Page 55 of A Sky Painted Gold

“I didn’t know I was supposed to invite them.” I laugh. “It’s your party, Caitlin.”

“A party?” Bernie breathes, exhaling a cloud of smoke. His sleepy face perks up at this. After all, a Cardew party is not to be missed. Even I know that much.

“Yes,” Caitlin says, “and it’s not my party, it’s Lou’s party. Her birthday party. We’re throwing it at the Cornwall house on Friday.”

“Sounds delightful,” Patricia drawls, “and it’s always nice to get out of the city.”

“It’s going to be spectacular,” Caitlin says firmly. “My best work yet. A masquerade.”

“Ooooh, masks.” Bernie shivers with exaggerated delight. “Wonderful inventions,” he murmurs, turning to me. “They’re carte blanche for bad behaviour, you know.”

“So I keep hearing,” I groan. “It seems to be something that everyone finds exciting, although if you’ve all been on your good behaviour so far I dread to think what this party will be like!”

“Oh, it will be outrageous,” Bernie promises. “Quite the eye opener for you, my little daisy.”

“I think my eyes are pretty well open, thank you.” I bat my eyelashes at him, determined not to let my irritation show. These kinds of comments make me feel like I’ve been cast in the role of the unsophisticated innocent, and I hate thinking that this is my appeal. It cuts a little bit too close to Aunt Irene’s warnings.

“We’ll see,” he says, looking at me with his eyes half closed and a dangerous smile on his lips.

“Anyway,” Caitlin says, drawing the attention back to herself, “I’m telling you, Bernie, because it saves me having to do the rounds. All the right people will know within the hour, I’m sure.”

“Well, that’s charming,” Bernie pouts.

On a stage above the crowd of dancers a band are playing some of the foot-tapping jazz I find so irresistible. “You really do look gorgeous tonight,” Caitlin says, looking me over with a critical eye. “Doesn’t Lou look absolutely gorgeous tonight?” Caitlin demands loudly, looking around at the rest of the group, who are filling up the table.

All eyes turn in my direction, and I shrink beneath the attention. They voice their enthusiastic agreement.

“So why,” Caitlin cries elaborately, as though she is acting in a pantomime and riling up the crowd, “hasn’t anyone asked her to dance yet?”

“Probably because we just walked through the door,” I grind out from behind a fixed grin. I am not enjoying Caitlin’s campaign very much. But it is too late for that; three of the men who have been fawning over Caitlin leap to their feet, arguing over who will get to dance with me first. I try not to roll my eyes.

“Bernie?” I say, holding out my hand.

“I do love a woman who does the asking,” he murmurs, wrapping his elegant fingers around my wrist and guiding me to the dance floor.

“I don’t know why she’s making a fuss,” I grumble as he places his arm lightly around my waist.

Bernie is a graceful dancer, but then I can’t imagine him volunteering to do anything that he isn’t good at in front of an audience. His hand rests delicately on my back, barely touching me, and his steps are light and precise as he guides me around the dance floor without seeming to guide me at all.

“Is something … wrong?” he asks softly, his eyes straying towards Caitlin, the crease reappearing between his eyes. I am struck by how strange it is to see such worry in Bernie’s sleepy eyes, and I feel my heart quicken beneath my beautiful new dress.

“I don’t know.” My own eyes follow his. “I think so, but I don’t know what. She’s like a violin string pulled too tight,” I say finally.

Bernie briefly closes his eyes, and I see him swallow. I am startled. Is it really so serious as this?

“She shouldn’t have come to London,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Not after what happened.”

“What do you mean after what happened?” I ask quickly.

The look Bernie gives me is enigmatic. “I don’t think that’s for me to say.”

I am quiet for a moment. I know that Caitlin has her secrets, but I’m sad that she doesn’t feel able to trust me with them. I feel as if Caitlin knows everything there is to know about me.

“Don’t frown, darling,” Bernie scolds then. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles.” He makes a visible effort to paper over the cracks in his smile. “I’m sure it will be fine. And you’re off home tomorrow … Robert will see her right, don’t worry.”

I feel myself relax a little at this. Like Bernie, I realize that my faith in Robert is absolute. Well, when it comes to Caitlin, anyway.

We dance for another couple of minutes, although I feel like I am hardly aware of the music or the steps. Poor Bernie winces more than once as I stand on his toes. When we return to the table Caitlin is still seated, and she is telling a story that has the rest of the group in stitches. I feel a further loosening in my chest. Perhaps Bernie is wrong, looking at Caitlin now she looks like a beautiful young woman enjoying a night on the town. She catches my eye and grins.