Page 17 of A Sky Painted Gold

Thankfully, she’s not reacting like I’ve committed some horrifying breach of social protocol, and so I take a deep breath. “I-I hadn’t got any white shoes,” I admit, and my voice is small. “So I wore my pink ones, but I took them off before getting in the boat. They’re in the bag that Robert just took upstairs. If you tell me where he’s gone, I’ll just run up and get them.”

“Oh, darling, I wouldn’t worry.” Caitlin looks completely unconcerned while I feel panic rising inside of me. “It’s no good wearing them if they’re pink. I’ve been very strict about the dress code, I’m afraid. Robert calls me the drill sergeant, but he doesn’t understand.” She laughs a little here, her eyes turned down so that I can’t see them, but there’s something taut about her voice. “The parties have got a little out of control in our circles and, honestly, if everything’s not just exactly right then people simply pounce on you.” She rolls her eyes here and flashes me a glittering smile. I know perfectly well that what she says is true; after all, I’ve read about enough of the parties, and every single tiny detail is up for consumption. I’ve never really thought about this as a source of anxiety before; I suppose I just imagined that the parties sprang up, as wild and spontaneous as the people who attend them. Looking at Caitlin now I realize that isn’t really the case. It is interesting, of course, but we seem to be rather moving away from the matter at hand.

“I see,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, trying harder to mirror her nonchalant attitude to my footwear.

“I’m sure we can find you some shoes, if you want.” Caitlin smiles. “Although I wouldn’t bother, if I were you.”

“You wouldn’t?” I ask, surprised.

“No,” Caitlin says decidedly. “You look so sweet with your lovely tanned skin and your bare feet and it suits you very much.”

I am torn between pleasure and despair. Is that a compliment? “I can’t go into dinner without shoes, Caitlin,” I say firmly. What might be seen as an eccentricity in her isn’t going to work for me, the interloper from the village.

Caitlin shrugs, and in that movement I see the similarity to her brother. Everything is so smooth and easy. “OK,” she says, glancing back down at my feet. “We look about the same size. Wait here.” With that she disappears through one of the doors off the hall, reappearing moments later with a shoebox. “There,” she says handing it to me. “But I insist you kick them off for the dancing.” She grins. “And I’m your host so you have to do as I say.”

“OK, OK,” I agree. I open the shoebox, and inside are layers of delicate pink tissue paper, hiding a pair of white silk slippers just like Caitlin’s.

“Oh,” I gasp. “Caitlin, I can’t wear these … they’re beautiful and you haven’t even worn them yet.”

“Don’t be silly.” Caitlin snorts, a most unladylike noise. “I always order more than I need. You need shoes, and there are shoes. Now, stop arguing and put them on so that we can join the party!”

She’s right, there’s no point in arguing. It’s obvious that such generosity is in Caitlin’s nature, although a mean little part of me thinks that maybe it’s easy to be generous when you have so much. Without further comment I give in and slip the shoes on to my feet. They are a tiny bit too big, but they still feel wonderful. Gazing down at my dainty, expensive feet gives me a little jolt of confidence and I look up at Caitlin, feeling much better. Whatever happens, at least my feet will fit in.

She laughs. “I’m glad you feel better,” she says, and it’s obvious that my emotions are written all over my face. She takes my hand and squeezes it, surprisingly gentle. “Sometimes I forget how strange we can be,” she says. “Sweeping you up like this, dragging you into a party where you don’t know anyone. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” I repeat, shaking my head. “Of course I don’t mind!” Impulsively, I decide to tell her the truth. “I’m just so excited to be doing something new, to be seeing something different.”

Caitlin nods seriously. “Then you should understand exactly why Robert and I want you here,” she says, and I am not really sure that I do understand, but her serious face has melted away, replaced by an infectious grin. “Now, let’s go!” She pulls me forward impatiently, casting the shoebox to one side and propelling us into the sitting room.

“I know how much you like this room,” she whispers so low that only I can hear. This is, of course, the room where she and Robert almost caught me three months ago. It feels like a lifetime ago. I glance at her, but in her face I see nothing but mischievous appreciation for a prank well played. This world feels topsy-turvy, and I don’t understand the rules.

Looking around, I can hardly believe that this is the same room I chose as my own – but there is the fireplace into which I have cast many an apple core, and there is the rug that I’ve spent so much time lolling on. It no longer looks faded or worn but, like the rest of the house, restored to something better and more vibrant. The space feels smaller now, warm and intimate, and the sound doesn’t echo. The walls have been papered in the palest blush pink with something that contains tiny flecks of gold, the floorboards have been polished until you can almost see your face in them. There are plush, moss-coloured velvet sofas to sink into and a room full of elegant people waiting to talk to Caitlin, and possibly – I think, with a nervous lurch of my stomach – even to me. There are about twenty people milling about, but at this moment, through my eyes, it feels like an awful lot more. The men are dressed in white dinner suits with white bow ties, the women in white dresses almost – though not quite – as spectacular as Caitlin’s.

“Everyone, I must introduce you to my friend,” Caitlin sings, and all heads turn eagerly in her direction. “This is Lou.” She pushes me forward and I stand awkwardly, not really knowing what to do. Finally, I raise my hand in a sort of feeble wave.

“Hello,” I say.

“I have to go and check on the rest of the preparations,” Caitlin says to me. “Will you be all right?” She must see the panic in my face. “They’re all perfectly harmless, I promise you,” she says, “and Robert will be down in just a couple of minutes.” She rolls her eyes. “So unfair that it takes men so little time to get themselves ready.”

“Yes.” I manage a weak smile. “Go, go and do what you need to do. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry about this.” She grimaces. “There are just so many things to see to, and there’s no one else … but later we will get a chance to talk properly. Bernie –” Caitlin turns from me then, and calls into the crowd – “come and take care of Lou, won’t you, darling?”

A man saunters slowly in our direction. He’s wiry and elegant in his white tie, and when his face is still it rests in a slightly sneering look.

“I live to serve,” he drawls, and I’m relieved to see the sneer lift a little, replaced by something a bit friendlier. He raises a cigarette to his lips and sweeps into a bow. “By the by, where is that delightful brother of yours?” His eyes look eagerly over Caitlin’s shoulder.

“Robert’s just gone up to change,” Caitlin replies.

“And the guests of honour?” Bernie raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know Laurie.” Caitlin laughs. “She loves to make an entrance. There’s not a chance she’ll be down before everyone else is assembled.”

“Of course,” Bernie murmurs, then turns, his eyes running over me with undisguised interest. “Well, come, come, my little chick, let me take you under my wing. We must go and fetch you a drink.”

Seeing that I am to be taken care of, Caitlin turns and trips out of the room.

Bernie guides me towards a drinks trolley and gestures expansively. “So, what will it be? They have it all, I think. The Cardews are always very well prepared in the liquor department.”