Page 72 of Under a Dancing Star

Still, it is certainly easier to bear now that I have a life of my own – one not confined to the draughty hallways at Langton.

And last week I overheard Mother talking to the vicar.

“Of course, Beatrice is practically a doctor,” she said. “Top of her class.” The words, carefully casual as they were, betrayed a tremor of pride that left me stunned.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” was the vicar’s sour rejoinder.

“Who are the guests?” Hero leaps to her feet, dancing excitedly towards her father. In moments like this she still seems so young, and despite her eighteen years I see my little cousin, the one who asked over and over for the tale of the toad.

Perhaps her youthfulness is down to the way Leo dotes on her. Thankfully, his association with Lady Frances Bowling lasted a scant few months, and after a – mercifully brief – flirtation with Moseley’s British Union of Fascists, Leo seems to have given in to a happy bachelorhood, devoting his attention to his daughter.

“An old army friend of mine, Peter – and his brother John,” Leo says.

Hero’s nose wrinkles. “I don’t know them,” she says.

“Peter did meet you as a baby,” Leo says. “But it wasn’t them I was referring to. They’re bringing a group of youngsters with them who have been out fighting in Spain.”

“Oh?” I lift my eyes. “It will be interesting to hear how things are going over there. I’m glad that there are people who have enough conviction to actually do something.”

“Yes. Terrible, all these fascists. Not the thing at all,” Leo agrees fervently, and I smile faintly. “Though I’m not sure about these young people getting tangled up in things that don’t concern them.”

“Oh! If I were a man, then that’s where I’d be,” I say with certainty.

Leo looks vaguely horrified by this statement.

“But who are they?” Hero asks, regaining his attention. “You said they were old friends.”

“Daresay you might not remember them,” Leo says, “but you met them years ago when we, ah, lived in Italy. Artist chaps.”

The book drops from my nerveless fingers and hits the floor with a thud. I bend to pick it up, hoping to conceal my confusion.

“Klaus?” Hero squeals delighted.

“That’s the fellow.” Leo beams. “And another.” He consults the telegraph.

“Signor Benedick, perhaps,” I say, my voice perfectly calm.

“Ben!” Leo exclaims. “That’s it. They’ll be here any minute as it happens. Seems the boy at the post office took his time about bringing this over.”

With comedic promptness, a horn sounds outside. “Ah!” Leo jumps to his feet. “Here already.” And he leads the way through the house towards the front door and the crunching gravel driveway, Hero and I following behind.

From the shadow of the doorway, I watch as the doors on the two cars open and several men spill out. Among them I spy Klaus, still dashingly handsome, though his face is more serious than I remember, and then – the last to emerge – there is Ben.

My heart is thumping so loudly that I can’t hear what they are saying. I study Ben closely. The golden hair, the clear blue eyes crinkling in laughter. He seems taller than in my memories and he’s definitely thinner. His face is tanned, his clothes – even by his standards – are exceedingly worn. There is something different about his face – it has sharpened. A man’s face, perhaps, not a boy’s. He’s saying something now, something that makes them all laugh, before he is cut off by Hero flinging herself down the steps and into Klaus’s arms.

I step into the sunshine. “I wonder why you’re still talking, Ben,” I say, proud that my voice contains not a single tremor of emotion. “It seems nobody is listening.”

His eyes snap up to meet mine and it’s as if the past four years fall away in an instant. “Hello, Bea,” he says softly, moving towards me. “Why so disdainful?” The look he gives me is a challenge.

“Why not?” I ask, lightly. “When there’s so much to be disdainful of.” I run my eyes lazily over his body, finally meeting his gaze.

I don’t know how long we look at each other, but a tingle of bone-deep recognition spreads through me. Slowly, Ben begins to smile, a glitter of appreciation in his eyes.

I feel an answering smile on my lips.

Oh yes, I think. This is going to be fun.

The End

of the Beginning