Page 20 of Under a Dancing Star

“Leo was in town yesterday and he picked up these things for you. I gave him a list and told him where to go and who to speak to – he seems to have done quite well.”

I move forward and open the trunk. Inside is a jumble of clothes, a riot of bright colours and textures.

“These are all for me?” I reach out to run a piece of material between my fingers. It is red and silky, as cool as water against my skin.

“Of course.” Filomena rummages around. “Ah, here. I think you will like these.”

“Trousers!” I exclaim in delight.

I’ve never been allowed to wear trousers before; despite my protests to the contrary, Mother has always regarded them as something worn by fast women. In fact, I have come to realize, all my clothing is quite old-fashioned and more suited to a girl of twelve than one of seventeen. This has become increasingly apparent as I have seen Filomena and Ursula – and even Hero – dressed in outfits that make mine look frumpy and out of place.

I never gave what I wore much thought before. I dressed as all the women I knew dressed – with a sort of shabby respectability. The other women here at the villa dress for pleasure. Their clothes are practical: they keep them cool in the heat, but they’re also daring, modern, pretty.

I take the trousers from Filomena. They are made of light linen, wide legged and high waisted. Filomena pulls out another pair, made of a soft, dark-green material.

“These are much more practical for you, Bea,” she says. “It is quite wonderful, the way you run around.” I feel my heart squeeze at that. The way I run around has always been a problem in the past, not something to be encouraged. Not something to buy appropriate clothing for. It’s a small thing but it feels important, as though my clothes must fit me rather than the other way around.

There are several other pairs of trousers in the trunk, along with two bathing suits, and a selection of collared shirts with short sleeves. My clothes from England are all drab pastels – pale, insipid blues, pinks and lilacs – even more faded with age. The clothes on the bed in front of me are like jewels – emerald, garnet, amethyst.

Encouraged by Filomena I try things on, a little shyly at first, but soon I’m spinning around, enjoying the way the silk feels on my skin, the freedom the trousers offer. I stick my hands in the pockets and regard myself in the mirror. I look so grown up, so different. So free. Somehow the simple cut of the clothing fits me better than any dress ever has.

Filomena pulls the hat off her head and plonks it on mine, laughing at my broad, unstoppable grin. “You like it all then, Bea?”

“I love it,” I say truthfully. “For the first time in my life, I feel like me. Does that make sense?” I shake my head. “I never thought that clothes could do that. It’s like magic.”

“I think so,” Filomena agrees seriously. She glances over me with a critical eye. “It is unusual, these trousers and shirts, but I thought they would work for you, and I was right. You look more of a woman in these masculine clothes.” She grins, a wicked grin that makes us into conspirators. “You will turn a few heads, I think,” she says and I flush. “Now that I have finished being the fairy godmother, I must go back to work. If I am in the studio then the muse knows where to find me.”

“Well, the muse can find me at the pool. Now that I finally have a bathing suit I can’t wait to swim.”

“If you are going to go, you’d better go now,” Filomena says brightly. “You’ve got an art lesson this afternoon, remember.” She smiles at the reluctant frown on my face. “Oh yes. How do you say? Time to pay the piper.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After a glorious swim I return to my room to find a note pinned to my door.

On the terrace at 3.

is all it says in an untidy scrawl.

For some reason, I feel odd about spending time alone with Ben; there’s the tiniest nervous flutter in my stomach. Why? I wonder if I would feel the same if Klaus was giving me lessons. I test the thought a little, but no, that doesn’t seem alarming. Certainly not stomach fluttering at any rate.

This is unusual and not precisely welcome. As always, what I need, I decide, is facts, data, information. I have not had a lot of exposure to young men. I will observe Ben closely and try to normalize my response to him. I will be polite, pleasant. I will treat him with cool detachment, as an interesting specimen in a jar.

I wash and change into my new linen trousers and a crisp white shirt with short sleeves. I tuck the shirt into my waistband and turn to look at myself in the mirror, my eyes widening at the unfamiliar sight. I lift one leg and then the other, and I tuck my hands into the pockets. (Pockets! What a delight.) The trousers are light and soft against my legs and the way they let me move around is genuinely thrilling.

I have to admit that Filomena’s taste has proved to be spot on. The white shirt lies open at my throat and my slightly sunburned skin loses some of its pinkness, turning more of a tawny gold against the cotton. Instead of looking as though I have been squeezed inside my clothes like an overstuffed sausage, this outfit fits my curves; the masculine cut even emphasizes them in a way that surprises me and leaves me a little bashful. I pull my dark curls into a long braid and reach for the wide-brimmed straw hat to complete my ensemble. I stare at a reflection that is both myself, and, at the same time, someone else – a girl who’s off to have an adventure.

At ten to three I am sitting out on the terrace, nursing a cup of tea. I take a sip and wince, realizing that I’ve let it go cold. I think it’s the first time since I arrived here that I’ve had to be anywhere at a specific time. Still, I have put the time to good use, eating at least four of the crumbly almond-scented biscuits that Rosa left out for us.

“Oh, there you are.” It’s Ben, and the impatience in his voice implies that he has been searching for me for hours rather than finding me waiting at the exact time and place he told me to. I notice his eyes widen as he takes in my new outfit.

“Here I am.” I smile encouragingly.

For a moment neither of us says anything. Ben is looking at me with a slight frown.

“Shall we go?” I ask finally.

“Fine,” Ben says. “I’ve set up in the gardens; follow me.”