Waltzing was thirsty business. Judith went to pour herself an orange juice, and turned from the table to find Edward at her side. ‘I've left the best till the last,’ he told her. ‘Done my duty to all friends and relations. Now come and dance with me.’
She laid down the glass and went into his arms.
I took one look at you,
That's all I had to do
And then my heart stood still.
But her heart wasn't standing still. It was thumping so hard she was sure that he must feel its beat. He held her very close and sang the words of the song softly into her ear, and she wished the music would go on forever and never end. But of course it did and they drew apart, and he said, ‘You can have your orange juice now,’ and went to fetch it for her.
For a moment there was a bit of a lull, as though everybody was beginning to feel slightly exhausted and grateful for a breather. Except Diana. For her every moment must be filled, and when the music started up again, it was that old classic ‘Jealousy’, and she instantly went over to the armchair where Tommy Mortimer reclined, took him by the hand and pulled him to his feet. Dutiful as ever, he drew her towards him, and the pair of them, alone on the floor, danced the tango.
They did this with the expertise of professionals, but, as well, in the most satirical of ways, their bodies pressed close and arms held high and rigid. Every step and pause and swoop was exaggerated, and, unsmiling, they stared intensely into each other's eyes. It was an extraordinary performance, but, as well, extremely funny and, on the final chord of strumming guitars, ended triumphantly, with Diana bent backwards over Tommy's supporting arm, he looming passionately over her, and her blonde head very nearly touching the floor. Only then, as Tommy lifted her upright to a storm of applause, did Diana allow herself to dissolve into laughter. She went to sit by Aunt Lavinia, who was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. ‘Diana, my darling, your tango was brilliant, but keeping a straight face even more so. You should have been on the stage. Oh dear, I don't know when I've enjoyed myself so much, but you know, it's nearly midnight. I really should call it a day, and go home.’
The Colonel, trying not to look too eager, instantly moved forward. ‘I shall drive you.’
‘I hate to break up the party.’ She let him help her up out of her chair. ‘But the best time to go is when you're really enjoying yourself! Now, my wrap, I believe, is in the hall…’ She moved around the room, kissing and saying good night. At the door, she turned. ‘Darling Diana…’ She blew a final kiss. ‘Such a perfect evening. I'll telephone in the morning.’
‘Sleep in, Aunt Lavinia, and have a good rest.’
‘Maybe I will. Good night, everybody. Good night.’
She was gone, with the Colonel in attendance. The door closed behind them. Diana waited for a moment, and then turned, and stooped to help herself to a cigarette. For an instant the atmosphere felt strange, as though they were all children, left on their own without grown-ups to spoil their fun.
Her cigarette lighted, Diana surveyed her guests. ‘What shall we do now?’ Nobody seemed to have any bright suggestions. ‘I know.’ Suddenly her smile was brilliant. ‘Let's play Sardines.’
Athena, still sipping champagne, let out a groan. ‘Oh, Mummy. Grow up!’
‘Why not Sardines? We haven't played for ages. Everybody knows how to play, don't they?’
Alistair Pearson said that he'd played, years ago, but had forgotten the rules. Perhaps if somebody could…?
Edward explained. ‘One person hides. The house is dark. We turn off all the lights. The others wait here. We count a hundred and then all go off in search. If you find the hider you don't say anything. Just sneak in and hide alongside, until everybody's crammed into a laundry basket or a wardrobe or wherever the hiding-place happens to be. Last one in is the booby.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Alistair, not sounding over-enthusiastic. ‘I remember now.’
‘The only rule is,’ Diana chipped in, ‘that we must all stay downstairs. There's masses of space, and if we go upstairs somebody's bound to wake the children…’
‘Or get into bed with Nanny Pearson…’
‘Oh, Edward.’
‘By mistake, of course.’
‘But how,’ asked Alistair, doggedly determined to get everything straight, ‘do we pick the person who's going to hide first?’
‘We draw cards. Spades are high, and the highest card wins.’ Diana went to her bridge table, opened a drawer and took out a pack; arranged them face down, in a clumsy fan, and went from one to the other so that each could pick. Judith turned her card over. The ace of spades. She said, ‘It's me.’
Loveday was dispatched by Diana to switch off all the lights. ‘Every single light in the house?’ she asked.
‘No, darling, not the upstairs landing. Otherwise there'll be a nanny-panic and people falling downstairs.’
‘But that'll mean we can see.’
‘Scarcely anything. Quickly, off you run.’
‘Now.’ Edward took charge. ‘We'll give you a count of a hundred, Judith, and then we'll come after you.’
‘Anywhere out of bounds?’
‘The kitchens, I think. I don't suppose the Nettlebeds are finished in there yet. Otherwise you've got a free rein.’
Loveday returned to them. ‘It's really dark and spooky,’ she announced with some satisfaction. ‘You can scarcely see a thing.’
Judith was gripped by a tremor of anxious fear. Ridiculous, but she wished that the high card had been picked by one of the others. She had never admitted to anybody the state of nerves to which she was reduced by these sort of games, and had always found even hide-and-seek in the garden something of an ordeal, because she usually spent most of the time wanting to go to the lavatory.
But there was nothing to be done, except to brave it out.
‘Let's start, then. On your marks, Judith. Ready, steady, go.’
They had started counting before she was even through the door. One, two, three… She closed the door behind her, and was overwhelmed by inky blackness. It was like having a dense velvet bag put over her head. She was gripped by panic, searching in her mind for some bolt-hole to crouch in before they all came, like hounds, baying after her. She shivered, but behind the door they were still counting. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. By now, however, her eyes were becoming used to the dark, were able to see, at the far end of the hall, the faint gleam filtering down the staircase from the light that burned upstairs, outside the nursery door.
Which made everything a bit better. And there was no time to be lost. She went forward, cautious as a blind person, uncertain, and terrified that some chair or table was about to trip her up. Where to hide? Endeavouring to orientate herself, to measure distances, known so well but now totally confusing, she paced her own timorous footsteps, and calculated her whereabouts. On her right the small sitting-room, and then, farther on, the dining-room. On the other side lay the billiard-room and the Colonel's study. As she went down the hall, the pale light from upstairs drew her onwards. She moved to the left, her hand touched the wall, and she let the moulding of the cornice guide her; bumped into a table, felt the cold brush of leaves against her bare arm. Then, the upright of a doorway. Fingers fumbled across the heavy panelling, found the handle, turned it and slipped inside.
The billiard-room. Black-dark now. Softly she shut the door behind her. She smelt the familiar smell, musty baize and cigar smoke. Cheating, she felt for the electric switch and turned it down. The billiard-table was instantly illuminated, swathed in dust sheets. All was neat and orderly; cues standing in their racks, ready for the next game. No fire, but the heavy brocade curtains were drawn close. She got her bearings, and then turned the light off again, and sped across the huge room, her feet making no sound on the thick Turkey rug.
The tall windows in this room had a deep, high sill, where sometimes, on a wet afternoon, she and Loveday perched, watching some game in progress and endeavouring to keep the score. Not a very imaginative
hiding-place, but she could think of no other, and the seconds were speeding by. She pushed a curtain aside, gathered up her long skirts and scrambled up onto the sill. Then, swiftly, dealt with the curtains, drawing them close, settling their folds, so that they would appear undisturbed and no betraying chink of light could give her away.
It was done. She had made it. She was here. She moved sideways, and leaned her shoulders against the mouldings of the shutter. It was dreadfully cold, like being in a very tiny, cold room, because the glass of the windows was icy, and the thick curtains kept out all the warmth of the radiators. Outside, the sky was dark, swept with grey clouds, which parted from time to time to reveal the twinkle of starlight. She looked out into the darkness and saw the silhouettes of winter trees, restless, tossing their heads in the wind. She hadn't noticed the wind before, but now, shivering, she was very aware of it, piping at the edge of the windows, like something that wanted to be let in.
A sound. She raised her head to listen. Far off, a door opened. A raised voice. ‘We're coming! Ready or not!’ They were done with counting. Now, they were on her scent; on the hunt. She thought about going to the lavatory, and then, firmly, didn't think about it. She hoped they would all find her before she died of cold.
She waited. The wait seemed to last forever. More voices. Footsteps. A shriek of feminine laughter. Minutes passed. And then, very softly, a door opened and was closed again. The billiard-room door. She was terribly aware of the looming presence of another person, and was all at once terrified. But no sound. The thick carpet would muffle any sound, but she was suddenly quite certain that footsteps were creeping towards her. She held her breath, in case breathing betrayed her. Then a curtain was gently drawn back, and Edward whispered, ‘Judith?’
‘Oh,’ an involuntary sigh of relief that the waiting and the tension were over. ‘I'm here,’ she whispered back.
He vaulted lightly up onto the deep windowsill, and drew the curtain behind him. He stood, and was there, tall and solid and very close. And warm.
‘Do you know how I found you?’
‘You mustn't talk. They'll hear.’
‘Do you know?’
‘No.’
‘I smelt you.’
She stifled a nervous giggle. ‘How horrible.’
‘No. Lovely. Your scent.’
‘I'm freezing.’
‘It's bloody cold. Here.’ He drew her towards him, and began to rub her goosepimpled arms briskly, rather as though he were drying a dog. ‘My God, you are frozen. How's that? Is that better?’
‘Yes. Better.’
‘It's like being in a little house, isn't it? With a wall and a window and just enough space in between.’
‘Outside, there's a wind. I didn't know there was a wind tonight.’
‘There's always a wind at night. It's a present from the sea. Tonight it's a Christmas present.’ And with that, and no further ado, he put his arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her. She had always imagined that being kissed for the first time, properly, by a man, would be terrifying and strange, and an experience that she would need to get used to, but Edward's kiss was hard and competent, and not strange in the very least, just wonderfully comforting, and obscurely what she had been dreaming of for months.
He stopped kissing her, but continued to hold her, pressed to his shirt-front, rubbing his cheek against her cheek, nuzzling her ear. ‘I've been wanting to do this all evening. Ever since you came through the door looking like…what was it Aunt Lavinia said…a beautiful kingfisher.’
He drew away, and looked down at her. ‘How could such a funny little cygnet grow into such a beautiful swan?’ He smiled, and there was enough light to see his smile. She felt his warm hand move from her shoulder, move down her back, caressing her waist and her hips through the thin folds of the blue silk dress. And then he kissed her again, but it was different this time, because his mouth was open, and his tongue was forcing her lips apart, and now his hand was cupping her breast, kneading the soft flesh…
And it all came back. Mercifully out of mind for so long, the horror returned, and she was in the cinema again, the dark, grubby little cinema, and Billy Fawcett's hand was on her knee, groping, violating her privacy, working its way…
Her panic reaction was totally instinctive. What had been pleasurable and delightful became all at once menacing, and it was no good telling herself that this was Edward because it didn't matter who it was; she simply knew that she couldn't deal with this sexual intrusion. She didn't want it, any more than she had wanted it or been able to deal with it when she was fourteen years old. She could not have stopped herself had she wanted to, but sharply brought up her arm and shoved hard against Edward's chest.
‘No!’
‘Judith?’ She heard the bewilderment in his voice; stared up into his face, and saw his puzzled frown. She said again, ‘No, Edward.’ She shook her head violently. ‘No.’
‘What's the panic? It's only me.’
‘I don't want. You mustn't…’
She pushed him away from her, and he let her go. She backed off, so that once more her shoulders were pressed against the bony strappings of the shutter. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence lay between them, accompanied only by the pipe of the wind. Gradually, Judith's stupid, reasonless panic died away, and she felt her racing heart settle down to its normal beat. What have I done? she asked herself, and was filled with shame because she had wanted to be so grown up, and instead had behaved like a gauche and flustered idiot. Billy Fawcett. She suddenly wanted to scream with rage at herself. Thought about trying to explain it all to Edward, and knew that she never could.
She said, at last, ‘I'm sorry.’ It sounded pathetically inadequate.
‘Don't you like being kissed?’ Clearly, Edward was totally confused. Judith found time to wonder if any girl had ever treated him thus. Edward Carey-Lewis, that privileged, gilded youth, who had probably never, in all his life, had any person say No to him.
‘It's all my fault,’ she told him bleakly.
‘I thought that was what you wanted.’
‘I did…I mean…Oh, I don't know.’
‘I can't bear you to sound so wretched…’ He took a step towards her, but in some desperation, she put up her hand and held him off. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, it's nothing. It's nothing to do with you.’
‘But…’
He stopped. Turned his head to listen. Beyond the curtains the billiard-room door was opened and gently closed. Discovery was close at hand, and too late now to make amends. In some despair Judith gazed up at Edward's profile, and told herself that she had lost him forever. There was time to say no more. The curtain twitched aside.
‘I thought you might be here,’ whispered Loveday, and Edward stooped to give her a hand, and hoist her up onto the windowsill to join them.
That night the old dream returned. The nightmare that she had thought buried and forgotten forever. Her bedroom at Windyridge, and the open window, and the curtains blowing, and Billy Fawcett climbing up his ladder to get at her. And lying paralysed with terror, watching and waiting for his head to appear over the sill, his bright and knowing eyes, and his yellow-toothed smile. And, as he came, jerking awake in a sweat of fear, sitting bolt upright and with her mouth open in a silent scream.
It was as though he had won. He had spoilt everything for her, because in some ghastly, gruesome way she had confused him with Edward, and Edward's hands had become Billy Fawcett's hands, and all her basic inhibitions had leaped into life, and she was too young and too inexperienced to know how to deal with them.
She lay in her darkened bedroom at Nancherrow and wept into the pillow, because she loved Edward so much and she had ruined everything, and nothing was ever going to be the same again.
But she had reckoned without Edward. In the morning, still asleep, she was wakened by him. She heard his soft knock, and her door open. ‘Judith?’ It was dark, but the ceiling light was abruptly switched on, assa
ulting her eyes with its hard glare. Thus dragged out of sleep, she sat up, blinking and confused.
‘Judith.’
Edward. She stared at him stupidly. Saw him shaved, dressed, clear-eyed and ready for the new day, looking not at all as though he had climbed into bed at three o'clock in the morning.
‘What is it?’
‘Don't look so alarmed.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Nine.’ He went to the window to draw back her curtains, and her room was filled with the grey light of the late-December morning.
‘I've slept in.’
‘Doesn't matter. Everybody's sleeping in this morning.’
He returned to the door to turn off the light, and then came to settle himself, without ceremony, on the side of her bed. He said, ‘We have to talk.’
Memories of last night came flooding back. ‘Oh, Edward.’ She felt as though she were about to succumb once more to unstoppable tears.
‘Don't look so anguished. Here…’ He stooped and retrieved her dressing-gown from the rug by her bed. ‘Put this on, otherwise you'll die of cold.’ She did as she was told, shoving her arms into the sleeves, and bundling it around her. ‘How did you sleep?’
She remembered the horribly familiar dream. ‘All right,’ she fibbed.
‘I'm glad. Now look, I've thought everything through, and that's why I'm here. What happened last night—’
‘It was my fault.’
‘It wasn't anybody's fault. Perhaps I misjudged the situation, but I'm not going to apologise because, by my reckoning, I didn't do anything to apologise for. Except, perhaps to forget how young you still are. Dressed up and looking so glamorous, it seemed to me that you'd grown up in a minute. But of course, nobody can do that. They just look as though they have. You don't change inside.’