Page 10 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Well, thanks for the champagne.” I keep my voice airy and drain the rest of my drink before handing the glass back to him. “I’d better be going.”

“I thought I was going to introduce you to my sister?” I think his voice is a challenge, and this time he must know that he has won. There’s no way I’m staying to talk to him, no way I’m walking into that party, a scruffy dusty girl who just fell out of a tree. Not to add insult to serious injury. Part of me had been quite enjoying sparring with him, I realize, but the joke about my writing has left me feeling small, slightly ridiculous, and now I want to get as far away from him as possible.

“Not this evening,” I say with all the dignity I can manage. “I’m afraid I have another engagement. Thank you, Robert.” Then, before my courage can fail me, I turn and sweep off through the trees, leaving him standing alone in the moonlight.

CHAPTER

FIVE

I relive every painful moment of my encounter with Robert Cardew over and over, on an endless loop, for three days. Thanks to the loss of my notebook I feel vulnerable and exposed, as though Robert Cardew has seen some hidden, secret part of me. As the shock of our encounter wears off, the crackling, angry feeling in my chest only increases. Whenever I think about it I get all hot and cross, and I want to kick things. On the other hand, the sight of the party, of the glamour and the excitement, has also lingered in my mind, piercing me with pleasure and longing each time I remember it. I had hoped that my curiosity would be satisfied by my visit, but instead, that little glimpse has left me feeling even more lost and empty.

Then an envelope arrives. The envelope is heavy, and when I run my fingers over it the paper feels more like silk. It has my name and address scrawled untidily across the front in peacock-blue ink. I stand in the kitchen and rip it open with trembling fingers. Inside is a thick, white card edged with gold and engraved with glittering golden words.

Robert and Caitlin Cardew invite you to a

party in honour of Laurie and Charles Miller.

Join us in welcoming these

two back to dry land.

Cardew House, 29th June 1929.

Cocktails at 9 p.m.

Please wear white.

Along with the invitation there is another sheet of thick, creamy paper. It is covered in the same untidy writing that is on the front of the envelope. The words there make me need to sit down rather quickly.

Dear Louise,

I was too upset to learn from Robert that I missed making your acquaintance at our party the other night. He really is the most odious creature imaginable, I know, but if you could bear to see him again I would so love it if you could come to our next get-together as my guest. Come for dinner at seven, and stay over so that you don’t miss breakfast this time.

I can feel it in my bones that you and I will be the best of friends. Do say you will come, do! Do!

— CC

I hold the note in my hand, my heart thumping. CC must be Caitlin Cardew, Robert’s sister. I lift a hand to my forehead as if to try and rub away the frown that is hovering there. My brain just can’t seem to make any sense of this. Robert must have told Caitlin that I gatecrashed their party, that I broke into their house, that I was pretty rude to him after he caught me, that he insulted me (she is quick to point out his odious nature, after all), and her response is to invite me to dinner? I look again at the scrawling handwriting, at the quivering exclamation marks and the words heavily underlined. The spicy and exotic scent of unfamiliar perfume clings to the paper. I rack my brain, but I can’t remember seeing pictures of her in the magazines where her brother is such a fixture.

Finally, another thought, as clear and golden as a ray of sunshine, pierces this fog of confusion, and I feel the frown melting from my brow. I am going back! I’m going back to that beautiful, exciting place, and this time I’m going as an invited guest. The only fly in the ointment is that I’ll have to see Robert Cardew’s infuriating face again, but I suppose at a big party it will be easy enough to avoid him. Perhaps I will even be able to retrieve my notebook before he shares it with anyone else … if he hasn’t already.

Because of course I’m going to go. Of course I am. I run my finger over that final exclamation mark. Do! The invitation is another apple in my hand, begging me to take a bite.

I slip it carefully into my pocket now, so that I can take it with me. After almost two weeks I’m going to see Alice. It’s the longest we’ve ever been apart and I can’t wait. It feels as if a lifetime has passed, and there is so much to share. Today is to be my first visit to her new house. I wanted to go earlier, as soon as they got back, but Midge told me that the lovebirds needed some time to themselves. I felt a little embarrassed then. The books and films always seem to end with the wedding so the delights of the honeymoon occupy an often-visited, if hazy, area of my imagination. It’s strange to think that these things are no longer a mystery to my sister.

I make my way over to the house – Alice’s house, I mentally correct myself – with the invitation burning in my pocket. The house is part of a terraced row of cottages in the middle of the village – squat, ugly buildings of dark stone that were built a long time ago to withstand the storms that roll in from the sea. Alice and Jack’s house is sandwiched right in the middle, a narrow slip of a building. There is no garden out the front, but Pa made Alice a window box that she has filled with daisies. It stands proudly on the slightly crooked windowsill, and this out-of-place riot of cheerfulness is so much my sister that it makes me smile. I knock on the door, feeling suddenly shy, and it flies open immediately.

“What are you thinking?” Alice demands, sweeping me into a hug. “You don’t have to knock like you’re some sort of visitor.”

I laugh into her shoulder, relieved that she looks and sounds the same, as though being married was going to write itself on to her body somehow. “I am a visitor, Alice!” I say.

“Oh, but not really.” She pulls me through the door.

I stand, looking around me with interest. The room we are in is quite dark, and my eyes take a moment to adjust.

“Gloomy, isn’t it?” Alice asks.

“It’s—” I start, but she cuts me off.