House of Shadows by Iris Gower Page A

Ward had left for me for my supper; I only remembered them when I realized I badly needed a drink.
    I sat outside, fed the sandwiches to one of the feral cats that wandered the estate looking for mice, and drank a hot cup of tea. Then I went back to the studio to catch the last of the light.
    The painting was of the house; the weather-worn exterior was a lovely mellow golden, heavy with shadows where the light didn’t touch it. In one window was a dim figure that I didn’t even remember painting, but it looked good, very good, and my heart lightened. I felt in my bones that the canvas would be bought and put in the London gallery.
    It was only when I heard music and laughter from the perimeter of the gardens that I remembered the party. Hastily, I washed and dressed in a clean full skirt and a white collared blouse. I couldn’t find suitable shoes so I walked across the grounds barefoot, enjoying the cool feel of the grass.
    Tom’s men had cleared the lecture room, moving the tables to one side and leaving a good space for dancing. Rosie was looking very pretty in a demure blue dress and blue sandals, her hair loose around her flushed face. I hoped she wasn’t drinking too much.
    One of the Americans bowed and asked me to dance. I took his hand and he held me at a discreet distance, holding me lightly around the waist. ‘I’m Billie,’ he said in his soft drawl, ‘but the men, they call me the black bomber, miss, because of the colour of my skin and—’ He hesitated, and Tom appeared at my side.
    â€˜And because this man is a wonderful bomb-aimer,’ he said. ‘Now, may I cut in here and dance with Miss Evans?’
    Before I knew it I had been swept into Tom’s arms and we were whirling around the floor to the tunes of the Glen Miller orchestra. I felt my hair fly around my face and my cheeks flush with pleasure as we danced and laughed. After a while, breathless, I begged for a drink, and Tom brought me a glass full of amber liquid.
    â€˜Here’s a scotch and rye, Riana. Drink it up! It will do you good.’
    The liquor wove its way in a spiral of fire down my throat and into my bloodstream, and instantly I felt light headed. The music changed to a slow waltz, and Tom took my hand and led me to the dance floor. He drew me close, and – almost without thinking – I put my head on his shoulder. Gently, he rested his cheek against my hair, and I’d never felt more happy and more comfortable with a man in my life.
    I reminded myself that he would have to leave for America before long; I didn’t really know when the last of the airmen would go. I supposed it would be wise to ask Tom rather than go on wondering when I would be alone again.
    We had the last dance together, and then Tom took my arm. ‘I’ll walk you to the door, honey,’ he said softly. He took my hand, and we left the heat and the cigarette smoke of the mess room and went out into the night.
    The moon was full casting an eerie light over Aberglasney. As we drew nearer the doorway I thought I could hear voices. ‘Tom, have the visitors made a mistake and come back to the house, do you think?’
    â€˜What do you mean, honey?’ He sounded puzzled.
    â€˜Don’t you hear the voices?’
    â€˜All I can hear is the pounding of my heart when I feel your hand in mine, honey.’ He turned me to him and kissed me, a real kiss, deep and passionate. I warmed against him, the alcohol dancing in my blood, and the sounds of voices faded. I was drunk on Tom’s Scotch – and what’s more, I at last admitted it to myself, I was intoxicated with Tom. His hands gently moved over my shoulders, down my arms and on to my waist as he pulled me closer.
    To my great disappointment, Tom released me at the door. ‘See you tomorrow, Riana,’ he said softly, and then he was gone into the shadows.
    Being alone was such an anticlimax. I didn’t know what I