Page 64 of Under a Dancing Star

“Thank you for helping,” I say. “It’s nice to have someone to get ready with.”

“Isn’t that what girlfriends do?” Ursula asks a little sharply after a moment. “Gossip and share lipstick and things?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’ve never had a friend like that before.”

“Neither have I,” Ursula replies, her expression guarded.

“I don’t have any lipstick to share either.” I catch her eye in the mirror and smile tentatively.

A similar smile appears on Ursula’s lips for a second. “Now that,” she says, reaching for her gold bag, “is something I can certainly help with.”

Ursula paints my lips a dark, berry red and lines my eyes with smoky kohl.

“Well?” I ask, as she steps back to survey her handiwork.

She nods. “You will do,” she says. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” I say, taking a deep breath. “All right. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

As we make our way along the hall I can hear the murmur of conversation, and music drifts through from the garden. We descend the staircase and I feel nerves fluttering through my body. Clustered below us are a crowd of people, mostly my uncle’s age, looking closely at some of the paintings that hang in the hallway.

“Promising,” a man mutters to his companion. “Filomena always did have a good eye.”

The majority of the noise seems to be coming from outside. A couple of people glance up and catch sight of us; I feel my step wobble and, for a second, I think I’m going to do something mortifying, like tumble head over heels down the staircase. Ursula slips her arm through mine and I look down at her in surprise. She gives me a sort of rueful grimace, as though she can’t quite believe that she’s doing it herself.

“I feel like everyone’s looking at me,” I say.

Ursula snorts. “Darling, if anyone’s looking at anyone then they’re looking at me.” She untangles her arm from mine and smooths down the sides of her dress, flashing a man nearby such a dazzling smile that he blinks owlishly, looking more than a little stunned. An expression of satisfaction crosses Ursula’s face.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” she breathes, drifting gracefully forward and leaving me to follow.

We head straight outside and I was right in guessing this is going to be like no party I’ve been to before. The whole garden is lit by candles – there must be thousands; they’re dotted along the paths, they twinkle in glass lanterns in the trees, they stretch out endlessly into the night and the picture that they make takes my breath away. As I pass one of the trees I realize that there are small mirrors hanging there, reflecting even more dancing flames back towards one another, multiplying the candles by infinity. It’s a magic trick that casts a spell over everyone who sees it, and each new arrival gasps in delight as they step into this wonderland.

Nestled within this constellation are easels holding paintings, and plinths supporting graceful sculptures. The candles stretch down the avenues, luring visitors further into the garden where more treasures are offered up on display. There’s a buzz in the air as people cluster around the works, their voices loud, animated, their movements sharp, as they sketch shapes in the air or talk about form or colour. They use words like cobalt, malachite and azurite: words that have a little bit of magic clinging to them; words that feel completely at home here.

The long table that we usually gather around is piled high with offerings from Rosa, and I pluck a green olive, fat as butter, from a dish, enjoying the salt taste of it on my tongue. I see the others – Hero dressed in shell-pink, her heart-shaped face glowing with pleasure at the scene, and with her are Klaus and Ben. Klaus’s dark hair is slicked back and he wears a sharp, light-grey suit. His dapper look is completed by a jaunty red bow tie.

Ben, on the other hand, has already discarded his suit jacket. He is wearing slightly crumpled cream trousers and a matching waistcoat over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and open at the neck. My eyes catch on that spot at the base of his throat for a second, and I feel a flare of heat in my belly. His golden hair is rumpled, and there is a hint of stubble on his face.

“Bea!” Hero exclaims. “You look so … different!” She stares. “Beautiful.”

“Oh, don’t.” Ursula rolls her eyes. “You’ll make her blush again and her face will clash with her lipstick.”

Klaus comes forward and bows elaborately over my hand, pressing a fleeting kiss to the inside of my wrist and looking at me with such naked admiration that it makes me squirm.

“Your cousin is right, Bea,” he says softly. “You are so striking tonight that you leave all the other women in the shade.”

Ursula snorts. “Not all the other women, thank you.” She juts out one hip, her hand resting on the curve of her waist, candlelight flickering over the gold dress.

Klaus chuckles. “Too true, sister of mine – forgive me. No one will ever accuse you of hiding in the shadows.”

I dart a look at Ben and find that he is watching me, his expression inscrutable.

He steps forward and presses a long kiss to my cheek. “Beautiful, Bea,” he murmurs, his words caressing my ear and sending a shiver of awareness through my body.

We share a look then, and I know. He sees me. He knows me. And he thinks I’m beautiful.