a big over-fed
baby. The sort of cheeks that women loved to kiss and knead fondly at with
their fingers.
It made her think of the first time they’d met, at Sally Feversham’s
party for which she’d told her father all manner of lies to get to. She’d never
been to anything like it: lights dimmed to virtual darkness, half dressed women
perched on men’s laps and a sweet smoky flavour to the air which left her
completely light-headed.
‘May I introduce myself princess?’
Even the voice had been round and jovial.
‘Alfonso Eden, manager of The Empress Theatre Soho. But I’m afraid
you’ll have to leave soon as I’m already rapidly falling in love with you.’
He was a little slimmer then of course, never handsome but fuelled
with enough charm to more than compensate for his lack of physical prowess.
He was looking back at her now, open mouthed with surprise from
across the water. He raised his hand in a small wave. And then from the midst
of the crowd another figure joined him. Petite and feminine, dressed in canary
yellow. Betsey. She put her arm through his and then gave him one of her
insipid smiles, all sweetness and vulnerability like a little lost fawn. He
seemed flustered, looking back and forth at the two of them with coy snatched
glances.
‘Stupid fool,’ she murmured under her breath.
‘There’s a note here for you ma’am.’
‘Not now Sarah,’ she said, marching past the maid and into Alfonso’s
old office. ‘I’m not to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon.’
She threw herself into the arms of the deep leather chair, lit a
cigarette and watched the curious fingers of smoke rise up into the air. It
wasn’t dark enough in the room, even with its heavy wooden shutters firmly
closed. The blasted sunshine had found ways of wheedling itself in through the
small joints in the slats, bouncing impishly against the angles of the
furniture and lighting up the painted faces in the stained glass panel of the
door.
‘Idiotic man,’ she spat out at the gaudy display of glass; a crude
rendition of a Bacchanalian feast that Alfonso had had commissioned. ‘Ridiculous
thing for an office door, really.’
She rested her head against the side of the chair and waited for the
last sliver of burnt tobacco to fall from her cigarette before lighting another.
There was a knock at the door. Sarah again.
‘There’s someone here to see you, it’s Mr Burke from the grocer.’
‘What, again? Wasn’t he here yesterday?’
‘I know ma’am but he’s getting awful persistent that you pay him.’
‘Tell him to go away. I don’t have time for visitors at the moment.’
But Sarah peered around the room instead, squinting in the
semi-light.
‘I know what you’re doing and the money simply isn’t in here. Please
just leave.’
Sarah crossed her wiry arms and stayed exactly where she was. ‘Ma’am
I hate to say this but sooner or later you’re gonna have the law on you. You’ve
got to pay your bills and Mr Burke, well he’s been coming day after day. We’re
getting a bad name for ourselves.’
Lucinda forced her fingers through her hair, tugging at it
aggressively until her scalp hurt. ‘Am I never to be left alone? Am I to be
bombarded, constantly? All I have asked for is peace. Am I to be denied that
again and again?’
She pressed her fingers to her temples; a dull tribal thud had
started to resonate deep within her skull. ‘Take the money from the box. It’s
over there on the second shelf, behind the vase. Found it? Good. Now, please,
for mercy’s sake, make sure I’m not bothered again today.’
‘Thank you Mrs Eden. Oh, and here’s what came through the door for
you this morning.’
An envelope fell into her lap and she cast her eyes quickly across
the note inside.
Dear Mrs Eden,
We so enjoyed having you to dinner the other night. I do hope your
head is better. I owe you an apology I’m afraid with regard to our planned trip
to the theatre next week to see
baby. The sort of cheeks that women loved to kiss and knead fondly at with
their fingers.
It made her think of the first time they’d met, at Sally Feversham’s
party for which she’d told her father all manner of lies to get to. She’d never
been to anything like it: lights dimmed to virtual darkness, half dressed women
perched on men’s laps and a sweet smoky flavour to the air which left her
completely light-headed.
‘May I introduce myself princess?’
Even the voice had been round and jovial.
‘Alfonso Eden, manager of The Empress Theatre Soho. But I’m afraid
you’ll have to leave soon as I’m already rapidly falling in love with you.’
He was a little slimmer then of course, never handsome but fuelled
with enough charm to more than compensate for his lack of physical prowess.
He was looking back at her now, open mouthed with surprise from
across the water. He raised his hand in a small wave. And then from the midst
of the crowd another figure joined him. Petite and feminine, dressed in canary
yellow. Betsey. She put her arm through his and then gave him one of her
insipid smiles, all sweetness and vulnerability like a little lost fawn. He
seemed flustered, looking back and forth at the two of them with coy snatched
glances.
‘Stupid fool,’ she murmured under her breath.
‘There’s a note here for you ma’am.’
‘Not now Sarah,’ she said, marching past the maid and into Alfonso’s
old office. ‘I’m not to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon.’
She threw herself into the arms of the deep leather chair, lit a
cigarette and watched the curious fingers of smoke rise up into the air. It
wasn’t dark enough in the room, even with its heavy wooden shutters firmly
closed. The blasted sunshine had found ways of wheedling itself in through the
small joints in the slats, bouncing impishly against the angles of the
furniture and lighting up the painted faces in the stained glass panel of the
door.
‘Idiotic man,’ she spat out at the gaudy display of glass; a crude
rendition of a Bacchanalian feast that Alfonso had had commissioned. ‘Ridiculous
thing for an office door, really.’
She rested her head against the side of the chair and waited for the
last sliver of burnt tobacco to fall from her cigarette before lighting another.
There was a knock at the door. Sarah again.
‘There’s someone here to see you, it’s Mr Burke from the grocer.’
‘What, again? Wasn’t he here yesterday?’
‘I know ma’am but he’s getting awful persistent that you pay him.’
‘Tell him to go away. I don’t have time for visitors at the moment.’
But Sarah peered around the room instead, squinting in the
semi-light.
‘I know what you’re doing and the money simply isn’t in here. Please
just leave.’
Sarah crossed her wiry arms and stayed exactly where she was. ‘Ma’am
I hate to say this but sooner or later you’re gonna have the law on you. You’ve
got to pay your bills and Mr Burke, well he’s been coming day after day. We’re
getting a bad name for ourselves.’
Lucinda forced her fingers through her hair, tugging at it
aggressively until her scalp hurt. ‘Am I never to be left alone? Am I to be
bombarded, constantly? All I have asked for is peace. Am I to be denied that
again and again?’
She pressed her fingers to her temples; a dull tribal thud had
started to resonate deep within her skull. ‘Take the money from the box. It’s
over there on the second shelf, behind the vase. Found it? Good. Now, please,
for mercy’s sake, make sure I’m not bothered again today.’
‘Thank you Mrs Eden. Oh, and here’s what came through the door for
you this morning.’
An envelope fell into her lap and she cast her eyes quickly across
the note inside.
Dear Mrs Eden,
We so enjoyed having you to dinner the other night. I do hope your
head is better. I owe you an apology I’m afraid with regard to our planned trip
to the theatre next week to see
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