From the road Lottie could see the top of the turreted, red brick house but nothing else as it was hidden by a high wall and surrounded by trees. The gate was securely closed. Little hope of seeing the great man as they said he hardly ever went out. Once he was a familiar figure in the streets of Dorchester, but no longer. Lottie lingered as long as she could in the hope Mr Hardy just might emerge, but time passed. She could imagine that Flora, strolling about some distance away as if she sensed that Lottie wanted to be alone, was getting restless. Still, she could say that she had seen Hardy’s house and that would be something to tell Madeleine. It felt like a pilgrimage.
Finally, after a last look Lottie turned away and returned to the car where she was joined by Flora, who got in and sat next to her.
‘Well, I’ve seen it,’ Lottie said, sighing deeply. ‘I’ll be able to tell Madeleine when I get home.’ Seeing Flora’s puzzled expression she continued: ‘Madeleine was my school teacher – Miss Carson, the sister of Hugh. She knew that I loved Hardy and encouraged me to read, but told me off for paying more attention to the descriptions of the countryside than the plot!’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Of course, the Mayor of Casterbridge, Henchard, sold his wife and daughter and Casterbridge was based on the town of Dorchester. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m actually here. It’s like living history.’ She turned to her new friend and lightly touched her arm. ‘I owe all this to you. Thanks, Flora.’
‘It’s been a real pleasure,’ Flora replied. ‘Would you like to go to the coast and see more Hardy country?’
They said little during the drive through the beautiful countryside, miles of heathland and areas covered by gorse or woodland, undulating fields with grazing cattle, and Flora indicating points of interest on the way. It was all seen at its best on an almost perfect English summer’s day. In New Zealand it would be midwinter.
‘Egdon Heath, of course, is a name invented by Hardy and could refer to any part round here, but I want to take you to the nicest part where you can see the sea and we can have our picnic. It is called the Isle of Purbeck and Purbeck marble is very famous. Hungry?’
‘A bit,’ Lottie confessed and was not sorry when, after a lengthy drive through spectacular scenery, Flora finally drove into a place by the side of the road from which there was indeed a wonderfully panoramic view of the sea.
‘It’s almost as beautiful as New Zealand,’ she gasped as Flora, with sweeping gestures, indicated the scale and scope of the view.
‘And down there,’ she pointed, ‘though you can’t see it from here – hardly see it at all, in fact – is a tiny, tiny, very old village called Tyneham and beyond that, over there,’ another sweeping gesture, ‘is Warborrow Bay where we used to go and swim when we were children. It is very warm.’
They returned to the car and from the boot Flora produced a large picnic basket and some rugs which Lottie carried through the gate leading into the field and, after spreading it out, flopped on it as Flora examined the contents of the basket. Shading her eyes against the sun, Lottie looked out to sea and thought how far away it was from home. This filled her with sadness as well as nostalgia, and Flora commented on her expression as she sat down beside her.
‘Penny for them?’ she asked and indicated the pile of tempting-looking sandwiches arranged on plates she’d set before them. ‘Help yourself.’
Lottie made her choice. ‘These look lovely,’ she said hungrily, taking a bite. ‘The sea made me think of New Zealand and how far I am from home. But,’ she ate a bit more of her sandwich, ‘I think I may be returning sooner than I planned.’
‘Oh?’ Shocked, Flora paused in the act of eating. But Lottie took her time in replying and finished what was in her mouth.
‘I don’t think Hugh loves me any more. He has suggested I go back to Wellington much sooner than I intended.’ She turned to Flora. ‘So you see, I am more grateful than I can say for this invitation to spend time with you.’
‘But this is a terrible shock,’ Flora said. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Oh, right from when I arrived. When he met me in Tilbury I could sense something was wrong. It hasn’t gone right since. In fact, the last two weeks have been awful.’
‘I must say, you did seem to spend a lot of time on your own.’
‘Of course, he is very busy. I know that. His work consumes him but he did write, no, begged me to come over. What has happened since he wrote the letter I don’t know and he doesn’t say. I just think he realizes that he is no longer in love with me; perhaps in some way I’ve changed and am no longer the person he proposed to which was, I must say, at the time quite unexpected. He simply feels he has made a mistake. Which he won’t admit to me – not yet, anyway. I suggested we got married here, but he said his family wants a big wedding and anyway he hadn’t enough money to support me. I told him I’d work, and that I’d do anything to be with him. That it would be fun to be young and in love in London!’ Her eyes shone, not with tears, but with the sheer joy of how things might have been, might still be if only Hugh would change. ‘But he admits now that he might be here for years and has no plans to return home.’
The euphoria of the moment lifted and Lottie looked so downcast, so desolate that Flora put a comforting arm round her shoulder. ‘This is awful for you, Lottie, but can you be sure?’
‘Oh, I can’t be sure. I hope I’m wrong. It’s his manner, his attitude. Sometimes you feel he is trying so hard. He wants to make it work but can’t. He took me dancing and . . .’ She looked with eyes brimming with tears at Flora. ‘We made love, in bed, you know, properly, for the very first time. It was wonderful and meant so much to me, I was ecstatic; but I don’t think it meant anything to him. In fact, I think he regretted it because he has avoided doing it again or even referring to it, as though he wished it had never happened. It’s left me feeling horrible and somehow sordid.’ Lottie vigorously brushed the tears from her eyes. ‘The thing is I still love him, Flora. I adore him and I would give anything for him to change. But now I feel he won’t, which is why I decided to come away with you. I had to see where Mr Hardy lives, and when I get back to London I’ll see about a passage home, unless Hugh has done it already.
‘You see, Flora, I am not as well educated as Hugh and the rest of his family. His sister was my teacher and she took me under her wing, anxious for me to study and succeed, and was very good to me. We were a poor family – not like the Carsons. My father drove a truck and then he went to war in Europe and came back an invalid. A few years later my mother deserted us and I had to leave school as we had no money. Miss Carson, Hugh’s sister, did a lot for me and my family. Her father was the doctor who helped my father to get better and got him a job. I used to visit their home where I met Hugh and he started courting me.
‘We had a wonderful, glorious six months when I learned to dance, ride, sail, swim and improve my tennis. We went to balls and ate at lovely restaurants until I felt I was every bit the equal of the Carsons and I learned to enjoy life for the first time and realized how good it could be. To my joy, my astonishment, Hugh, my partner in all this, asked me to marry him, then he went off to England supposedly only for a year, and when he came back a big wedding was to be planned. A big wedding which now won’t happen.’ Lottie turned despairing eyes to Flora. ‘Maybe I was wrong to give in to him. He said he didn’t know I was a virgin. Maybe he was testing me and I’ve disgusted him.’
‘Oh, that is a silly thing to say,’ Flora protested. ‘That idea is so out of date and old fashioned.’
‘Not in New Zealand,’ Lottie replied, sombre-voiced. ‘Not where I live.’ And suddenly hating this conversation, giving so much of herself away, she jumped up and ran down the hill in the direction of the sea, desperate to hide her real distress from her friend.
Flora, deeply compassionate, understood and held back, but when at last Lottie came slowly back up the hill Flora held out towards her the welcoming, loving hand of friendship.
The Anderson family had a lot in common with the Carsons, Lottie decided. There was the same comfortable, even affluent set-up. A large red brick house in a tree-lined avenue with a tennis court and a well-tended lawn and garden. Mr Anderson, too, was a professional man, a solicitor of some standing in the town and Mrs Anderson the same kind of friendly motherly woman like Mrs Carson, who bustled around directing the fairly large staff, more than the Carsons, and keeping her brood in order. A big hug for Lottie when she had arrived followed a searching look into her eyes, as though she knew instinctively almost all there was to know about her and what kind of life she had led. How much Flora had told her in advance she didn’t know.
There were three other siblings, all boys, one at university and two still at school. In the evening they all sat round the dinner table, Mr Anderson, a jovial kindly man sporting a large moustache, at the head.
They were interested to hear about New Zealand and both gratified and impressed by her enthusiasm for their most famous citizen who Mr and Mrs Anderson had met but made no claim to know well. From the ring and also perhaps because Flora had told them, they knew that Lottie was engaged and made polite but not intrusive enquiries about her fiancé. It seemed that the son at university wanted to be a doctor too.
Lottie felt engulfed by the kindly, comfortable, welcoming Andersons and would like to have prolonged her stay, but there was that urgency to get back and be with Hugh, whose former ardour she still so desperately hoped to rekindle.
Maybe when she got back Hugh would tell her that he had realized how much he missed her and everything would change.
On the last day of her stay Flora, as she had promised, drove Lottie to see the cottage where Hardy was born. After she parked the car they followed a path through a wood that led to the small thatched cottage which again, like the big house, they could only see from a distance being partly obscured by trees.
Once again Lottie could only stand and gaze at it while Flora looked on.
‘One thing more to tell Madeleine,’ Lottie said as she rejoined her friend. ‘It is such a beautiful, peaceful spot. She will be very envious.’
‘As a boy he walked to Dorchester every day to school and back, quite a distance.’
‘He was working class like my family,’ Lottie said. ‘He knew about heartache and hardship. Does anyone live there now?’
‘I’m not sure. His sister, maybe. Daddy will know.’ She tucked her arm through Lottie’s and they strolled back to the car. ‘I want to take you in another direction today,’ Flora said. ‘There is a sweet little village called Plush. It is a pleasant drive and we can picnic on the way.’
So they headed north up over rolling hills and past fields full of sheep and cattle to Plush, tucked in the hills, smoke gently spiraling from the country inn on the edge of the village. They then pressed on further until they selected a spot which overlooked Plush and the way they had come, and once again rugs were spread on the grass, Flora opened the picnic basket and they began to eat.
‘I’ll miss this a lot,’ Lottie said when she had finished eating, lying back on folded arms and gazing at the sky. ‘It is so beautiful and how lucky we’ve been with the weather. I’ve completely fallen in love with Dorset, as I knew I would. I can’t wait to tell Hugh what he’s missed.’
‘And have you missed Hugh?’ Flora produced a pad and began sketching Lottie as she had done several times during her visit, swift, deft outlines which showed considerable skill, capturing various aspects of Lottie’s personality.
‘Of course I have. I love him as much as I ever did and I hope when I get back he will show me just how much he’s missed me. Or am I being silly?’
Flora tactfully didn’t reply, but put down her pad and pencil and looked across at Lottie. ‘I would very much like to do a portrait of you when I get back to London. In fact, I’m quite sure a number of students in my class would like to as well. How would you consider being a model – clothed, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘And there would be some payment. It may help while you think things over and maybe extend your stay a little, if not for good. Help to tide things over with Hugh. Who knows?’
‘Well, it’s something I’d certainly think about, depending on how long I’m going to stay and that does depend on Hugh, but certainly long enough for you to paint my portrait. That would be very flattering.’ She didn’t add whether or not she thought Hugh would approve.
At first on her return things did seem to go well and Hugh had given her a warm, if not exactly loving, welcome. He seemed pleased to see her. He had hugged her briefly and kissed her cheek, taking care that their lips didn’t meet. She had sent him a telegram with the time of her return and when she got back to the digs mid afternoon he had left a message with Mrs Smith that he would be back at about 7 p.m. to take her out to dinner. It had all seemed very promising and she had felt enthused and excited, and had dressed with care, hoping to seduce him all over again.
Now they sat facing each other across the dinner table in the restaurant he had taken her to after she first arrived. She took the lead by talking enthusiastically about her trip: the beauty of the Dorset countryside, the wonder of seeing the places where Thomas Hardy not only lived now but was born, the kindness of the Andersons. She went into raptures about the Dorset countryside. Above all, in view of his opinion of Flora’s allegedly loose morals, their respectability, Mr Anderson being a prominent lawyer in the town and a member of the town council.
Impulsively she reached across the table for Hugh’s hand. ‘One day I hope we’ll go there together. I’d love you to see it. Maybe . . .’ She paused and gazed at him. ‘Did you think any more about marrying here, Hugh? I love England so much and would be very happy to stay for a while. I know your family want a big wedding but I don’t mind, I . . .’
Abruptly he withdrew his hand from hers and averted his eyes. Then, seeming to come to some decision, he raised them, his gaze fastened unfalteringly on hers, his face solemn, unsmiling. ‘Lottie, I was hoping to tell you in a gentler way but I can’t find one. I know it will be hard for you and, believe me, it is for me . . .’
‘You don’t love me any more,’ she butted in, her expression bleak.
‘Listen,’ he went on urgently. ‘It’s not that I don’t love you, but . . . I have met someone else. It was totally, utterly unexpected, and the last thing I wanted in the world, but that’s how it is.’
His gaze faltered again while hers had become fixed on his face, as if her whole body had turned to ice, frozen her to her seat. Her heart was beating rapidly, uncontrollably; the shock seemed overwhelming and then everything fell into place, the whole thing from the arrival in Tilbury until this moment. Lottie had known something was wrong but wondered how she could have been so blind, such an ass as not to have recognized it before.
‘I can’t understand,’ she said slowly, evenly, as if spacing her words, ‘why you let me come. Would this not have been kinder in a letter before I left home?’
‘It was all so sudden. It happened after you’d sailed. I had met her but not fallen in love. She is a doctor at the hospital. Her name is Sylvia. It was just like that for both of us, a coup de foudre as the French call it. I can’t explain it, Lottie, and I am dreadfully, dreadfully sorry, but I couldn’t go on deceiving you, and as it is I do feel bitterly ashamed. I tried to fight it and so did Sylvia because I told her about you; she knows the situation completely – everything. We both feel bad about it, but we just can’t help ourselves.’ He lowered his head as if, even now, he was ashamed of what he was doing to a young woman who at his suggestion had come halfway around the world to be with him. In a whisper he added: ‘I’ve asked Sylvia to marry me.’
Rage now supplanted shock and, with an irony she didn’t know she possessed, Lottie said, ‘So you are currently engaged to two people.’ Slowly, she took the ring from her finger and put it on the table in front of him. ‘Well, as of this moment you’re not, so you can give this to Sylvia.’
‘Don’t be too hard on me, Lottie.’ With his finger Hugh tried to edge the ring back towards her. ‘We’re both – Sylvia and I – very distressed, but for me to go on with you would be unthinkable, the worst kind of hypocrisy. I would be living a lie. I tried several times to tell you before, but I lacked the courage.’
‘Knowing all this I can’t think why you had to go to bed with me. We had resisted for so long, so what was I supposed to think? That was unforgivable, too.’
‘I know it was. But I am a man and you are a very desirable girl, and I’ve had to control myself several times in the course of our relationship because it was obvious to me that you were a passionate woman. But I didn’t know until it was too late that it was the first time for you, and I felt utterly ashamed and miserable, which is why I couldn’t let it happen again. It was despicable and throughout all this I have behaved despicably. My family will think so, too.’ He looked as though this admission made him feel better and leaned towards her. ‘If there is anything, anything at all I can do to ease the pain of this please tell me. Anything.’
‘No, there is nothing.’ Lottie had made a superhuman effort to recover her self-control. She felt she owed it to herself, to her pride, not to break down in front of him. ‘Nothing I can think of except to say that perhaps Sylvia is the woman for you – a doctor, undoubtedly a better class, more like your family, the sort of people you’re used to, Hugh. Maybe coming from the wrong part of Wellington with the wrong sort of family I was never right for you.’
‘Please don’t say that, Lottie. It is completely untrue. You were beautiful, fun and I fell in love with you. I am still deeply fond of you and we have many very lovely memories of our time together. I did love you and my family love you and will, I know, be deeply upset and angry with me.’
‘Oh, so you haven’t told them yet?’
‘Of course not. I don’t think they’ll be pleased. Madeleine and Violet adore you.’
‘And if you didn’t think I was a virgin – something I find extraordinary – did you expect me to be like Flora, someone you think has “loose morals” which, incidentally, I can tell you isn’t true because I got to know her very well on the trip and she has a steady boyfriend, a fellow artist.’
‘Good, I am very glad to hear it and I never thought you had loose morals, but I knew you had seen someone else. Only I didn’t want to sleep with the woman I was going to marry. I didn’t think it was right. Now, Lottie, what can I do to ease this? I would like to remain friends and I would like maybe to show you round London? I can take a few days off.’
Lottie felt the rage rising up in her. ‘What about your suggestion that I go back to Wellington?’
Now that anger had supplanted grief, at least for the time being, she attempted to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
‘I have made some enquiries and, if you agree, there is a ship sailing from Tilbury next week, the SS Ceramic.’ His face reflected his relief that she was being so reasonable, so understanding, so like Lottie and the sensible girl that she was. ‘I’m sure we can get a berth, first class of course, and all on me.’
‘I shan’t be on that boat, Hugh. I am going to stay on in London for a while. Flora wants to paint me and has invited me to model for her class.’ Then, seeing his shocked expression: ‘Oh, don’t look scandalized, Hugh, I’ll have all my clothes on. I’m going to wire Flora and ask her if she knows somewhere I can stay and then I’m going to move out of the digs. Yes, I’m distressed, I’m shaken, it is not as I’d hoped, but I’m going to try and make the best of what is left of my time in London.’
She looked up at the waiter hovering over them and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, the food is lovely but I don’t think I’m hungry any more,’ and, rising from the table, she walked steadily and with dignity out of the restaurant and then quickly along the street towards the digs, sobbing uncontrollably as one for whom the effort had been all too much.
The wire said ‘Flora, come at once’ and like a good friend, the sort everyone needs, Flora came. In a day she had Lottie out of the digs in Lamb’s Conduit Street and lodging with a friend in Mecklenburgh Square, not too far away, but far enough from the treacherous Hugh, who Lottie felt she never wanted to set eyes on again.
The house in Mecklenburgh Square was owned by a fellow artist of Flora’s, an older woman, Magda Feldman, who was married to one of the tutors at the Slade. They didn’t let rooms, but occasionally were willing to put people up for a short time out of friendship and Magda had immediately responded to Flora’s request to house Lottie, who she was told was going to model for a while before she went back to New Zealand.
Lottie took to Magda immediately. She was a large, untidy, comfortable-looking woman with a pronounced German accent and a cigarette dangling permanently from the corner of her mouth. She kept flicking the ash off her full bosom in a gesture which was both comic and somehow endearing, as if her appearance meant nothing to her, which clearly it didn’t. She apologized to Lottie for having only a tiny room at the top of the house because they had friends visiting from Germany and the studio she shared with her husband Curt occupied the whole of the second floor.
Lottie felt grateful, embarrassed, confused at the rapid exit, almost an escape, from Lamb’s Conduit Street, which took place in daylight the day Flora returned from Dorset. She told Mrs Smith that there had been an emergency at home, but did not say goodbye to Hugh, who she had not seen since the night she heard about Sylvia.
Despite her misery she felt now that she had entered an entirely new, uncharted world, that of Bohemia which was quite strange to her but not unpleasant, something new and even exciting if she could get over her distress. At least it took her mind off the damage that had been done to her self-esteem though she doubted if anything would help her entirely ever to forgive or forget Hugh. You can’t be desperately in love and then, at a moment’s notice, not be, whatever the wrongdoing on the part of the beloved. Love, being irrational anyway, is not like that, but eats at the fabric of the heart, the very core of the emotions.
At times she seemed completely overwhelmed by grief and depression at his rejection of her. Although she wanted to go home she also dreaded it as it was humiliating to leave as someone loved and soon to be married, then to return alone as a jilted woman no longer loved or desired.
The easy-going nature of the Feldman residence enabled her to come and go as she pleased; no questions were asked as to why she was there and, left to herself, she whiled away her time indulging her passion for exploring London, that vast metropolis, mother of a vast Empire of which New Zealand was but a tiny part. She loved the Georgian terraces not only of Mecklenburgh Square but the surrounding streets of this area known as Bloomsbury; the uniformity of the tall houses fronted by iron railings through which one peered down into dark, mysterious basements doubtless occupied by servants; the number of squares filled with majestic trees and shrubs, with nursemaids pushing prams, elegantly dressed ladies walking dogs and bowler or top-hatted gentlemen in formal attire hurrying through in a businesslike fashion. In addition there were numbers of idlers occupying the park benches, many with lost or vacant expressions perhaps indicative of the fact that they were out of work because of the disastrous economic consequences of the war, which had led to widespread unemployment. Evidence of poverty was everywhere if one ventured beyond the comfortable parameters of Bloomsbury to the back streets surrounding King’s Cross or Euston railway stations. Here there were children playing, scruffy dogs running wild and lines of washing hanging across the street while working-class women in overalls gossiped in doorways, occasionally stopping to soothe a crying baby or box the ears of a young miscreant who had got out of hand.
She discovered not only the treasures of the British Museum but also of the Royal Academy and the National Gallery, magical places offering hours of enchantment and enlightenment to an unsophisticated uncultured colonial like herself which, while giving pleasure, only seemed to emphasize her lack of sophistication, culture and general knowledge of the world. She realized how empty and barren most of her life had been so far and wished that she had time and above all the leisure to learn and discover more. Her reading though extensive seemed ephemeral and she had hardly touched the classics.
Although well educated, Hugh had not been one for cultural pursuits and she had learned more about riding, sailing, dancing and playing tennis from her association with him than she had about art galleries or museums. Perhaps it was not too late. She had always loved literature, thanks partly to Madeleine, and Flora, in their many conversations in Dorset, had introduced her to other topics, mainly artistic, of which she had hitherto been ignorant.
However, she was aware that in fact she was now living on borrowed time, that money was getting short and there was no real reason to prolong her stay in England. She also worried about her family, especially about leaving Bella for so long, and realized that she had been rather selfish in placing so much emphasis on her own happiness to the exclusion of that of those near to her. She had even been prepared to stay here with Hugh indefinitely and now, belatedly perhaps, she was consumed by guilt. There was, however, the wish to have her portrait painted as a memorial, if nothing else, of this experience which had not turned out as she had expected.
Flora had told her to relax and be herself. She was sitting on a comfortable chair dressed in her normal clothes, face slightly in profile so that she was able to see out of the window on to the square, which once again was filled with sunshine, though with the beginning of September there was an autumnal chill in the air.
As term had not yet started at the Slade Flora had asked the Feldmans if she could use their studio and she had already made her preliminary sketches and started the painting.
Lottie was a good sitter, patient and obedient. She was also much more relaxed than she had been when she first arrived at the house in Mecklenburgh Square. She had soon made friends with the Feldmans, who insisted that when she wished she joined them at mealtimes, and would not think of accepting payment.
‘I don’t know what I can do to thank them,’ Lottie remarked, trying to be careful not to change her position.
‘Don’t worry, they don’t expect anything.’
‘Maybe I can send them something when I get home.’
‘Any idea when that will be?’
‘No. I love it here, you know. London is the most amazing place. I can understand how Katherine Mansfield didn’t want to go back to New Zealand once she had been in London.’
‘Katherine Mansfield. She’s quite famous. Did you know her?’
‘No, but Hugh’s family did. They lived almost next door to her family, whose name was Beauchamp. New Zealand is very proud of her – now that she’s dead.’
‘Isn’t it always the way,’ Flora murmured. Then, ‘Just keep your face there, Lottie. I know it’s difficult, but try not to move.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Many artists are only appreciated when they’re dead.’
‘I’m sure that won’t happen to you. You’ll be famous in your lifetime.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Flora put down her palette and stretched. She wore her usual exotic attire: this time loose, baggy oriental-type trousers under a purple painter’s smock and smoked constantly as she painted. ‘That’s enough for today. I think you can relax.’
Lottie got out of her chair and took a peek at the painting. It was odd to see oneself captured on canvas and she gazed at it critically for a few moments while Flora cleaned her brushes.
‘Too early to give a judgement,’ Flora said, noting her expression.
‘No. I quite like it.’ Lottie stepped back. ‘If anything it flatters me.’
‘Well, artists see their subjects in a way often unfamiliar to them.’ She gazed appraisingly at Lottie. ‘You have a very vital, interesting face, Lottie. I’ve told you this before. But it has changed slightly since I first met you. Still beautiful, still interesting, but sadder, greyer, a little haggard. That’s bloody Hugh for you, I expect.’
Lottie acknowledged that she might be right with a shrug but said nothing.
‘Understandable.’ Flora tapped her shoulder. ‘Look, I’m going to a party tonight. Why don’t you come? It’ll cheer you up.’
Why not? Lottie thought. Better than sitting alone in her tiny room or pacing the streets of London full of gloomy thoughts about her uncertain future. ‘That would be nice,’ she said. ‘I’d like it.’
‘Good.’ Flora finished tidying the studio in case others wished to use it, putting her canvas in the corner of the room and covering it with a cloth. Then she stood up. ‘Look, there is something I should tell you. The place we’re going to tonight belongs to my boyfriend, Rufus. I mentioned him briefly to you in Dorset, remember, but things have progressed since then. I’m moving in with him but I don’t want my parents to know – they would be shocked. I hope you understand.’
‘Of course I understand,’ Lottie said. ‘And I wouldn’t dream of telling your parents, even if I were to see them again, which is unlikely. When the picture is finished I will have to contact Hugh about a ticket home. I’ve hardly any money left.’
‘I can let you have some.’
‘I may take advantage of that to avoid seeing Hugh, but I’d rather not. I can’t avoid going home and I’m anxious about my father and Bella, from whom I’ve heard nothing despite my letters. Of course I also dread it, but it has to happen sometime. Life has to go on.’
‘And one day I hope you’ll come back and see me. I shall miss you.’
‘And I you.’ Impulsively Lottie kissed Flora firmly on the cheek. ‘You are such a good friend and I’m so lucky to have you. I simply don’t know what I’d have done without you. I will never, ever forget you and all you’ve done for me.’
The party was in a rather grand four-storey house overlooking the canal in an area known, perhaps because of this, as Little Venice. It was a wealthy, elegant part of London that Lottie hadn’t visited before, though they approached it at nightfall and only the lights in the houses reflected on the water gave her any idea what kind of place it was.
It was also the first time she had met Rufus, who occupied a flat on the first floor that apparently belonged to his parents, whose main home was in the country. The party was in full swing when they got there and Rufus was already rather drunk, as were most people in the room, which was in semi-darkness. To the music from the gramophone couples gyrated on the floor, from which the carpet had been rolled back, their arms entwined, lips and faces touching.
Rufus was a tall, lean redhead and anything else about his appearance was difficult to make out as he swept Flora on to the dance floor and enveloped her in a bear-like hug. Lottie immediately felt out of place in the melee and, wishing she hadn’t come, sought rather desperately for a means of exit. As if sensing her distress a man who had been leaning against the wall, glass in hand, viewing the scene, approached her.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.
‘Well.’ Peering through the gloom at her saviour, Lottie nodded. ‘Just a small one. Thank you.’
‘There is champagne. It’s Rufus’ birthday.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know that. Yes, a glass of champagne would be nice.’
‘Stay here, don’t move,’ he said and vanished into the next room, emerging after a few moments with a glass for her and his own refilled.
‘I see you don’t know anyone.’
‘No, I’m a friend of Flora’s. Do you know Flora?’
‘Everyone knows Flora.’ The stranger took a sip from his glass. ‘Look, the next room is quieter. Would you like to go there?’
‘Yes, I can hardly hear you.’
They slipped out of the room; Lottie was glad to leave the noise behind and relieved to find that the adjoining room which contained the bar was not only quieter but almost empty. It was comfortably furnished, obviously the lounge of the flat, whereas the one with the gramophone was possibly the dining room with the table pushed back against the wall. Lottie felt hot and flustered and brushed back her hair, aware of the stranger’s interest by the way he scrutinized her face.
‘Are you an artist?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m . . . well . . . nothing much. I’m on a visit here from New Zealand.’
‘I thought I recognized that accent,’ her companion said triumphantly. ‘I’m Adam.’
‘I’m Lottie.’ It seemed silly and rather formal in the circumstances, but they shook hands then laughed in an embarrassed way, and Lottie felt an immediate rapport with him.
‘I’ve only just got here myself,’ Adam said, ‘which is why I am one of the few sober people here, besides you, of course. Tell me, how do you come to be here with Flora?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Lottie said, ‘but, briefly, I met her in the digs I lived in when I first came to London. She was very kind to me and has become a very good friend.’
‘You know she’s going to move in with Rufus?’
‘Yes. Are you an artist, too?’
‘Yes. Well, I sculpt – same thing.’ His feet started tapping. ‘Look, do you want to dance?’
‘I might as well now I’m here,’ Lottie said and she left her half-empty glass on the table and went into the room next door, where there was some energetic jiving going on into which she and Adam entered with gusto.
The evening, which had seemed to start badly, got better. Adam was not only a good dancer, but remained sober and proved quite an interesting companion, although there was little chance to have a conversation. He was solemn and scholarly, dark-haired and dark-jowelled with an aquiline nose, deep-set eyes, tall and bespectacled. Not strictly attractive, not dashing in the way Hugh had been, but interesting enough to engage her attention, even her interest. In the slow dances he didn’t attempt any undue intimacy, such as was commonplace among the other couples locked together on the tiny square that was the dance floor; she respected him for that and took it as a sign that he, in turn, respected her.
Various couples kept on disappearing amid gales of giggling, she supposed into a nearby bedroom or bedrooms judging by the size of the flat, but she and Adam went on dancing, chatting between numbers as if they were old friends, had another glass of champagne and some birthday cake when the time came for Rufus, who surprisingly was still on his feet, to cut it. By then Flora had introduced him to Lottie, was glad that she had acquired a partner and introduced her, as far she could in the melee, to one or two others who were too far gone to take much notice.
It was hot, noisy and eventually Lottie began to flag.
‘I think I should go home,’ she said as she and Adam were dancing a slow foxtrot, feeling more familiar now, their bodies growing closer, the firm grip of his hand on her back tightening as his lips brushed her cheek.
‘Where’s home?’ he murmured, his mouth touching her ear.
‘Mecklenburgh Square.’
‘Oh, the Feldmans. I’ll take you there. You can’t possibly go alone.’
Lottie had indeed been rather fearful of venturing out into the dark and she had no idea of the time.
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure,’ Adam said. ‘Let’s go. No one will take any notice.’
‘Shouldn’t we say goodbye? Won’t we seem rude?’ Lottie looked around, but there was no sign of her host or of Flora.
‘I think they’re busy,’ Adam said with a wink. ‘We’ll send our apologies.’
Outside it was cool with a welcome breeze, still warm for September. It seemed natural for him to take her hand and they walked slowly along the side of the canal in the direction of Edgware Road, where he hailed a cab and gave the address.
‘You know the Feldmans quite well?’ Lottie asked, sinking gratefully back against the seat.
‘Carl is my tutor. I stayed there, too, when I was looking for a place.’
Still clasping hands in an atmosphere of warm intimacy they fell silent as the cab made its way through the London streets. Gazing out of the window Lottie thought of Hugh and of the night they returned from Ciros and how different the end had been from the one she had been anticipating. How they’d stood outside her door and all she got was a peck on the cheek instead of an embrace, and instead of love there was that cold feeling of rejection. She should have known then. It had been wrong from the start.
The cab stopped and the cabbie looked back at them enquiringly.
‘Thanks.’ Adam jumped out and held out a hand for Lottie before paying the driver.
‘Aren’t you going home?’ she asked, looking surprised.
‘I thought I’d say hello to Carl. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all if he’s up, but it is late.’
‘Carl won’t mind. He’s like that.’
Lottie let herself in with the key and as she anticipated the house was in darkness. As she started groping for the light switch Adam closed the door and followed her in and then suddenly, gently, with no roughness or sense of compulsion, he pressed her against the wall of the hall and began kissing her passionately, not clumsy, and with great skill. She felt her body yield quite willingly to him and there was no doubt what he wanted. With the memory of that fatal, unfulfilled night with Hugh in mind, she knew that it was what she wanted, too.