as self-composed, strong, and confident. She had something to be grateful to the Lochravens for. Watching Lady Irene had taught her the virtue of calm self-possession and Lily’s determination to be different from every other member of the servant class on the Rathnaree estate had given her a queenly bearing.
‘You’re not looking bad, Nurse Kennedy,’ she told herself.
The gramophone was playing Glenn Miller when she returned to the drawing room, and everyone was dancing, determined to squeeze the last bit of enjoyment out of the day. It was nearly eight and she knew that many of the guests would be leaving soon, hurrying back to barracks or their postings before nightfall. The party was winding down.
Diana had whispered to Lily that the groom’s leave had been cancelled: nobody knew why, but there was some talk about a big offensive. Sybil didn’t know yet.
‘He’s going to have to leave this evening. The honeymoon’s on hold. Wouldn’t like to be him, poor boy.’
Lily stood and watched the dancing, breathing in the melody and swaying on her feet. She tried to shut out the speculation about the big push that would be taking the menfolk away. Whatever it was, they’d soon find out the hard way, when the casualties were wheeled in and a twelve-hour shift turned into an entire night with both shifts working in tandem.
‘Do you care to dance?’
He was beside her, taller than she was, and suddenly Lily could think of nothing she’d like more.
‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘I’m not very good –’
She was too tall and most partners seemed to prefer smaller women.
‘Me neither,’ Jamie said, with a smile that lit up the hardness of his face.
He was lying. From the moment he took her hand, Lily felt his rhythm and energy join with hers. It was like being sprinkled with magic dancing dust. The music was loud, all-encompassing, and they fitted into a space on the floor seamlessly. Lily wondered whether everyone else could see the electricity between them. Surely they must? Jamie’s hand pressing into the intimacy of her back felt as if he was touching her flesh, stroking her skin erotically, and not the silken crêpe fabric. She could sense the great strength of his wrist as his other hand held hers tightly, and under his uniform, her fingers felt powerful shoulder muscles move. It wasn’t like dancing: it was like making love.
The music rippled to an end and they stopped dancing and stood staring at each other.
‘Let’s hear it again!’ cried Sybil, like a child, and someone scratched the needle over the gramophone record.
Lily hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath until the music started again.
‘I don’t want it to stop,’ he said, his voice close to her ear. Lily closed her eyes and allowed herself to be pulled closer. While around them, couples danced with exuberance, she and Jamie moved as if to different, slower music.
She stared up at him as his dark eyes bored into hers, telling her that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
A whoop from behind made them turn to see Maisie being whirled by one of Philip’s American friends, a blond Army captain who was matching Maisie’s fabulous jitterbugging, swinging her as if she was a doll, her skirts flying.
Seeing Maisie broke the spell. Lily gave herself a mental shake. What had come over her? She’d been around too long to dally with a handsome man in uniform. That wasn’t her plan. And Jamie, no matter how attractive she found him, was from that other world, Diana’s world.
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll sit down,’ she told him quickly, determinedly not noticing the disappointment briefly etched on his face.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ he asked, a mask of politeness up.
Lily would have preferred it if he’d said: ‘What’s wrong with you?’ But his type never would. That was the one joy of the upper classes: they took it all on the chin. A lad back home from Tamarin would have demanded to know why she’d stopped dancing.
‘No, thank you,’ Lily said, just as politely. ‘I got a bit carried away there with the dancing.’ And with you, she wanted to say. ‘I think I’ll sit the next one out.’ She spied Diana standing on the fringes of the group, watching and smiling. ‘Diana’s a marvellous dancer.’
‘I know,’ he said, jaw solid.
‘Good, then you know what a wonderful girl she is too,’ Lily added. She wasn’t sure why she was doing this: urging Jamie to go over to Diana. But he was everything Diana wanted in a man and Lily loved Diana like a sister. Diana longed to be in love and Jamie was, Izzie sighed to herself, special.
‘You’re sending me to dance with Diana?’ he asked, mildly amused.
Lily felt a spark of anger at his amusement. What was he laughing at?
‘She’s probably more your type,’ she said. Damn, that sounded wrong. ‘I mean, you come from the same –’
‘– background?’ he provided.
‘Yes,’ she snapped.
They’d moved away from the dancers now and were at the other end of the room where people were sitting on sofas and chairs, chatting and drinking.
‘Is that important to you?’ he asked. ‘Background?’
‘I bet it is to you.’
‘Not really. Not with the right person.’
‘Good luck finding the right person,’ she said sweetly, then went to sit beside Diana’s maiden aunt Daphne, who was stone deaf.
That would show him, she thought, shouting greetings at Aunt Daphne and all the while watching Jamie, who was still standing close by, smiling at her in a way she could only describe as wicked. He caught her eye and one dark eyebrow lifted marginally, as if to say, I see your game, my dear.
‘Lovely music,’ she shouted at Aunt Daphne, then cursed herself because poor Daphne couldn’t hear very much of anything, much less the music.
‘What?’ screeched the old lady, cupping an ear with one hand while the other held a glass brimming with one of Wilson’s Gin and Italians.
After half an hour of Daphne, and watching Jamie out of the corner of her eye, Lily felt some of the tension leave her when she saw Sybil storm by in tears. If Philip had to leave that night, she assumed that Jamie would go with him. When Jamie was gone, she could relax.
Fifteen minutes later, a red-eyed Sybil and the rest of the wedding party assembled in the vast hall for the leave-takings.
‘I can’t throw my bouquet,’ Sybil wailed to her mother, who was fussing over her, trying to dab at Sybil’s face with a handkerchief.
‘Chin up, darling,’ said Lady Evangeline.
‘I can’t!’
‘Oh, darling, we’ll have another party for your wedding,
