Echoes of the Dance (18 page)

He looked at her sternly. ‘Do I detect that you are more interested in the cakes than in the history of the place?'

‘Oh, yes,' she said at once. ‘Much more interested. Dancers love their food. I thought you knew that.'

‘I'm beginning to believe it. You won't care about this one much either, then, though I bought it especially for you.'

He pushed another postcard across the table. Angelica Kauffmann's portrait of the pretty little Henrietta Laura Pulteney, posing with her basket of flowers, was familiar to Daisy: as she stared at it, however, it was his words ‘I bought it specially for you' that filled her mind.

‘I thought you ought to have a reminder of the person your street is named after,' he was saying. ‘Must be rather good, mustn't it, to have a beautiful city full of your family's names on the streets and bridges?'

Daisy turned the card over. ‘But you haven't written on it,' she protested lightly. ‘If you're going to send a postcard you ought to write on it first.'

‘OK. Give it here.' He took a pen from the inside pocket of the cotton jacket folded on the bench beside him. ‘Now then.' He mused for a moment or two and then scribbled. ‘There you are.'

It was crazy, she told herself, that her heart should beat quite so loudly at the prospect of his words written on a piece of card. She devoured them eagerly. He'd addressed it: ‘To Daisy Quin of Henrietta Street, Bath.' In the space opposite the address he'd written: ‘I bought this especially for you.'

She felt foolishly disappointed despite the fact that, only moments earlier, these words had pleased her so much: he might at least have signed his name, she thought. Immediately, however, she reconsidered it, giving the words their full due and extracting the maximum meaning. She was learning to do this: to take a few compliments, an affectionate gesture, a small gift, and weave something of substance out of the meagre sum of them.

It was clear that the breakdown of his marriage had the effect of making him careful: thus far and no further, he seemed to be saying. Yet she was able to tell herself that it was simply a question of giving him the time to recover, to be prepared to wait, and any preconceived ideas she'd had about equality in a relationship had quickly sunk in this flood of longing. She, whose dancing had been the only thing that mattered in the world, had already began to imagine them living together in the house in the school grounds. She saw herself cooking delicious meals and making friends with his pupils, assisting with the school play, perhaps, and suggesting that dancing classes should become part of the curriculum.

The fact that he was withholding himself simply made him all the more desirable. She refused to believe that he was being capricious but guessed that he just wasn't ready yet to make the next big step away from his marriage. He was still adjusting himself to the move to Bath. All she actually knew was that his wife was unable to put Paul's career before her own and that he'd refused to pass up this opportunity, having missed two chances of promotion already. He'd volunteered this information very reluctantly, as if he'd decided that she was entitled to some background colour, and, bursting though she was with questions, she'd controlled her need to know more. Already she was so far gone in love that his happiness must be put before her own and she had no desire to make him uncomfortable or miserable by forcing explanations from him.

Daisy reminded herself that this was not a new situation for her. At twelve years old, after her mother died, she'd had to make exactly the same kind of allowances for her father when he remarried. His new wife was possessive and, when their baby arrived, Daisy's father had explained to her that, though she would always hold a unique place in his affections, his wife and baby needed a special show of love. It was important, he'd told her, that she mustn't misunderstand or be jealous; she must trust him. Daisy, anxious that he should be happy, had gladly received the small tokens of love that he'd managed to spare for her and embraced her new family wholeheartedly. At the stage school in London during term-time, and often working for part of the holidays, her visits to Yorkshire were few and far between so that the new family soon realized that she constituted no threat to them.

Back then, grieving for her mother and missing her father, Daisy had learned to glean the small crumbs and drops of affection left over from her father's new love and take what nourishment she could squeeze from them. Then, her work had filled the empty spaces in her affection, bringing comfort and purpose to her life. Now, when her work had failed her, it seemed that love might be her sustenance. It pressed in on her, leaving no room for depression or anxiety or fear, blossoming like some vital organism and overwhelming her. She tended it carefully, lest it might become bruised or damaged, not wishing to appear demanding or inquisitive.

She was also refusing to give way to an instinct to picture Ellie – she knew Paul's wife's name now – as an archetypal ‘harridan wife' figure. Daisy resisted the desire to see her as a selfish woman, ready to put her own ambition before Paul's happiness or their marriage, cold and sharp-tongued. In fact, Daisy tried not to picture Ellie at all and certainly Paul rarely spoke of her. He made no bid for sympathy and behaved as if his marriage had no bearing on his life in Bath. At the same time he continued to withhold some essential part of himself, throwing up those invisible barriers she was powerless to storm and disappearing behind them.

As she finished her flapjack and drank the last drops of her tea, Daisy wondered what alchemy now possessed her: striking her dumb where once she would have asked a thousand questions, and rendering her weak and trembling at the briefest touch of his fingers. It was terribly important to make another date with him before they got back to Henrietta Street so that she had something to which she could look forward and around which she could build her hopes. She was taking his lead, keeping the friendship light whilst gently moving it forward, but she simply couldn't bear another cool farewell or the abrupt withdrawal of his warmth without knowing that they would be together again soon.

She racked her memory for other events they might share: Walcot Nation Day took place in June and the annual French market, that came to Queen Square for a week, wasn't due until the bank holiday at the end of May. Daisy was especially looking forward to this, convinced that Paul would love it as much as she did: the French voices of the stallholders beneath their yellow and white striped canopies, the smell of freshly baked baguettes and croissants, the long queue at the crêpes stall where the experts cooked the delicious pancakes. Visitors would crowd around stalls that sold onions, garlic, artichokes, cheese, pâté and olives, exchanging remarks, often in French, with the stallholders. Yes, Paul would love the French market but it was two weeks away and she needed something much sooner than that.

It was Paul who said: ‘Have you ever been on one of the river cruise boats? I only found them a few days ago near Pulteney Bridge. There's a little café halfway down the steps that sells real Cornish crab sandwiches. The cruise company has a landing stage just above the weir.'

‘That sounds fun.' She could hardly say the words, so grateful and happy was she at the prospect. ‘I'd love to go on a cruise,' she grinned, and mimed smacking her lips, ‘not to mention the crab sandwich.'

‘You and your inner woman!' He shook his head in pretence reproof. ‘Very well, you shall have a crab sandwich. I've got a leaflet back at the flat so I'll check the timetable and let you know. We could take a picnic.'

So relieved and thankful was she that even when he glanced at his watch and said, ‘Must go, I'm afraid. There's something on at school and I have to show my face,' she wasn't cast down but was able to smile and say goodbye, watching him walk away across the grounds, his dwindling figure mingling with the visitors until she could see him no longer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It was several days before Daisy saw Paul again. Often he arrived back in Henrietta Street late in the evening and she had to remind herself that Beechcroft was a boarding school and his duties would keep him long after ordinary working hours. This was why he would be moving into the house in the school grounds as soon as it was ready for him.

Standing back from the window, heart beating fast, she'd watch him climb out of the car: might this be the evening that he'd come upstairs and knock on her door?

‘I've found that leaflet,' he might say. ‘How about tomorrow?' Or: ‘It's been one of those days. Fancy a drink somewhere?'

She couldn't quite bring herself to picture a scene in which he invited her down to the flat, though she cursed herself for not having the courage simply to go and ring his bell.

‘Hi,' she might say, ‘I'm just making some supper and wondered if you've eaten yet.' Or: ‘It's such a wonderful evening I thought I'd go for a last stroll in the park. Like to come?'

Why should it be so impossible to act naturally with him? She asked Roly this question when he telephoned a few moments later to see how her treatment was progressing. With their friendship so firmly established during her stay in Cornwall, and reinforced through many telephone conversations, Daisy knew that Roly would provide the listening ear and sound advice she so needed with Suzy and Jill away on tour. It was such a relief to talk to someone about Paul that she plunged in almost at once, explaining exactly how she felt so constricted.

‘It's not natural for me to be tongue-tied,' she said. ‘I like everything out in the open and up for discussion. It isn't good for the soul to hide one's true feelings and especially with those we really love. Why is it so difficult to behave naturally, Roly?'

‘It's because we all fear rejection to a greater or lesser degree,' he answered at once. ‘And when we fall in love the fear of it is greater than usual because rejection by the beloved is like the end of the world. We become hypersensitive lest by some unconsidered word or action we show ourselves to be unlovable and so we are tongue-tied and utterly helpless.' A pause. ‘Does this sound familiar so far?'

She laughed. ‘I'm afraid it does.'

‘Then you've got it badly. Oh dear, I hope he's worthy of you.'

‘He's lovely,' said Daisy promptly. ‘He's interested in things and he makes me laugh. And I realize now that all the love songs in the world were written especially for me.'

‘Ah, yes. I know that one too. But it sounds as if you're still in the early stages if you can't act naturally with him.'

‘Yes.' She became cautious. ‘It's . . . a bit tricky. He's just finishing a long-term relationship.'

‘Is this modern speak for “he's a married man”?'

‘Oh dear.' She began to laugh again. Talking to Roly loosened the tension and she felt more relaxed, rather as if she'd been discussing Paul with Suzy. ‘Well, yes, but it's over now. He's moved down to Bath from London to take over the Art Department at a boys' public school and he's living temporarily in the flat downstairs. The previous incumbent died suddenly and Paul will be moving into the school as soon as the widow finds other accommodation. The trouble is his wife won't leave London or her job. She's blocked his last two promotions and he decided to take a stand over this one.'

‘I see.'

‘He's a really fun person; you'd like him.' Daisy stopped abruptly: she hated people telling her how much she'd like this or that person. She realized that she was feeling the need to defend Paul in some way and reminded herself sharply that there was absolutely no requirement to do so. ‘Anyway, like you said, it's very early days but at least it's taking my mind off my other problems.'

‘Poor Daisy. I understand that the trouble with badly torn tissue is that even if it heals there will always be an element of risk once you start dancing again.'

‘That's exactly right.' Suddenly she was swamped with a terrible depression. ‘I don't know what I shall do . . . Hang on, someone at the door.'

Paul stood outside on the landing, leaflet in hand, looking fit and tough in an open-necked shirt and jeans.

‘Found it,' he said, brandishing the brochure. ‘I wondered about tomorrow afternoon.'

‘Come in,' she said, radiant all in a moment, spirits soaring dizzily. ‘Just let me finish this call. Come on in . . . Hello, Roly. Sorry, I have to dash. Someone's arrived. Give my love to the dogs. Bye.' She put down the telephone and smiled at Paul, still hovering tactfully in the tiny hall. ‘It's OK, we'd finished anyway. Would you like a drink? Or some coffee?'

‘I stopped off for a pint on the way back,' he said, ‘but some coffee would be good if it isn't a nuisance.' He opened the leaflet, laying it flat on the table. ‘This looks like fun. All sorts of things to see including a cave near Brown's Folly with a rare bat population.'

He sat down, pointing to the aerial painting of the river with a bat emerging from its cave and two kingfishers sitting rather grumpily on a branch. She leaned beside him, inhaling the smell of his skin, and was breathless with happiness.

‘Look at the dragonflies,' she chuckled. ‘They're as big as helicopters compared to the size of the river. And who are these two on the top of the hill?'