Page 54 of A Sky Painted Gold

The view is extraordinary, literally stopping me in my tracks. You can see all of London laid out before you like an impossibly detailed map, and it seems to reach on and on for ever. I cannot believe the size of it, or the number of people it must hold. More people than you could imagine, all living their lives in this vibrant, bustling metropolis. I feel then, so sharply that it is a knife in my belly, that I want to be one of them. The life and the noise of the place is already getting under my skin, and it speaks once more to that restless feeling inside of me. Here, a voice inside me says, this place. In London I might find what I have been looking for. Here, I see open doors and opportunities that I could never have at home. The world is, after all, a lot bigger than Penlyn, and I am getting just the tiniest taste of it. And then it will be back to reality. Only a couple of weeks of summer remaining … how will I ever be able to go back?

“Thank you so much for bringing me here,” I say.

Caitlin reaches across the table and squeezes my fingers. As she pulls her hand back she knocks her glass, sending it crashing to the floor, where it shatters loudly. Several waiters leap forward at once. “Oh dear.” Caitlin smiles vaguely. “I’m sorry. I seem to be a little clumsy today.”

“Please, don’t worry, madam, I’ll fetch you another,” one of the men says, whisking the mess away so efficiently that mere seconds later it is as though the breakage never happened.

“Is everything OK?” I ask quietly. “You seem a little … on edge.”

“Do I, darling?” Caitlin lights a cigarette, but I notice that her hand is shaking, just a little. “I think I’m a bit tired,” she says. “And hungry. I’ll feel better once I have something to eat.”

Right on cue our food arrives, and although it is delicious Caitlin only picks at her plate. I rattle on and on, making conversation, but she is quiet, withdrawn, and certainly not herself.

When we arrive back at the house she goes to lie down for a while, and I decide to do the same. I don’t think there’s any chance that I will sleep, so I am surprised to find myself being woken up by Caitlin a couple of hours later.

“Come on, darling!” she sings. “We have to get ready for a big night on the town.”

“What time is it?” I ask groggily.

“Just gone seven,” she answers, “so we must get a move on.” Her movements are rapid as she flutters around the room, like a butterfly refusing to land in one spot for any amount of time. The nap seems to have helped, at least.

Caitlin helps me to get ready, and I slip into the beautiful black-and-gold dress, the whisper-thin silk stockings and the new black shoes as if I am in a daze. The dress fits perfectly. Caitlin pins my curls up, leaving a couple loose, curling over my shoulders, and she lets me borrow her red lipstick. I look into the mirror and see a girl I hardly recognize.

Madame Carradice had been right, the dress does fit me as it had fit Lacey, and when I move I know that I am walking differently – like someone who knows more, whose body belongs in a dress like this. I stroke the delicate tulle skirt, twirling around and feeling the material twirl with me, and I feel expensive and glamorous. I feel like someone else in this dress, and the sensation is at once liberating and unnerving.

Caitlin wears a gold, fringed dress that moves when she does, hugging her too-thin body and dazzling the eye when it catches the light. Around her head is a gold band, and gold bangles jangle on both of her wrists. Her eyes are lined with black kohl, and they dance wildly.

She is certainly full of energy, whirring around, playing records, mixing drinks and talking a mile a minute, but somehow she is just too sparkling. Her whole body sizzles with nervous excitement, as though she is readying herself for something – only I can’t work out what it is. I don’t know if I should worry, or if it’s just excitement at being in the city. I’m so turned around by it myself that I can hardly keep still.

My own excitement about the evening seems to feed hers, and we are both wound so tightly by the time we leave that I find I can’t sit still in the back seat of the car. As we pull away from the house my breath catches in my throat. It is getting dark and the street lamps are lit, giving everything – to my eyes, at least – the feeling of being in a story. “I wish it was foggy,” I breathe.

“What?” Caitlin asks.

“Like in a novel, you know,” I explain. “Foggy old London town, with the street lamps lit and adventure in the air.”

Caitlin dissolves into giggles over this, although I hadn’t really been joking. “Oh, there’s adventure in the air, all right,” she says at last. “Just you wait.”

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

“Caitlin looks on good form tonight,” Patricia says later, as we are shown to our table in the Candlelight Club, and we all look over to where Caitlin stands surrounded by men in glossy black dinner suits. She seems to be flirting with all of them at once, and they look at her with naked greed on their faces, as though they want to gobble her up. It makes me feel uneasy, protective. I don’t think that Robert would like it if he were here.

“Yes,” I say. “She seems very … energetic.”

“But who is it for, darling?” Bernie asks me in a low voice, waving a finger in her direction. “Who is this whole show for?”

“For?” I frown. “I don’t think it’s for anyone, is it?”

Bernie’s face is hard to read as he reaches for a cigarette.

At that moment Caitlin breaks free of her group of admirers and makes her way over. She shimmies through the crowd, the light bouncing off her golden dress. Heads turn as she passes and I note – not for the first time – that whatever “star quality” is, Caitlin Cardew has it by the bucketload. Eyes are drawn to her like moths to a flame, and she is a flame burning very brightly indeed. The room is smoky, and busy, and obviously full of money. The crowd around us are dripping with jewels and everyone seems to know each other. As she makes her way through the hordes, people keep catching Caitlin by the arm and squealing at the sight of her. Caitlin, for her part, delivers hundreds of crimson kisses on to waiting cheeks and makes fleeting small talk as she drifts by.

“Insufferable bores,” she whispers as she appears beside me. “The whole lot of them. Now I remember why we left London behind in the first place.” She slides into the red velvet seat that is pulled out for her and draws me down beside her.

“Well, Lou, have you invited them yet?” she demands.

“Invited us?” Bernie looks at me. “Invited us to what, might I ask?”