Beautiful Little Fools, page 37
‘So, who do you want to be?’ I ask him nervously, unable to conceal the anguish in my voice. ‘You seemed to have made up your mind when I asked you at the party.’
‘Birdie …’ He says it like a vow. ‘I should never have spoken to you like that. I was drunk and angry, and half-convinced you were in love with my brother, but that still doesn’t excuse my behaviour. I thought that perhaps I would be better off without you, but if I thought my life was torture before, it was nothing compared to how I felt when you were gone. I have always put my responsibilities ahead of my emotions, and it has cost me greatly. I don’t want to do it anymore; it is time I put my heart first.’
A crease forms in his brow and he rubs his tired eyes. I long to reach out and rest my hand on his cheek, to smooth the worry lines from his face. ‘And have you worked out what your heart wants?’ I murmur, my eyes falling on his reflection on the glassy surface of the lake.
‘There was never any doubt in my mind what my heart wanted,’ he says with a nervous glance in my direction, and my pulse starts racing. ‘I was a fool to let you slip away so easily, Birdie. I was either too blind to notice how deeply I was in love with you, or too stupid not to have acted upon it sooner.’
His gaze is magnetic as he waits for me to say something, but for once I am stunned into silence, so he continues. ‘That is why I am here. I came to tell you that I am in love with you,’ he says and a look of relief washes over his face. ‘There, I said it. I am in love with you, Birdie. Maddeningly so. The first time I met you, I felt like my eyes were opening for the first time and I couldn’t get enough. Everything felt so much more vibrant when we were together, and you filled my life with light as easily as if you were wielding your paintbrush. You helped me rediscover my love of music; you made me laugh like I haven’t laughed since I was a boy; you’re sharp-witted, beautiful and passionate; and both my siblings adore you. How could I ever have thought you wouldn’t fit into my life? You are my life, Birdie; it doesn’t make sense without you.’
I can’t help wondering if this all going to turn out to be a cruel dream, that I am delirious from exhaustion. I subtly pinch the top of my thigh to see if I will wake up, but we are still in the park and now my leg hurts. He is looking at me anxiously, waiting for me to say something but I can’t hear myself think over the sound of the blood roaring in my ears.
‘When we kissed in London, I thought everything would change between us …’ he continues. ‘I finally had confirmation that you felt the same way about me as I did for you, or so I thought. I was ready to tell you everything and explain the difficult situation I was in with my looming engagement to Evelyn, but that none of it mattered; I would have run away with you there and then if you had asked me to. But when you said it was a mistake, it felt like all my dreams were crashing down around me.’
‘I wish I had known,’ I say ruefully, finding my voice at last. ‘I told Nina that we kissed and we quarrelled about it. She said that you were using me, and everyone kept telling me what a charmer you used to be. I panicked and figured Nina was right, that you were going to try and let me down gently. Despite my best intentions, I had fallen madly in love with you and I felt like such a fool.’
He sighs, his eyes dropping to his clasped hands. ‘Maybe I should have put up more of a fight but running away would have been the coward’s way out anyway. It would have been wrong of me to abandon my family’s problems, and I would never have forgiven myself if I had taken you away from Cornwall and your art.’ He glances at me intently. ‘So, you were in love with me too?’
‘Of course I was,’ I say mirthfully, and it is such a relief to admit it at last. ‘My heart doesn’t beat right when I am around you. I feel like I have known you all my life, yet every time I see you, I feel this rush of excitement like I fall in love with you all over again. Don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re obnoxious, and conceited, and—’
‘This is quite the love letter,’ he interjects with a smirk.
‘And you are completely maddening!’ I remark pointedly, and he has the decency to look bashful. ‘But you’re also kind, selfless and gentle. You inspired my work and made me look at the world in a different way … and when you were gone, my art suffered as much as I did.’
‘I don’t ever want you to suffer again,’ he says ardently, taking my face in his hands. ‘I don’t know if your feelings have changed, but I hope you know that I would never want you to give up painting in order to be with me. I want you as you are, no compromises.’
‘Is that really what you wish?’ I ask quietly.
He looks at me tenderly, then takes my hand in his. ‘Undeniably so.’
‘Then it is a good wish; I’m glad you didn’t waste it,’ I reply softly as I rest my hand on his chest.
I feel his pulse quicken beneath his shirt as the words resonate with him and he unbuttons his coat, pulling me closer to him, and wrapping me inside. His comforting cedarwood cologne fills up my senses as I rest my head against his chest and listen to his rapidly beating heart, keeping perfect rhythm with mine.
‘Can I kiss you now?’ he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.
I reach for his neck, pulling him down towards me, and he relents, lowering his head until our lips meet; and kissing him after all this time is like long awaited rainfall after a drought. I am famished, and I take his face in my hands with urgency as all the chill leaves my body and he wraps his arms around my waist. I press closer to him, desperate to fill any space between us as if I can make up for lost time, and he reciprocates, his fingers pressing into my back. It is a kiss born of impossible dreams and stolen glances; of secret moments in candlelit gardens, on crowded dance floors, and by hidden tidal pools. It is an affirmation that we belong together, enveloped in one final promise.
Epilogue
CORNWALL
Summer, 1933
It is another scorching day, the third week in a row of uninterrupted sunshine, and I pick up my sketchbook, fanning the air in front of my face. Bolster’s Books is deserted today; no one wants to be inside when the sun is beating down on the beaches and finally warming up the clear seas. As much as I would love to abandon the shady confines of the bookshop, my shift doesn’t finish for another half an hour; besides, I am waiting for two very important people to turn up.
I use the opportunity, while the shop is quiet, to work on a sketch I started in Mr. Bligh’s class yesterday. I am starting a new project of pencil line drawings, interspersed with washes of soft natural colour. I want to create four separate pieces, one for each beautiful season, highlighting my favourite parts of Cornwall. For summer, I have chosen St. Ives, where the light at this time of year is beyond comparison. Spring must be St. Agnes as that was where my journey began. I haven’t decided on winter yet, but for the autumn piece I am going to head to Zennor at long last. I want to create two pieces at Zennor, one for the collection and one for my dear friend Mr. Janssen who first inspired me to go there.
I hear the rumbling of a familiar car engine outside, and I look up expectantly, downing my tools. The shop bell tinkles merrily as they enter, and my face spreads into a wide grin as my sister Mary barrels through the door, followed by a slightly harried-looking Alexander.
‘Mary, you’re here at last!’ I cry, leaping up from my chair and skirting around the cash register to hug her. I bury my face in her soft brown curls, breathing in the familiar scent of home. ‘How was the train?’ I ask her, and she fills me in on all the details, bubbling with excitement.
‘It was wonderful! I saw three deer out of the window, and I helped solve a mystery too,’ she babbles excitably. ‘I was sat next to this elderly lady, Mrs Laithwaite. She’s coming down for her holidays just like me, but she lost her glasses on the train, so I set about the case. It turns out this rotten boy had found them in the buffet carriage and was trying to use the lenses to burn the curtains.’
‘Another case cracked by the great detective Graham.’ I smile, taking her hand and leading her towards the mystery novel section. This is the part of the shop I can take full credit for curating, and I know there will be plenty of books Mary will be desperate to get stuck into.
‘I’ve written it up in my case book,’ she replies quite seriously.
‘And did you thank Alexander for collecting you from the station?’ I ask her pointedly. His nose is already deep in a book on geology, but his lips pull into a lopsided smile which tells me she did not.
She turns back towards him guiltily. ‘Umm, I can’t remember …’
He smiles congenially at my little sister. ‘The pleasure was all mine, Mary.’
‘Hello, you,’ I murmur, taking a step towards him and reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
‘Hello, darling.’ He smiles down at me, his chestnut-coloured eyes are so soft and warm that I don’t know if the melting sensation I feel is due to the heat or the power of his gaze. I brush the hair back from his face and trace my fingers down his cheek, while Mary makes gagging sounds in the corner.
I roll my eyes conspiratorially at him, then turn back to my sister. ‘There’s a new Poirot book out, Mary. I’ve left it on the counter for you.’
Mary’s eyes widen, and her face cracks into a grin as she scoots over to the counter and immediately begins reading.
‘It’s a good one …’ Alexander starts to tell her, but I grab him by the sleeve and pull him into a more secluded corner of the bookshop, away from the prying eyes of my sister.
‘Thank you for picking her up from the station,’ I murmur, pushing him gently against the bookshelves, my lips at his throat. The subtle scent of cedar and sea salt on his skin is like a drug, and my pulse begins to race as he reaches down to kiss me.
‘Do you still want to go out tonight?’ he asks, reluctantly breaking away. ‘I understand if you want to spend the evening catching up.’
‘She’s here for two weeks,’ I reply, peppering kisses along his jaw. ‘And you made these plans weeks ago, whatever they may be …’ My fingers work their way up into his hair and I feel him shiver at my touch. ‘And you still won’t tell me what the plans are?’ I ask innocently.
He almost relents; I can see it in his expression. I have been trying to needle clues about tonight out of him for weeks, but he won’t tell me a thing. A slow smile spreads across his face and he places his hands gently on my shoulders, forcing a little space between us.
‘Birdie, you wretched schemer.’ He grins, and I shrug with a smirk.
‘Can’t blame a girl for trying.’
‘Are you two done canoodling yet?’ Mary calls from somewhere inside the bookshop. ‘I want to go to the beach.’
I sigh reluctantly and gaze up at Alexander one last time, then march out from behind the bookshelf and he slopes after me.
‘We weren’t canoodling!’ I huff.
‘Then why does Alexander look so red?’ Mary asks, her eyes narrowing.
I look back at him and he does look a little flushed. I am about to shoot a comeback at her when Alexander interjects.
‘Come on, let’s go to the beach,’ he says, and I relax, letting it go, as Mary brightens.
‘Let me just grab my things,’ I reply, gathering my sketchbook and the assortment of pencils strewn across the counter.
The beach is heaving with tourists, and we stumble across the sand dunes looking for a place to set up camp, finally squashing ourselves between two families beneath the cliffs.
‘It’s so busy, all the best spots are gone,’ Mary moans. ‘Why can’t we go to the beach at Abbotswood? We’d have the whole place to ourselves.’
I glance at Alexander out of the corner of my eye. He is clenching his jaw as he always does at the thought of Abbotswood. The private beach may be empty, and his father may be hundreds of miles away in Switzerland, but the memories of everything that happened there still linger. He says the house is much more bearable when it is full of people, but I know he would still rather be on a crowded beach than anywhere near the place.
‘Because I promised Rose we would meet her here,’ I tell Mary, shooting Alexander a comforting glance and waylaying his concerns. ‘You do want to see Rose, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Mary breathes excitedly at the thought of seeing her.
The two of them get on like a house on fire. Mary thinks Rose is the most glamorous woman she has ever met, and Rose is just happy to have a little sister to dress up and practise new looks on. She was supposed to be presented at Court this summer, but she wrote to her mother asking if they could delay a little longer. It turns out, since her parents moved to Switzerland, she is far less keen on the idea of settling down and is finally thinking about starting her own business. It has been a great surprise to her family, though not to me, that Rose is an incredibly savvy businesswoman. This year already, she has been in discussions with several London department stores about setting up a concession. She even had lunch with some high-flying executive who wants her to launch her own beauty brand, La Belle Rose.
We have only just sat down on our patch of sand we could find, when Rose appears, dancing across the beach in the most outrageous swimsuit.
‘Hello!’ she cries, her soft musical voice carrying towards us on the breeze. She waves her golden-tanned arm in the air, totally oblivious to the hundreds of eyes leering at her, and settles on the sand beside Mary, wrapping her arms around her affectionately. ‘How was your journey, darling?’
‘Frightfully dull,’ Mary replies, mimicking Rose’s manner of speaking.
‘But you are here now,’ Rose replies fondly, stroking the top of her head. ‘Were there any nice boys on the train?’
‘There was one …’ Mary replies sheepishly, telling a story far different from the one she told me. I steal a glance at Alexander and he catches my eye, the corners of his mouth twitching as we watch the two of them interact.
‘Oh, Birdie, your sister is such a delight!’ Rose hoots, clapping her hands together. ‘I always wished I could have had a little sister.’
‘Are you still happy to look after her tonight?’ I ask anxiously.
‘Happy to?’ Rose exclaims. ‘It will be my absolute pleasure. I thought we could go to the pictures, and then I’ll give you a makeover!’ She runs her fingers through Mary’s long mousey curls. ‘Tell me, Mary, have you ever thought about cutting your hair short?’
‘Rose …’ Alexander warns as she gazes at Mary with an air of devotion.
‘Oh, I’m only joking, Xander. Lighten up,’ she scoffs, rolling her eyes. ‘I know you’re particularly uptight today because—’
‘Rose!’ he exclaims again, running his hands through his hair as I sit up a little straighter.
‘Because of what?’ I ask.
‘Oops, silly me,’ Rose says sweetly with a wicked little smile in Alexander’s direction. ‘Come on, Mary. Do you fancy a paddle?’
She takes Mary by the hand and the two of them traipse off to the shore, leaving Alexander and I alone again. He watches them go, and I know he can feel my eyes on him but he is adamantly refusing to acknowledge it.
‘Because of what?’ I repeat, and he finally turns his head to look at me, and he lets out a peal of laughter at the look on my face.
‘It’s nothing, darling. Rose is just trying to stir up trouble,’ he croons, pulling me towards him and nestling his face against the crown of my head.
I am still slightly nettled to be left out of the loop, but he seems to be sticking to his resolve to keep his plans to himself, and I eventually relax and lean into him. I close my eyes, feeling the hot sun bake my skin as I listen to the waves roaring onto the shore, the sounds of children screaming ecstatically, the cries of seagulls up above, and the soft inhale and exhale of Alexander’s breath against my ear.
‘Have you heard much from Eddie and Babs?’ he asks.
‘Eddie is terrible at replying to letters, but I think he is enjoying being back in London,’ I reply a little wistfully, opening my eyes again and looking up at him.
Eddie has been at the Royal College of Art for six months now and seems to be having the time of his life. I am happy for him, but I do miss seeing him every day, and I do wish he would pick up the telephone once in a while.
‘How is Nina coping without him?’ Alexander asks uncertainly.
‘She misses him, naturally, but she has been so busy with portrait commissions since the one she did for Rose,’ I say, watching our sisters as they splash each other in the shallow turquoise waves. ‘I think it’s good for both of them to have some time apart. Eddie needs to remember how to look after number one for a while, and Nina doesn’t need him watching over her so much anymore … We were thinking of visiting him when this heatwave finally breaks. I can’t bear the thought of being in the city when it is this hot … Do you think we could stay at your aunt’s again?’
‘Of course. She would love to have you.’
‘Oh good. I’m hoping to get some more of your embarrassing stories out of her, the ones that you so adamantly refuse to share.’ I grin wickedly and he frowns.
‘What joy,’ he replies monosyllabically, and I let out a snort of laughter.
‘I promise not to let Nina use them against you.’
‘Speak of the devil …’ he murmurs, and I look to where is pointing, and spot a familiar shock of raven hair and the sharp bird-like features of Nina Gosford winding her way towards us.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she says coolly, coming to a standstill before us. ‘I was up at St. Ag’s working on my latest portrait, but it’s a bloody nuisance in there at the weekends, especially in the summer. Marjorie’s got the tourists eating out of her hands, telling them how they might be the next Rembrandt.’ She rolls her eyes and drops down onto the sand.
