Page 31 of Under a Dancing Star

Turning her back on the typewriter with another muttered string of words I don’t understand, but that I’d be willing to bet my life are quite colourful expletives, she storms back to the rickety porch and pours herself a drink.

“The work is dead,” she cries dramatically.

“Oh dear,” I say.

“Oh dear,” Ursula mimics me sourly. She goes to the porch and pours herself a drink. “You English, always so cold and passionless.”

“I suppose we are.”

“Although…” A gleam flickers in her eyes and she takes a sip of her drink. “This experiment should take care of that, eh?”

I flush and she smiles.

“Don’t leave me up here drinking alone,” she says.

I make my way on to the veranda and accept the glass she pours me. Ursula settles herself in a chair and grabs a packet from the table beside her, tapping out a cigarette which she places between her lips.

“I thought you were against the whole idea of me having a romance with Ben,” I say. I hesitate. “Won’t it be painful for you? Because I would never—”

“Oh God,” Ursula says from around the unlit cigarette, “not that, I beg you.” She lights the cigarette with a flourish and inhales deeply. “I can’t bear one of those disgusting weeping scenes where we pledge not to let a man divide us.” She waves her hand in the air, leaving a thin line of smoke trailing behind.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t planning on weeping,” I say. “Were you?”

Ursula gives a reluctant bark of laughter. “No,” she says. “There will be no weeping on my part.”

“Good.” I smooth my hands over my trousers. “So, would you like to tell me why you suggested this scheme?”

Ursula continues to smoke in silence for a moment, her eyes half closed as though she is considering her answer. “I think it will be entertaining,” she says finally.

“Entertaining?” I repeat in surprise.

She gives me a thoughtful look. “I underestimated you, Bea,” she says. “I thought at first that you were just another of those upper-class English girls. Simple, sheltered.”

“I am sheltered,” I say. “I’ve lived almost all of my life within about a five-mile radius.”

“But not up here.” Ursula touches a finger to her forehead. “You’re sharp, Bea.” She pauses again. “I think you could be good for Ben. And,” she says slowly, tapping her cigarette so that the ash falls, “I think he could be good for you.”

“Good for me?” I ask. “How?”

“Ben likes you, I can tell. And I believe he will prove to be a satisfactory lover.” Her eyes meet mine and she smiles. “However” – her tone changes, becomes more brisk – “I do not believe it will be a lasting affair. He is not a lasting affair sort of person, and that will suit you perfectly. What you need, Bea, is an adventure.”

I consider this. “Well, I certainly agree with that,” I say. “But why do you think I will be good for Ben?”

Ursula smiles, a smile that shows off all her teeth. “Because Ben’s ego needs puncturing, and you, my dear, are a perfectly sharpened pin.”

“Thank you,” I say wryly. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”

We sit quietly, as I try to arrange my thoughts. Finally, I decide to share something that’s been worrying me.

“The way I … react to Ben,” I say carefully, “when he stands near me, or when he touches me…” I pause. “It’s strange. It feels … unpredictable, like it’s outside of my control.” I risk meeting her eyes. “I’m not sure if I like that.”

Ursula sighs again, more lustily this time. “Beatrice, my sweet innocent. What you describe is the beginning of any love affair. Don’t you understand that?” She shakes her head. “No, you don’t; but you will. You say you wish to live, Bea. Well, then you must take risks. You must make yourself vulnerable. You can shut yourself away in a cold, lonely house in England and keep your heart perfectly intact – but you will live only half a life.”

I think about this for a moment. Ursula is right, I decide. I may rail against my parents, against Langton, but all the same I have been afraid of what was waiting for me beyond those walls in a world that is messy and unpredictable, a world that doesn’t follow the careful rules I apply to my studies.

“You’re only two years older than me, Ursula,” I say. “How did you get to know so much?”

“I lived, darling.” She takes another drag on her cigarette and gives me a sad smile. “I lived.”