Free Sweet Sorrow by David Roberts Page A

‘I brought Merry here, yes, but it was she who abandoned me. I had a dance or two with an old chum and, when I got back to the table, I found she had vanished. It was all a silly misunderstanding. She’s not still holding a grudge, is she?’
    Edward had risen when Byron had come over to their table and now gently reminded him that he had not introduced them to his friend.
    ‘I do apologize. May I introduce you to Frieda Burrowes? Frieda, Lord and Lady Edward Corinth. Verity, I wanted you and Frieda to meet because I thought you would have so much in common.’
    ‘Really?’ Verity said, raising an eyebrow.
    ‘Yes, Frieda’s a journalist too. She works at the BBC.’
    ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Byron. Miss Browne – I mean Lady Edward – is a real journalist. I merely interview women of note, that sort of thing. I interviewed Charlotte Hassel – she’s a friend of yours, I believe?’
    ‘One of my oldest friends,’ Verity said, warming to the girl.
    ‘She’s one of my favourite novelists. I say, Lady Edward . . . or do you prefer to be called Miss Browne?’
    ‘Miss Browne is the name I work under, but please call me Verity.’
    ‘Gosh! That’s very nice of you. I say, do you think I might interview you one day? You have had such an interesting life.’
    ‘I suppose so, but it’ll have to be soon. I am expecting to be posted abroad in the next few weeks.’
    ‘Of course. I’ll talk to my producer . . . Mr Barnes.’
    ‘Have you always been a journalist?’ Verity asked.
    ‘Well, I was an actress but I wasn’t getting on too well. Then I was lucky enough to be introduced to Val Gielgud. Do you know him?’
    ‘I’m afraid not but I’ve heard of him, of course. His brother is the actor?’
    ‘That’s right. Anyway, Val said I had a good voice for the wireless and he offered me a trial. So here I am at the BBC and, I must say, I really enjoy it. It’s true we women are rather kept in our place but we’re gradually being allowed to do more – like this interviewing.’
    ‘Are you allowed to interview men?’ Verity asked genuinely interested.
    ‘Not politicians or anyone important. It’s usually writers, artists – those sort of people.’
    ‘Unimportant men,’ Byron commented acidly.
    ‘Oh no, Byron. You are important but just not . . .’
    ‘Have you interviewed Byron yet?’ Verity asked to help Frieda out.
    ‘That’s how we met, actually. I engineered it! I thought he was gorgeous and I loved his poetry. Don’t you think he’s a great poet?’
    ‘I’m afraid I haven’t read any yet,’ Verity admitted, turning to Byron, ‘but I’m going to buy one of your books while I’m in London.’ She added in excuse, ‘I don’t read much poetry but I do like W. H. Auden.’
    Byron frowned. No one likes to hear a friend praised.
    ‘I’m surprised to see you in a place like this, Verity,’ Byron said, displeased. ‘With your left-wing principles, I mean.’
    ‘I could say the same about you,’ Verity responded, smiling until her face hurt.
    ‘ Touché , but we have to have some pleasures, don’t we? The band’s very good.’
    ‘I’m told you’re a good dancer,’ Verity teased, and was taken aback when he seemed gratified by her compliment.
    ‘You are very kind but I just do what I can to avoid stepping on my partner’s toes. Will you . . . if your husband permits?’ he said, holding out his hand.
    Verity had no option but to take his hand and get up. She had to admit after a minute or two that it wasn’t a penance. Byron was a good dancer and, even better, he made her feel she too could dance well. They moved some distance from their table and she began to relax as the music and Byron’s instinctive grace gave her confidence.
    ‘I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer,’ she said. ‘I never did the Season and there wasn’t much dancing in Spain.’
    She wished she had not made the excuse. It sounded as if she was trying to claim the moral high ground but Byron did