Free The Girl from the Paradise Ballroom by Alison Love Page B

Uncle Dickie, who bought them lunch afterward at the Ivy. Olivia had considered inviting her aunt from Croydon, but she knew that it would be from the worst of all motives, and she thought such pettiness might put a curse on her own good fortune. Once upon a time Olivia had wished her sister dead; she was nervous about curses.
    For their honeymoon Bernard took Olivia on a winter cruise to the Caribbean. She had not believed it was possible to be so happy. They drank champagne cocktails among the potted palms, they watched flickering Hollywood films in the ship’s cinema, they danced the tango and the foxtrot in the green and ivory ballroom. They also spent a great deal of time in their mahogany-paneled cabin; specifically, in their large double bed with its cool Egyptian cotton sheets and its Vi-Spring mattress. More than once they arrived late and flushed for dinner, and the other passengers would look at them with a spellbound mixture of indulgence and envy.
    —
    Avril brought in her tray of supper and laid it on the table. “I’ll close the curtains, madam,” she said, bustling toward the tall window that overlooked the square. It was twilight; a fingernail of moon was turning from chalk to silver.
    “No,” said Olivia, “leave them, thank you. And that will be all, Avril, if you wish to go to bed.”
    Avril raised her eyebrows. Olivia could hear what she was thinking. It is not for you to dismiss me, what if the master needs me when he comes home? She did not say anything, though, but bobbed in acknowledgment and left the room.
    Olivia ate a mouthful of cold chicken, piquant with thyme. Of course, their life was different now that they were back in London. She could not expect her honeymoon to last forever, Bernard had work to do. Every morning after breakfast he would shut himself in his study, hammering away on his Remington Noiseless typewriter. He was writing a novel, he confessed to Olivia, a novel about the very nature of society, set in the future; soon he would let her read it. Then, after lunch, there were meetings of one or other of his committees. The refugee associations were especially busy, preparing for a flood of arrivals from Austria. In the evenings they would dine out or go to the theater, and sometimes they went to parties, but often, as tonight, Bernard had commitments that did not include Olivia. Have an evening at home, darling, he had said as he dressed, struggling before the mirror with his collar studs. It’s only drinks with a couple of journalists, and then a Labour Party meeting. Not much fun for you. I’m sorry I’m so hectic at the moment. It will quieten down, I promise.
    Well, thought Olivia peaceably, drinking Scotch and soda, I am glad that he cares about such things. I would not change him, even if I could. She picked up her book once more. She had reached the place where Anna gives in to her lover, Vronsky: a scene she had been anticipating with a shivery, half-erotic thrill. When she came to it, though, it filled her with unease. Anna’s surrender was raddled with guilt; there was no joy or defiance in it. Olivia fingered the pages of the book. They were thin as cigarette papers, edged in gold. She remembered how, on her honeymoon cruise, one of their fellow passengers had asked her to dance. He was a flashy businessman of about forty, and there was a glint in his eye that Olivia recognized. She glanced at Bernard, hoping he would forbid it, but of course he did not.
    “It will be a pleasure. I love watching you dance, my sweet, and I can’t do it when you’re in my arms.”
    The dance was a tango, and once she was on the floor Olivia could not help showing off, twisting her slim satin hip, spinning upon her heel. She knew that all eyes were upon her. Bernard’s gaze was crooked, as though he could not look at her for fear of being dazzled.
    When the tango was over the businessman’s wife, who had fair curls and a pretty, sulky mouth, commented rather pointedly on her