Page 47 of Under a Dancing Star
“What was that for?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I just felt like it. Do you think that marks a new stage in our romance? I should probably record that.”
Ben smiles, a slow, sleepy smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Bea.” He reaches up and pulls me towards him. “I feel like kissing you all the time.”
By the time we get back to the villa the sun is starting to go down and I feel loose-limbed, drugged on kisses. Ben holds my hand the whole way back and I can feel myself grinning inanely at nothing in particular. This whole summer romance thing really is quite enjoyable.
When we get to the terrace Klaus is sitting with a drink. He looks up as we approach.
“Bea,” he calls. “Your uncle is back.”
“Oh. That’s nice.” I can’t keep a hollow note from my voice. Uncle Leo being back feels like the end of something and I wonder why.
“He’s not alone,” Klaus murmurs. “He has brought with him an English woman … Lady Frances somebody.” He glances at Ben. “And he has brought Sir Hugh.”
There is a silence. I look at Ben’s face and see that it is stony.
“Who is Sir Hugh?” I ask.
“No one worth talking about,” Ben mutters, and with that he turns and strides towards the doors.
I look at Klaus for answers, but he is not giving anything away. We follow him inside. When we reach the entrance to the drawing room I go in, but Ben and Klaus remain behind me in the doorway.
The drawing room looks like a carefully arranged scene from a painting. Everyone is gathered there, drinking tea, though the heat in the room is stifling. I stand silently for a second, taking it all in.
Hero sits on a sofa beside Uncle Leo. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap and she looks bored. Her hair is tidy, her dress perfectly pressed; she looks, I realize, like a demure young lady. Next to them is Filomena, a frozen smile on her face. Ursula stands by the window, her back to the rest of them, a cigarette held in one hand. Her posture is rigid, frozen.
In the chair nearest the enormous fireplace is a woman who looks to be in her late forties. She is expensively dressed in black; a collar of glossy black feathers trims her dress, a necklace of enormous pearls circles her throat, luminous as tiny moons against her skin. Her pale hair is swept away from her aristocratic face and her make-up is subtle. She looks very relaxed and is mid-sentence.
“And, of course, I told them that such behaviour was simply unacceptable,” she says, picking up a dainty teacup and taking a delicate sip. “My husband was the ambassador, after all, and I think I would know better than them what the fascist position would be.”
“Hello,” I say, taking another step forward.
“Bea!” Filomena stands and reaches out a hand to me. I think I see relief flicker in her eyes.
“There you are, Bea.” Leo also gets to his feet. “Where have you been?”
“With Ben,” I say simply, accepting a perfunctory kiss on my cheek.
“Just the two of you?” Leo’s glance darts towards the woman by the fireplace.
“Well, yes.” I am surprised. “He’s been giving me art lessons, remember?” I add.
“Of course.” My uncle’s face clears. “Good to make the most of having these artist types about.” His tone is jolly, but the words feel wrong somehow. I slant a look at Filomena, who is sitting again, with a frozen smile on her lips.
“Now, Beatrice,” Leo says, “I’ve been very rude – may I present Lady Frances Bowling?”
I move obediently forward to shake the woman’s cold, smooth hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say.
Her mouth lifts in an approximation of a smile. “I know your mother, of course.”
“Do you?” I ask. I’ve never heard her mentioned before.
“Yes, we came out together, oh, a hundred years ago now.” Frances’s voice is light, her tones well rounded. My uncle laughs politely at her joke.
“I didn’t know that,” I murmur. “How interesting.”
“You’re a Langton of course,” she says, looking at me as though sizing up a horse she might like to buy. “Good breeding always tells.” Her gaze flickers towards Ben, standing with one shoulder resting against the door frame, Klaus hovering beside. “And bad blood will out.”
