Page 52 of Under a Dancing Star

She greets me without looking up. “Bea, hello. I think I’m finally getting somewhere,” she says feverishly, her fingers drumming on the typewriter.

“Do you need a break?” I ask. “I thought you might like a swim?”

“Oh, a swim,” she murmurs abstractedly. “Have fun.”

I give up and make my way to the pool alone. Ursula is not the only one with her nose to the grindstone. There’s been a significant increase in activity this week, and I have to admit that it has left me a little off balance. Everyone, including Ben, Filomena and Klaus, seems driven by something, something that is big and significant. I have continued to improve in my sketching and have surprised myself with how much I am enjoying it – the way it teaches me to look at things with fresh eyes – but it’s not the same.

I want what the others have for myself, I realize. The sense of purpose, the all-consuming passion for their work. I’m never going to feel like that about art, but it is how I feel about science. It’s becoming harder and harder to imagine going home to my aimless solitude – or, even worse, the stifling company of someone like Cuthbert. There’s pleasure in studying alone, but I want to do something with my knowledge. I want a purpose, a vocation.

I think about it as I swim up and down the length of the pool, enjoying the coolness of the water as it twines around my limbs, the way I slip easily through it in my new bathing suit. I think about what my mother would have to say about this short, clinging, bright red costume. I know that the answer is nothing good and that makes wearing it feel even better. I turn over and float on my back, my fingers splayed as I close my eyes against the dazzling sunlight that continues to dance behind my eyelids in scattered golden shards.

Finally, I drag myself out of the water and wrap myself in a towel. I sit on one of the sun loungers, untangling my long hair with my fingertips and relishing the sun on my skin, the way its warmth spreads over me in waves.

Eventually, I am joined by Ben and I smile up at him sleepily as he drops into the seat next to me. His hair is ruffled, and his hands are covered in paint. There’s paint on his cheek, too. He’s been working on something new, something that he’s excited about, though I haven’t seen it yet. Whatever it is, it makes his eyes shine.

“How does it work?” I ask him, after a moment. “The exhibition, I mean.”

He sprawls back in his chair. “Filomena hasn’t held one here at the villa before, so I’m not exactly sure.”

“But she’s had them elsewhere?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes, on a smaller scale. I went to one a couple of years ago in Florence. It depends if she has a patron or not.”

“A patron?” I frown.

Ben stretches. “Someone who funds the work. Like Leo.”

“But Leo is Filomena’s fiancé, not her patron,” I point out.

Ben snorts. “Same thing.”

I sit for a moment, absorbing that information.

“Filomena’s circle of friends may be impressive, but they’re all poor as church mice,” Ben continues. “It’s the rare artist who is appreciated in their own lifetime, Bea.” He smiles grimly. “Not everyone gets as lucky as Sir Hugh.”

“So the work goes on display?” I ask.

Ben nods. “In the house and in the gardens. Usually, Filomena plies everyone with drink and there are a few money types who turn up and buy things – collectors come to look for new talent. There are a handful of people coming to this one who I am hoping might offer me a commission. The summer’s almost gone, after all. I need to start making plans.”

He speaks lightly, but the words hit me with a force I hadn’t expected. “Plans?” I repeat.

“Well, yes.” Ben eyes me with something like amusement. “We haven’t all got stately homes to return to. I can’t expect your uncle to house me indefinitely.”

“I suppose not,” I say, my voice a little hollow.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just thinking about the summer being over. Going home. I suppose it just feels like the end of something.” I sit up.

“The end of a glorious summer romance?”

“The end of a very interesting experiment.”

“You’re only interested in me for my scientific possibilities,” Ben grumbles.

“Perhaps.” I smile. There’s a pause. “Why did you ever agree to it?” It’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask for a while.

Ben looks thoughtfully into the distance for a moment. “I suppose the idea was a bit of a novelty,” he muses. “Whatever else you are, Bea, you’re never boring.”