Page 67 of A Sky Painted Gold

By seven o’clock I am determined to push the fight with Alice out of my mind. Midge is right, I reassure myself, we will make up, and tomorrow I’ll go and apologize. For now, I just want to focus on the excitement of the party. After all, how often do things like this happen in real life? Still, I can’t seem to shake the feeling, the edgy, anxious feeling that the argument has left me with. It is like a bitter taste in my mouth.

When I reach the house, with my black dress tucked carefully over my arm, Caitlin is waiting outside for me. “You’re here!” she cries. “Now, I need you to put this on.” She holds up a silk scarf.

“A scarf?” I say, reaching out to touch it. “Why?”

“It’s a blindfold, silly!” She laughs. “You need to put it on so that I can get you upstairs without seeing any of the secret party business.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, but apparently she is because she is already covering my eyes with the scarf. “Now what?” I ask after she ties it firmly in a knot and confirms that I can’t see anything.

“Now I guide you to your room,” she says.

This is, predictably, easier said than done. There is a lot of bumping into things and muttered curse words on my side, and a lot of stifled giggling on hers, but eventually she takes the blindfold off and I find that I am standing in my bedroom.

“Ta da!” Caitlin sings, throwing her arms up in the air.

“Yes, seamless.” I nod, rubbing my knee where I am certain a bruise is forming. “Have we missed the party yet?”

“Don’t be grumpy,” she pleads. “I told you I was sorry about that wall. I got my left and right confused for a second.”

I roll my eyes, but she knows that I am only teasing. Now that I am in the house I can feel the harsh words I exchanged with Alice receding, like they were part of some distant bad dream. The building is working its magic on me already, and a tingle of excitement runs down my spine at the thought of all that lies ahead tonight.

“Anyway,” Caitlin says, with a gleam in her eyes, “how can you possibly stay angry when there are presents to open?” And she steps neatly to one side, revealing a small pile of beautifully wrapped gifts on top of the bed.

“Caitlin!” I exclaim. “That’s too much!”

“They’re not all from me,” she says. “They’re from everyone.”

There are silk stockings from Patricia, and a cloche hat from Bernie. Laurie has given me a bottle of scent that smells like bluebells in the spring, and there is even a flat, square parcel from Charlie. There is nothing particularly inspiring on the card, but I tear at the paper, revealing the record that lies inside. It is Maurice Chevalier singing “Louise”. For a moment my and Caitlin’s eyes meet, and I see a flicker of sadness, but it is quickly gone.

“Ooooh, Louise,” she hisses, jabbing me in the arm. “You know how that goes… Each little rose tells me it knows, I love you, love youuuu.” She sings ardently, clutching at her heart and sliding from the bed in a dramatic heap.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it,” I say, stroking the record with my fingertips. “Other than it’s got my name as the title.”

“I don’t know,” Caitlin says from the floor. “I think maybe tonight’s the night.”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

She swings around on to her knees and looks up at me. “I mean that tonight’s the night something happens,” she says. “You declare your undying love for each other.”

“I don’t know why you keep going on about me and Charlie,” I grumble. It’s silly that Caitlin has latched on to the idea with so much determination. I like Charlie fine, but I’m certainly not in love with him. I remember watching Alice fall in love with Jack, the way she lit up around him, the way he made her laugh, the way he looked at her. There’s nothing like that between me and Charlie.

“Well, for starters, you did say he was the most handsome man you’d ever seen,” Caitlin clucks. “Why not live a little? Have some fun? It’s no use always waiting for him to take the reins. If he’s still being so slow about it, you should just march right up and kiss him. That would do the trick.” Her eyes are enormous, shining dangerously.

“I couldn’t do that!” I exclaim.

“Hmm.” Caitlin sniffs. “Well, I think it would be mighty effective, and this is a night you’ll want to remember for ever. It’s a night made for kissing.”

“What’s this?” I ask, changing the subject. There is one present left – a large, white box tied with silver ribbon.

“Oooh.” Caitlin jumps to her feet, and her movements lack some of her usual grace, as if she is wound tightly, carrying her tension in her limbs. “I can’t wait to see you open this one.”

I pull the card from where it is tucked beneath the ribbon. “It’s from you … and Robert,” I say. The message is simple. Happy Birthday, the card reads, with “C” and an “R” at the bottom. I trace my fingers over the handwriting. It is Robert’s, and it is elegant and precise, just like him.

I lift the lid from the box and gingerly pull back the layers and layers of pale pink tissue paper inside. I gasp when I catch a glimpse of pale green silk. No, I correct myself, stroking the material with trembling fingers, not pale green at all … seafoam.

I lift the dress from the box as gently as I can. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It is made with the silk organza that I fell in love with at Madame Carradice’s, a sleeveless gown with a dropped waist and a hemline that is slightly raised at the front. The skirt falls in soft, rippling waves and beautiful, intricate embroidery in gold thread and tiny green and gold beads snakes across the hips and down the sides like tiny, shimmering scales. It feels light and fragile, and each stitch is absolutely minute and absolutely perfect. Attached to one shoulder is a short, removable train in the same light silk, covered in more of the exquisite feathery beading. Everything about it is ethereal, fairy-made. It looks like something from another world. I stand speechless, holding it in my hands.

“Well?” Caitlin says, breaking the silence as she dances in front of me. “What do you think?”