Losing Nicola (11 page)

A fortnight or so later, I was climbing into the pinned folds of a party dress more gorgeous than I could ever have imagined. ‘Keep still!' commanded Ava. ‘Stop wriggling about, before I stick in a pin into you by mistake.'

And then the dress was over my shoulders and pulled down to my knees and Ava stepped back to admire her handiwork. Looking at myself in Aunt's antique cheval glass, I saw myself transformed into a veritable beauty.

‘Very nice,' she pronounced, ‘though I do say so myself.'

‘I say so too, Ava. It's beautiful, absolutely lovely,'

On a hanger hooked over the picture rail was a petticoat, white paper nylon with layers and layers of stiff netting round the bottom, each layer bound in a different colour of bias binding. ‘My birthday present to you – mine and Bella's,' said Ava, nodding and winking.

‘Oh thank you, thank you!' I kissed her, which turned her face red, for we were not a household given to demonstrations of affection.

‘Don't thank me, thank your mother,' she said. She picked up a snippet of the Old Rose silk and rubbed it between her fingers. ‘Though where she got it from I don't know. I haven't seen quality like this for years.'

The final numbers for the party slid forwards and backwards, now reaching towards forty, now sliding back towards thirty, once as high as forty-eight. Dougal and Callum arrived with friends from medical school and the navy. By the time the evening arrived, the numbers had stabilized at thirty-six.

The carpets had been rolled back, the furniture pushed back against the wall, a long table set up in the dining room, covered in an old sheet, threadbare from many washings. My big brothers had polished the drawing room floor by scattering it with crystals of soda bicarbonate and then dragging Bella and me back and forth in blankets until it had attained the slipperiness of an ice rink.

A barrel of beer arrived and was set up in the dining room on a wooden cradle. There was cider in brown bottles and the kind of neon-coloured fizzy drinks we were not usually allowed. Orlando and Julian had undertaken to make ginger beer, and the tightly-capped bottles stood on a table, looking like bottled dishwater. There were platters of corned beef, Fiona's inexpert sausage rolls, sandwiches of tinned salmon and egg-with-salad-cream-and-cress. Miss Vane had produced dozens of small savoury tarts featuring melted cheese and onions. There were little pink fairy cakes topped with scatters of hundreds-and-thousands, or glacé cherries, and even a birthday cake covered in pink-tinted icing, and twelve candle holders in the shape of roses, each holding a small candle made of twisted pink wax. My name had been iced across the top,

set with little silver balls which winked under the lights.

I couldn't stop staring at myself in my new dress, with my shining cap of bobbed hair which had been pinned into kiss curls the night before. The waist was cinched with a black patent-leather belt Erin had sent from America, and which made me look very close to something out of the fashion pages in Ava's magazines. My parents had given me a strand of pearls as a birthday present, and I thought nobody could have been luckier. Perhaps my destiny was not as the successor to Dame Myra Hess but as the new Jane Russell or Rita Hayworth, for no one could possibly look as beautiful as I did. My usually mocking brothers were complimentary, for once. Even Julian, Nicola's faithful acolyte, told me I was looking awfully nice and ran a sweaty finger up my arm. All this, just for me. I'd never been so happy.

As we stood in the hall, waiting for the guests, Fiona put an arm round me and gave me an unaccustomed hug. ‘You look lovely, Alice,' she said.

I was still smiling when Nicola arrived, on her own. She wore her everyday garb of a short denim skirt and a white broderie-anglaise blouse with puffed sleeves. She greeted my mother then turned to me.

‘Oh,' she said, looking me up and down. ‘I didn't realize it was meant to be
that
sort of a party.'

‘What sort?' My stomach curdled, my dress turned instantly into Cinderella rags.

‘A fancy one.'

‘So what sort
did
you think it was meant to be?' Orlando, looking marvellous in a white shirt and a pink silk tie of my father's, had materialized beside me. I could feel his dislike of her in the tremor of his arm against mine and the set of his beautiful mouth.

‘I didn't realize it would be . . .' She eyed my new frock, my pearls, with disdain. ‘. . . a dress-up occasion.'

‘What a pity you misunderstood the invitation, Nicola.' My mother's voice was cold. ‘I do hope you won't feel out of place, dressed so casually.'

Nicola's face reddened, but even she wasn't about to take on Fiona. ‘Of course not,' she muttered.

‘Orlando, take our guest to the dining room and find her something to drink,' said Fiona. As we walked away, she repeated reassuringly, ‘You look
lovely
, darling.'

‘Sorry if I didn't dress up,' Nicola said as we moved away, attempting to regain lost ground.

‘It's Alice's birthday party. You jolly well should have.' Orlando sounded as chilly as Fiona.

‘Well, with
these
kind of people here, it didn't occur to me to put on something fancy.' The sweep of Nicola's arm took in Miss Vane, uncomfortably squeezed into slippery green rayon, Gordon Parker in his desert boots, Sasha Elias in a grey flannel shirt and too-short tie.

‘At least they've made an effort.'

‘So I can see,' sneered Nicola.

‘Sorry if they're not good enough for you.' Orlando kept his voice low. ‘We looked hard but we couldn't find any murderers to invite to make you feel at home.'

She went pale. ‘You bastard,' she said softly. She turned and looked my dress up and down again, raised her eyebrows, said mockingly, ‘You look
lovely
, darling.'

Orlando smiled, wheeled me round and led me towards one of the ivy-wreathed marble fireplaces, where my father stood holding a glass of gin disguised with government issue orange juice. ‘How's my pretty little daughter?' he said. He put an arm round me. It was no use. A ring of cold had formed around my heart.

Sasha Elias came up and shook hands with my father, bowing from the waist. ‘
Guten abend, Herr Doktor Professor
,' he said. His eyes grew mellow when he turned to me. ‘How very nice you look, Alice,' he said. ‘That colour suits you well.'

‘Thank you.' I had never blushed before in my life, but I felt the heat rising to my cheeks. From the corner of my eye I noticed Nicola standing at the top of the wrought-iron steps that led down to the garden, talking to Gordon. Despite my discomfiture, my social conscience was uneasy. Should I go and talk to her again, make up in some small way for Orlando's rudeness? My mother had told me that it was my job to make sure that all my guests were at ease.

‘No!' said Orlando.

‘No what?'

‘Leave her alone.' He touched my shoulder. ‘Nothing you can do will change her, Alice.' He turned to Sasha. ‘Are you going to play for us later, Mr Elias?'

‘Some German lieder,' said my father. He began to sing softly, ‘
Muss i denn, muss i denn
. . .'

‘I'd love to hear some Bach,' said Orlando.

‘Yes, but . . . I think this is not the right occasion for Bach?'

‘Why not?' asked Orlando, although Callum had just wound up the gramophone and put a Victor Sylvester record on the turntable.

‘I think it is more of a dancing party than a concert.'

‘It's a bit-of-everything-party,' Orlando assured him.

‘We shall see,' said Sasha. He smiled at me. ‘And if there is to be dancing, I hope I may dance with the birthday child.'

‘Girl,' said Orlando. ‘She's a girl, not a child.'

Sasha bowed again, one hand on his heart. ‘I apologize, Miss Alice. Of course you are not a child, not any more.' To Orlando, he said, ‘Your sister tells me that you are a gifted musician. What instruments do you play?'

Orlando shrugged. ‘Piano, of course. Violin. Oboe. I'm thinking of taking up the flute next term.'

‘If you already play so many, I think this should not be hard for you.'

‘I hope not.'

‘He can play
any
thing,' I said.

Mr Elias sighed. ‘I should like to be as talented as you.' I was amazed that a grown-up would talk as an equal to someone of Orlando's age.

‘Thank you,' Orlando said. As the notes of a quickstep began to fill the room, he grabbed my hand. ‘Please excuse me – we know this tune. Come on, Alice.' He swept me away.

‘Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow,' I whispered, under my breath. Although I was hopelessly arrhythmic with anyone else, I loved to dance with Orlando, who seemed able to bend his body to mine so that instead of being two people, we were one.

Out in the garden, lit by the candlelight streaming across the lawn, I could faintly see Julian and Nicola, dancing together. She stood so close to him there was no space between their two bodies, and while I looked, I saw him bend towards her and she lift her mouth to his.

Kissing! What did that feel like? If Mr Elias kissed me, would it be nicer than the damp sweaty touch of Julian's mouth, earlier that summer? Over Orlando's shoulder I saw my father dancing with my mother, his hand high on her back, his head held in a rigid and formal way which only emphasized the fluency of their movements. Before the war, perhaps Fiona had danced like this, with boyfriends from University, or with my father, foxtrotting through the Schwarzwald, or swaying at a Spanish
fiesta
, fluttering a fan, throwing back her head in laughter.

The record came to an end and Orlando bowed in the way we'd been taught, then slipped away to rewind the gramophone and put on another record. Then Sasha Elias was in front of me, holding out his hand, his green-speckled eyes warm.

‘Miss Alice, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?'

‘Of course.'

‘What a lovely evening we are having' he said. ‘It was very kind of your mother to invite me.'

‘We're very glad you were able to come,' I said formally,

‘We used to dance in my family, too. In the old days. My mother would play the piano and my sisters would clap in time.' He smiled. ‘My aunt Lena loved to dance the tango with my father.'

I tried to visualize this German household, the father with a gold watch stretched across his waistcoat, mother with her hair up and a long tea-gown, the two little girls in low-waisted dresses with big bows holding back their hair, like the illustrations in my copy of
The Secret Garden
, the aunt with a rose between her teeth.

‘I've never danced the tango,' I said.

‘Then one day I shall teach you,' he said.

Nicola came towards us. Her mouth looked crushed. Against the far wall, I saw Mr Yelland was watching her, his expression hostile.

‘Alice has promised to have the next dance with me,' said Sasha, smiling at her. ‘Might I have the honour of the one after that with you?'

She looked him up and down. ‘I don't think so.' Turning away from him, she said over her shoulder, ‘Unless you promise to wear handcuffs.'

I hoped he didn't understand what she meant, but he did. He flinched, paled. ‘This is a very discourteous girl,' he said quietly. ‘Also – I hope you understand – not a truthful one.'

‘I know that.' I burned with shame and indignation. How did she dare to be so rude, and in someone else's house, too? At someone else's birthday party. Looking at the lines of distress around his mouth, I knew that I would never willingly speak to her again.

Another record started up. Mr Elias held out his hand and I slipped into his arms. He held me close, pressing me against him, and whirled me around. My heart beat almost painfully against the silk of my frock. When the music ended, he held my hand and gave a stiff little bow. ‘Thank you, Alice.'

There was a sudden commotion out in the garden. One of Callum's friends appeared at the French windows. ‘There's a chap out here says he wants to speak to a Mrs Enid Edwardes, whoever that is,' he said. ‘Seems a bit the worse for wear, actually.' Behind him, we could hear some confused shouting, raised voices, the crash of breaking glass.

‘Who's Enid Edwardes?' I said to Orlando as we crowded towards the windows.

‘Ava,' he said, and my heart sank. Why did the brutish husband have to return today of all days?

Outside, Nicola was crouched in the corner of the hedge, though I didn't understand what she was doing. Edwardes suddenly turned on her. ‘You didn't say there was people here, you little slut,' he shouted, swinging a fist.

My parents pushed between us. ‘What the hell has that wretched little whore been up to now?' my father said, his voice low. It was a shocking enough question, especially given that he never used bad language, at least, not in front of us.

Sirens screamed distantly. At the sound of them, Edwardes swung round. ‘I'll get even with the lot of you,' he yelled. He lurched towards Nicola. ‘And as for you, you'll get what's coming to you.'

‘Can't fucking wait,' she said.

I gasped. I'd never heard that word spoken before, though I'd read it, knew what it meant. But to have this girl using it, and in front of my parents . . . it crossed my mind that she might be drunk.

‘That's more than enough from you, Miss,' my father said angrily. ‘You've caused enough trouble already.'

The idea that whatever was going on in the garden was somehow Nicola's fault, was even more startling than my father's swearing. We were not used to children being able to precipitate events, or manipulate the adults around them. On the whole, knowing ourselves to be powerless, we did as we were told.

I could hear Ava sobbing somewhere behind me, and Orlando's voice soothing her.‘Come on, everybody,' my mother called. ‘Supper is served. Everything's ready, just go and help yourself.' She stopped me. Pulled me to her side. ‘Happy birthday, Alice,' she said. ‘I hope . . . nobody's spoiling things for you.'