Page 30 of Under a Dancing Star

That surprises a laugh out of me. “That certainly won’t be a problem,” I say, when I can speak. “And you must promise not to fall in love with me.”

The derisive noise Ben makes here is actually quite insulting.

“It’s a deal then?” asks Klaus.

I look at Ben, daring him to say no. His gaze is steady and, slowly, he nods.

“I look forward to working together.” I hold out my hand and Ben reaches out to shake it. “I just don’t want you to feel bad if your technique doesn’t work.”

“Oh,” Ben says, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You asked for romance, and you’re going to get it.”

I try not to worry that it sounds like a threat.

Part Three: Villa di Stelle

July, 1933

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

– Much Ado About Nothing, Act V, Scene 2

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It’s around noon on the following day when an envelope appears under my door. Inside is a note written in a slightly more careful hand than the one summoning me to my art class.

Bea,

This is a romantic letter.

You don’t yet realize it’s romantic because you are new to this, but I wanted to give you a very clear warning so that you could prepare yourself.

Are you ready?

Meet me, my raven-haired angel, on the terrace at 3 p.m. for a romantic rendezvous. My heart aches for you and I count the moments until we are together again.

– B

Raven-haired angel is the phrase that tips me over the edge into hysteria and I end up in a stomach-aching fit of laughter. Not, I imagine, Ben’s desired result. I try to picture myself in the role of romantic heroine and fail spectacularly. Perhaps I’m not suited to this romance business after all. What if Ben tries this sort of flowery romance in person and I laugh in his face? I’m fairly certain that won’t go over well.

Still, I decide if Ben is making the effort then I will too. What, I wonder, stepping over to my wardrobe, does a romantic heroine wear?

For a moment my eyes drift towards my old dresses. I shake myself. Not those. Those are for a different me. Certainly not a me who is being swept into a romantic dare.

Instead, I pick a pair of mossy green trousers that are high at the waist, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled back to my elbows. I put my hair up as best as I can, jabbing pins into the most unruly curls in an effort to look neat.

I take a step back and look at myself in the mirror. I’m not sure if I look like a romantic heroine, but I look like me, and that feels more important.

I glance at my watch and decide I will call in and see Ursula. There is plenty of time before my assignation with Ben and I’m quite looking forward to talking over the events of the night before with another woman.

I arrive at the summer house to find Ursula trying to set her typewriter on fire.

“You’ll need a lot more kindling if you’re going to get that to work,” I observe as she flicks another stuttering match at the smouldering embers underneath the bulky machine.

“I hate it,” Ursula storms, tossing down the matches and delivering a swift kick to the machine. This achieves little except causing a stream of expressive German as Ursula hops about clutching her toes.

“The work’s not going well, then?” I ask mildly.

Ursula glowers at me. “Do tell me, Sherlock Holmes – whatever gave you that impression?”