two steps at a time, leaving me scrambling to keep up with him. We walk down a long corridor and he stops outside one of the doors. “Here we are,” he says unnecessarily. “The blue room.”
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for the handle. And then, because my parents raised me well, I turn, my back against the door, and force myself to look up at him. “And thank you for inviting me tonight. I had a wonderful time.”
He leans one shoulder against the wall and looks at me for a long moment. Those green eyes are enigmatic. He’s standing so close to me that I’m sure I can see little flecks of gold in them.
“You’re welcome,” he says. And then he straightens up and walks away.
I stand for a moment, leaning against the door, trying to catch my breath. It must be warm in here, I think, after being outside. I turn the handle and stumble into the blue room.
It is slowly dawning on me that the room I am standing in is the grandest I have seen yet. It is at least four times the size of my room at home. The walls are papered in broad blue and gold stripes, a small chandelier drips with crystals from the ceiling and an enormous four-poster bed hung with blue drapes dominates the space. My ratty old bag sits on top of the luxurious crisp, white covers looking completely out of place. I move around, touching the gleaming, polished furniture, breathing in the smell of beeswax. I hover over the pretty dressing table, examining the many glass jars and bottles that have been arranged there, and spray myself with a bottle of expensive floral scent.
There is another door to my right and I push it open, totally floored by the discovery that I have my own bathroom, complete with an enormous sunken bath and gleaming gold taps. I let out a little squeak then, running my fingers over the marble surfaces. There is a large mirror along one wall, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection: wild-eyed, pink-cheeked and bedraggled. My hair has worked itself loose (even Alice’s skill as a hairdresser can’t hold up against hours of frantic dancing) and, I note sadly, it has not done so in a carelessly attractive way, instead unravelling into a frizzy tangle. I have no idea where the lace band has disappeared to, but it is definitely long gone. With a sigh I close the door on the bathroom and walk over to the window, pulling back the heavy blue curtains.
The sky is just beginning to lighten outside, and my room looks out over a restless turquoise sea. I sink into the plush window seat, bringing my knees up to my chest and resting my head back against a cushion. I watch as the first struggling rays of the day pierce the sky, casting a warm glow across the water. I watch for as long as I can, fighting against the heaviness in my eyelids, not wanting this single, magical night to end. Then, finally, when I can’t watch any more, I fall asleep underneath a sky painted gold.
CHAPTER
TEN
When I wake several hours later I am groggy and disorientated. My neck is hurting and I realize that I am still squished up in the window seat. I unfold myself and stand, stretching my cramped limbs. I eye the beautiful, cloud-like dream of a bed with regret. Trust me to miss my opportunity to sleep in that. I could try to go back to sleep now, I suppose, but as I trail my fingers over the white sheets I realize I am not a bit tired.
I pad silently over to the door. I am still wearing my dress from the evening before, and I think now that the nightgown has finally fulfilled its destiny. Perhaps I could start a line of party dresses that also double up as pyjamas. It certainly makes falling into bed (or window seat) at the end of the evening very straightforward.
Opening the bedroom door a tiny crack, I listen carefully for any sign of life, but there is none. Everything is completely silent. Obviously this is not a household of early risers … in fact, for all I know they could all have only just gone to bed.
It seems the perfect opportunity to luxuriate in the amazing bathtub. It would be rude not to, I reason, and who knows when such a chance will present itself again? I turn the taps on and gleefully pour in great big splashes from every single pretty bottle that lines the side, finally sinking into the warm, fragrant water with a happy sigh.
Lying back in the bath, I go over the events of the previous evening in my mind. The lights and the noise and the colours arrange themselves into a dazzling collage as images press in, one on top of the other. I feel my limbs relaxing beneath the warm water, and I play out various scenes in delicious detail. I remember stepping into the orchard and entering a fairy tale. I am almost afraid that the memory of it must have been a dream, but looking around me now I know that it was all wonderfully real. I turn the night over in my mind, and realize with a twinge of sadness that it is already a memory, something fragile to be pulled out and admired, but no longer something to look forward to, to live in. I wonder if I will come back here, and if this is the beginning or already the end of my adventure. My fingers curl at that, and I shut my eyes tightly, sending out a silent wish that it doesn’t all end here.
I frown now, thinking back over my conversation with Laurie. It is one thing to acknowledge that I want something bigger than the life I know in Penlyn, but it is another thing entirely to work out exactly what that is. I think about Alice and how happy and certain she seems, but no matter how hard I try I can’t imagine myself in her position. Something about that makes me feel sad, as if the gap that has opened between my sister and me suddenly yawns even wider. I’ve always followed in Alice’s footsteps. I don’t really know how to blaze my own trail. And even if I did, by choosing something different, will I somehow be saying that I think she chose wrong? Will she be hurt? Will Midge and Pa? If I leave Penlyn behind, will that mean turning my back on my family?
Shaking my head, as if to dislodge all these difficult questions, I pull myself from the water and wrap my body in the thick, fluffy towels that have been laid out. After running a comb through my hair, I pull on a pale blue dress that is one of my best and usually reserved for Sundays (though it looks decidedly underwhelming in the context of my surroundings). I dab on some more of the heavy, exotic scent, but for some reason I think it smells all wrong on me. Then, finally, I sit on the bed, unsure what to do next. The answer comes courtesy of my stomach, which gives a deep and emphatic rumble. I need to go on the hunt for breakfast.
Tiptoeing down the staircase, I still can’t detect any sound to indicate that the rest of the household have yet risen from the dead. I hesitate on the bottom step, undecided about whether I should head back to my room or press on. In the end hunger wins out over shyness and I make my way through to the dining room. Sunshine streams through the huge windows, and there is no sign at all of last night’s party, as if the whole thing really has been some sort of dream. Robert is already in here, the newspaper in his hands, a cup of coffee and a plate of toast on the long table in front of him. I pause, but then he looks up and I’m caught staring at him.
“Good morning,” I say, hovering on the threshold.
“Good morning,” he replies, getting to his feet, because even early in the morning, even just with me, his manners are impeccable. “I wasn’t expecting to see another soul for hours yet. Come and sit down. Would you like
something to eat?”
My traitorous stomach rumbles loudly. I try to look unconcerned.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “What will it be?”
“Whatever you have is fine,” I reply cautiously, slipping into the seat next to him at the table. I glance suspiciously at his face, but it is a mask of politeness.
“We have everything,” says Robert. “So you choose. Eggs? Bacon? Toast? Fruit? There are some little pastry things that Caitlin can’t get enough of.”
“Little pastry things sound lovely.” I am using my most extra-polite, best-behaviour voice. “And a cup of tea, please.”
The disapproving butler materializes then, looking as starchy as he did the night before.
“Ah, Perkins,” Robert says smoothly. “Miss Trevelyan would like a cup of tea and some of those pastries that my sister has a mania for.”
“Very good, sir,” Perkins intones, and I smile hesitantly as his eyes slide in my direction. They keep sliding, as though I am not there at all, as though I have become one with the wallpaper. His face remains impassive and he disappears soundlessly towards the kitchen.
“That man makes me nervous,” I mutter under my breath.
Of course Robert hears me, but instead of making fun of me as I think he will, he leans forward conspiratorially. “I know what you mean,” he says in a low voice. “Perkins has that effect on everyone.”
“You don’t seem to be nervous around him,” I say, surprised.
“Don’t I?” The corner of his mouth tugs up a little. “Well, that’s good to hear. I’ve been practising. Perkins has worked for my family since before I was born, and I think he still sees me as the naughty boy who tried to decorate our antique dining table with my paint set.”
