Page 93 of Never Tear Us Apart
She shows me a gown hanging on the back of a door – a sweeping scarlet affair, with a ruffle running bias-cut down the skirt and a corsage of silk flowers on the shoulder.
‘Hopelessly out of date, of course,’ Christina says, ‘I should think it’s ten years old at least, but it will do the job, do you see?’
‘I do see,’ I say, admiring the gown. ‘It’s absolutely lovely, butIdon’t have any beautiful gowns tucked away in my pocket.’
‘And I don’t have any that will fit you,’ Christina says, woeful. ‘This is dreadful. What shall we do, Alex?’
‘Call the whole thing off,’ Alex says as he presses his shirt. ‘I cannot pretend to live in Daniel Beauchamp’s arms if it must be done vicariously through a frumpy spinster.’
‘Hey.’ I clip him lightly round the head. ‘I do have feelings, you know?’
‘Sorry, darling.’ He flashes me a smile, and I forgive him immediately. ‘You know, she looks very sweet in that dress, really. Perhaps it will do. She could probably wear sackcloth; he is smitten, after all . . .’
‘It willnotdo,’ Christina insists. ‘Never mind Danny – I have standards. Not to pile on the pressure, but we all need this particular romance to come to . . . er . . .fruitiontonight, darling. I won’t say that morale is resting on it, but . . .’
‘A rather sizeable sweepstake is,’ Alex tells me. ‘I’ve got you and Danny sneaking off to bed at 10.43 p.m., if you don’t mind keeping an eye on the clock.’
‘This is awful – I’m not going,’ I say. ‘I’m not going to have my . . . whatever this is, being turned into a betting book.’
There is another knock at the door.
‘I’ll show them in on my way out,’ I tell them, my cheeks blazing. Of course I have to go to the dance. There is more at stake than what I’m wearing, and if Danny and I die in the next few days . . . but they don’t know that.
‘Stella!’ I blink, opening the door to my grandmother. ‘I thought you were staying with Sal?’
‘I was – I am – but I had a thought,’ Stella says, rather shy. She is carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper. ‘So, I went home to collect this for you. Your dowdy dress simply willnot do for your special night with Flight Lieutenant Beauchamp.’
‘That’s what I said,’ Christina says, coming to the door.
My mouth drops open, then I close it again, speechless.
Stella presses the parcel into my arms. ‘We have the same sort of figure, or we used to, before I got so thin,’ Stella tells me. ‘This dress – I wore it on the night that my husband and I became engaged. I have only worn it once, and here.’ She hands me a pair of darkest green patent-leather court shoes with a diamanté buckle. ‘I have long feet. I think you do, too.’
‘Stella, I don’t know what to say,’ I say, accepting the parcel and shoes.
‘You have been a good person to me – a help,’ Stella says, ‘and I will not be able to pay you with money, so.’ She shrugs. ‘You will look pretty in it, I think.’
‘Well, come in while she tries it on,’ Christina says. ‘You have to see the product of your generosity. Take a seat here. Have a glass of Greek wine – we will be back in a moment.’
* * *
‘Well.’ Christina gasps as she unwraps the parcel, revealing a deep-green dress in exactly the same shade as the shoes. It’s made from slippery satin, with a deep neckline and a black tulle overskirt. ‘It almost looks as if it was made for you. Put it on.’
As it happens, I need a little help from Christina with the hooks and eyes, and then she examines my face, mercilessly plucking any stray brow and lip hairs she finds. She fetches an almost empty palette of eye shadow, with a few corners of powdered pigment remaining, and dabs a little shimmering emerald-green on my lids, before passing me a stub of orange-red lipstick.
‘It’s all you have,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Yes, but it’s a special night,’ she tells me. ‘A girl can’t make love to a boy properly without lipstick.’
‘Christina.’ I turn to her. ‘Are you crying?’
‘It’s just that you look so very lovely,’ Christina says, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of a hanky. ‘I’m absolutely furious about it.’
‘That’s not it, and you know it,’ I tell her fondly. ‘What’s really wrong?’
‘I just wish it could always be like this,’ she says. ‘Dances and gowns – and plenty of lipstick. I wish that a girl could happily fall in love and never have to worry about what will happen tomorrow, because there are no wars or dogfights or young men sent off to die every day. I wish you and Danny could have your night tonight and know you had your whole future ahead of you. I wish we all could.’
‘Don’t cry,’ I say, touching my palm to her cheek. ‘You’ll give yourself a red nose and puffy eyes. Stiff upper lip, remember?’
