Page 68 of Under a Dancing Star

“My dance, I think,” says a voice, and in a daze, I twirl into another pair of arms, trying to ignore the hollow ache in my chest.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The next morning, I lie in bed, trying to organize my thoughts. Clearly things with Ben have reached some sort of turning point that needs to be addressed. It’s no use being cowardly about it, I realize; it is time to face up to my own feelings.

The experiment has been over for me for a while – what is happening now, as far as I’m concerned, is very real. But does Ben feel the same? I frown. He hasn’t said so – not in so many words – but I think he does. With a pang I remember the rules we established, the last being that I must not fall in love with him. A qualm of doubt passes through me. Finally, I decide that I simply can’t take it any more and run down the stairs to find him.

A raised voice from the drawing room causes me to stop. It is Ursula, I realize, and she sounds upset.

I follow the sound of heated conversation and find a group gathered, frozen before me like the denouement of a play. My uncle sits beside Hero who looks miserably down at her hands. Frances and Sir Hugh are there too, and Filomena, so still she seems carved from stone.

Ursula stands in the middle of the room, Klaus at her shoulder. Her jaw is set and her eyes are cold. “I have said all I have to,” she says quietly. “And I think now Klaus and I will get our things together and leave.”

“Leave!” I exclaim, making my way towards her. All seven sets of eyes snap in my direction. “Whatever for?” I catch Ursula by the arm. “What has happened?” She turns away from me and I follow. “Can I help?” I ask in a low voice.

“No, darling,” she says softly, and her hand covers mine in a most un-Ursula way as her eyes flicker away again. “It’s clear that my sort are not welcome here,” she says in a louder voice.

“Not welcome?” I frown.

“Now that’s not—” my uncle starts up, his cheeks turning red.

“Oh, really.” Frances’s languorous tone cuts across his bluster, her voice a savage chip of ice. “All I said was that Herr Hitler’s theories about racial and cultural purity were interesting. I, personally, have nothing against the Jews – but one can rather see his point when it comes to protecting certain values.”

“You are an ignorant woman. You do not know the first thing about what you’re saying,” Ursula flares.

“Ursula,” Filomena murmurs, holding out her hand, though whether it’s to stop her from talking or to offer support it’s not exactly clear.

“I think things are getting a little heated,” Leo says, clearly flustered. “As Lady Bowling said, this isn’t a personal issue. There’s no need for you to take such offence.”

“I assure you that it is very personal to us.” Ursula’s voice is needle-sharp. “This is how it works, don’t you see?” She looks around at us all. “The bigotry and the hatred… It doesn’t come in like a hammer and hit you over the head. It’s insidious.” Her contemptuous gaze lingers on Frances. “It’s a well-dressed lady in a drawing room, drinking tea and talking about ‘certain values’. That’s how they get you, that’s how they worm their way in, rotting the apple from the inside. And you don’t see – none of you will see until it is too late.”

She’s magnificent in her anger, ten-feet tall, and her words are a call to arms. It feels like we should all be on our feet applauding.

“How very … dramatic,” Frances says instead.

Ursula smiles then; it’s not a nice smile. “Until it’s too late,” she repeats and then she turns and leaves the room, Klaus following behind her, his face pale. I stand frozen to the spot.

“I-I,” Leo stutters. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Frances.”

“Now, now, Leo,” Sir Hugh says soothingly. “We must make allowances for the ardour of youth, eh?”

“She’s the playwright, yes?” Frances asks and my uncle nods. “In that case,” she continues, “painful as it may be, it is perhaps best that she does leave. An association like that might be bad for you. Her sort of work is being banned in Germany.” Her tone is even, as though she’s talking about the weather. “These are uncertain times.”

Leo looks thoughtful. “Well then, I suppose my announcement is quite timely.” He turns to me. “I’m sorry to have to cut your stay with us a little short, my dear, but spending so much time at the British Embassy in Rome with Lady Bowling and her charming friends has made me terribly homesick.”

A freezing sense of dread begins to creep through me. I look at Hero, pale and silent on the sofa.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I have arranged for us to return to England. I’m going to take Hero back with me to Suffolk and get her some proper schooling. I’ve been irresponsible since dear Thea passed, selfish. I see that now. Frances, too, will return – we will escort her back to Kent on our way.”

She bows her head slightly to him, like a queen acknowledging a favoured courtier.

My head is reeling. “You’re going back to England?” I say. “When?”

“The passage is booked.” Leo smiles, as though delivering joyful news. “Within the week. I’ve already written to your parents. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

“But – but – ” I stammer, my heart thumping. I look wildly around the room, at Filomena’s grave, calm face. She does not meet my eyes. “What about Filomena?” I burst out.