Page 20 of A Sky Painted Gold

Now I am alone with Charlie. My mind races, trying desperately to think of something interesting to say.

“I’m sorry to hear you had a bad journey,” I say finally. “Were you coming back from America?”

Charlie nods. “Yes, we were stuck on that ship for five days, and I have to admit that I’m not much of a sailor.” He smiles ruefully.

“Oh, I love being on the sea,” I say. “Not that I’ve ever done such a long journey,” I add quickly. “My sister and I used to make all these elaborate plans to stow away on one of the ships to America and disguise ourselves as boys so that we could work in the engine room.” I grin at the memory. “We never got very far with it in reality, though. Once we’d got through the cheese sandwiches Midge packed us and it got dark, we’d end up turning back and heading home.”

“Midge?” Charlie repeats, a frown crinkling his forehead.

“My mother,” I explain.

“Your mother used to pack you cheese sandwiches so that you could run off to sea?” He looks vaguely affronted, and I’m a little surprised by his stuffiness.

I laugh. “Oh, yes,” I reply. “She used to wish us happy voyages, and then of course we always came back because by giving us permission to go she took all the excitement out of it.”

Charlie looks bemused, but smiles politely. I haven’t thought about those games Alice and I played for a long time. What would Midge say now, I wonder, if I told her I wanted to go away? Would she wish me happy voyages? Would I have the nerve to actually go?

“Well, I think you made the right choice to stay on dry land.” Charlie’s voice is bluff and cheerful. “We finally got in last night but I’ve been asleep most of the day. All that travelling really takes it out of you, I guess. Still –” his voice brightens “– it means that I’m good and fresh for tonight’s party.” He smiles again, treating me to another glimpse of those beautiful white teeth. I like the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners. His looks really are quite dazzling, and I blink.

“Yes, it’s a breakfast party for you, I suppose, rather than a dinner party,” I say.

“Exactly!’ he exclaims, laughing loudly, as if I’ve said something incredibly witty. “Although … would it be bad form to drink at breakfast?” He is moving away from me and towards the drinks trolley.

“I don’t think so,” I say in what I hope is a sophisticated manner. “You are on holiday, after all.”

“Can I fix you a drink?” Charlie asks.

“No, thank you.” I am still clutching my water.

“Look at all that,” he says, eyeing up the bar. “Let me tell you, it’s a welcome sight after all the garbage we’ve been drinking the last few weeks.”

“Oh, I suppose so,” I agree, sipping my drink and trying not to appear too eager. “I hear that the drinks they’re cooking up are positively lethal. I’d love to go to an American speakeasy, though, they sound so exciting.”

“Mmm.” Charlie inclines his head in agreement. I am disappointed. I had hoped for tales of seedy back room nightclubs, of secret passwords and gangsters, hot water bottles full of whiskey and the sound of smoky jazz.

We stand in silence. I can’t think of anything else to say, and the quiet stretches out between us. It must be because he’s so handsome, I think, that my brain can’t seem to find any words. I am focusing all of my attention on the glass in my hand so that I don’t stare at him too openly. When I do finally look up, Charlie is glancing about him with an amiable expression on his face, and he seems very relaxed while I’m starting to feel a little awkward. How frustrating that I have no trouble making conversation with the wretched Robert Cardew, but I can’t seem to string a few sentences together with this perfectly nice, extremely handsome man. I frown, overcome by a vague feeling that it’s all Robert’s fault somehow. Then, thankfully, another couple joins us.

Charlie, it seems, is also delighted by their appearance, as it gives him a chance to start talking about some kind of sporting event that has just taken place. It might be cricket. I’m not entirely sure, but he seems enthusiastic about it. I tune out of the conversation, happy just to be standing there, and to let my eyes wander around the room. I am mentally taking notes, pinning the images down in my memory. I watch as these people talk, and I try to work out how they all know one another. They’re very tactile, always touching each other, and their eyes are bright, feverish. It’s not just the fine clothes that mark them out as being different to the people I know; it’s the way they stand, it’s the way they speak. But there’s something else too, some restless energy about them all, as if they could vanish at any moment, just throw open the doors and disappear off on their next adventure. They’re passing through, tied down to nothing. Free.

As I’m watching them I realize that someone is watching me. I glance to the side and see Bernie standing in the middle of a group. His eyes rest thoughtfully on me, and I smile tentatively. He nods back, a small, knowing smile on his lips that makes me feel as though I have been caught doing something I shouldn’t.

At that moment a voice intones, “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served in the dining room,” and I turn to see an older man in a black suit standing by the door.

“I guess even Caitlin couldn’t get the butler into white tie,” Charlie mutters in my ear.

“He doesn’t look very impressed by us,” I whisper. In fact, the butler in question has the put-upon look of a long-suffering man who likes things done a certain way, and doesn’t care too much for all this frivolity.

“Shall we?” Charlie asks, gesturing with one hand towards the door.

“Of course,” I reply, and he rests his hand lightly on my back, guiding me forward. The warmth of his fingers through my thin dress is sending little electric jolts up and down my spine, and I feel myself shiver as though I am standing out in a cold breeze.

When we reach the dining room it is to find Caitlin standing behind a chair at the head of an enormous table. The room has been transformed and I think, fleetingly, that Alice might find inspiration here for her cloud-like room.

Everything is white. The floor and the walls have been draped with gauzy white material, the table is covered in a white tablecloth, with centrepieces of white candles and white roses. White chinaware is laid out, and the staff stand to one side in white uniforms. (I guess Charlie is right about the butler; he certainly doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would lower himself to wear a costume.)

“Welcome, everyone!” Caitlin cries, over the murmurs of admiration. She is looking very pleased with herself. “Please find your name and take a seat, so that the festivities can begin.”

I find the place card with my name on (silver ink on white, naturally), and take a seat. I am between a woman called Patricia Lester and a scrawny young man who introduces himself as Simon and spends most of the meal staring moonily down the table towards Caitlin. She is sitting next to Charlie, and I have to admit that my own eyes drift that way an awful lot too. We are quite the pair, Simon and I. Unfortunately for my burgeoning crush, Charlie’s voice is loud and carrying, and so I hear him talking at great length on a variety of subjects including shooting, fishing, and the correct stance when boxing. He speaks with a puppyish enthusiasm and punctuates his conversation with noisy laughter. He’s perfectly nice, but there’s something slightly … dull about him, something that fails to match up to those film-star looks. Occasionally he catches my gaze and smiles, and I still can’t help but swoon a little at the intense blueness of his eyes.