and so for that reason she should fit right in, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was wrong to have come.
Prunella, with glowing skin, nape-length bouncy curls and a radiant smile, welcomed them all to this special memorial rally. The rumour in the Phys Ed corridors was that first the Women’s League founder, Mary Bagot Stack, and now her daughter, Prunella, the so-called Perfect Woman, had made themselves rich on a system of exercise with no grounding in science and no discipline whatsoever. They were simply profiting from lonely women like her and Delphi.
Prunella cocked a hip and bent a long leg as if she were chatting to a friend, not addressing a packed hall. As she spoke she maintained a smile at all times. Even as she wrapped her lips around an ‘o’, the rest of her face pulled the other way.
It was the newspapers that had given her the moniker the Perfect Woman. Natalie and Delphi had discussed in their letters what constituted perfect. The journalists who’d come up with the name were undoubtedly male but even so, Natalie had expected Prunella to be much more athletic. She showed good leadership though and she had charisma too. Perfect or not, she had captivated the Grand Hall.
Wherever she moved at least one photographer crouched in front of her, the flashbulb illuminating her every few moments. Delphi swooned, her red lips stretched to their limits by her smile. She was so happy and that had to be a good thing. Her illness had a habit of ruling her life.
Prunella’s voice echoed about the hall as she told them of her mother’s dying wish. How she’d hoped her work with the Women’s League of Health and Beauty, and her aims for spreading peace and cooperation, would continue.
A bugle blew behind Prunella. The resounding cheers faded as the lights dimmed, and their collective heads bowed. Delphi had warned her this display would be sad and yet still a tingle travelled along her spine. The tribute to Prunella’s mother was to be the Representation of War that she’d helped choreograph for the previous year’s rally.
First came the deathly rattle of the drum. Next the women erupted into the shrill whistle of Tipperary. Then the drums retaliated with a rat-a-tat-tat, before the assault of the bugles and then the women won the battle with the unity of their voices. The hairs on her arms betrayed her for the third time that day as a slow procession of women criss-crossed the stage; some bandaged, one a white strip bound around her eyes, feeling the air in front of her.
The sight of one woman as she propped up another, drunk with pain, clogged her throat with a fist-sized lump. She’d imagined her two brothers had been there for each other at the end in that same way. The idea that they hadn’t died alone had been a story she’d had to believe. One small island of consolation in an ocean of grief.
She wished she’d remembered to bring that damned handkerchief to tuck in her left short leg now. Delphi stroked the back of Natalie’s arm and then opened her palm to proffer her own crumpled hankie. The two of them held hands while Natalie blotted her eyes.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Delphi whispered.
*
The dance demonstration came to an end and they all began to march in formation. Each large group of them making up the spokes of a wheel. It put her in mind of the photograph she’d seen in the Times of last year’s Nazi rally in Nuremberg where they’d formed a human swastika.
‘What do you think?’ Delphi asked as they marched, knees high.
‘It’s more ordered than I expected, but it does feel rather that they’ve plucked their ideas out of the air.’
‘Just look how happy everyone is.’ They both checked along the line as they rotated.
They often came to blows on this matter. Delphi’s ideas were a little more abstract when it came to the benefits of physical exercise.
Delphi had stopped a few times to catch her breath during the dance and now as they marched she didn’t look too well. She smiled and opened her eyes wide each time Natalie caught her gaze, as if to say, there’s nothing to see here. But her nose was beading in sweat; her forget-me-not blue eyes had clouded over. All was clearly not well.
As the hall full of women sat to watch the choreographed cabaret on the stage, Natalie saw Delphi’s knees buckle. She made up her mind in that instant to take advantage of the pause.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Delphi asked as Natalie took her hand and led her down a covered walkway that stretched from the stage area and through to a dark corridor lined with doors. ‘Peggy St Lo choreographed that routine,’ she slurred. ‘I want to see it.’
‘You don’t look well.’ Natalie swung open the first door that she came to. She had just enough time to flick the electric light switch and illuminate the drab clothes hanging from a hat stand and the horizontal mirror edged with light bulbs, before Delphi’s legs buckled again. Like a puppet with its strings cut, sleep triumphed and she piled to the floor. Natalie slowed her fall as much as she could and then crouched beside her. There was a tatty knitted polo neck on the back of the dressing table chair, which she smoothed over her.
Natalie watched and waited. She was still the same beautiful Delphi in every way except her jaw was clenched, and she was asleep on the floor. Natalie didn’t touch her. Sometimes in these fits she was actually still awake, but trapped by the paralysis of her own body. Natalie’s touch would be leaden to her.
She looked at her watch. So much for the quick escape after the rally. She’d promised Miss Lott that she’d check in the girls at the college’s ten o’clock curfew, but Delphi would be in no fit state to get the tram home by herself. The changing room had its own telephone on a stand, next to a vase of carnations. That was their first bit of luck because she was going to have to call up Delphi’s younger brother, Jack.
*
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry.’ Prunella Stack twitched her head and backed out of the room, checking the name plaque on the door. ‘I thought I was in my changing room.’
‘No, no, it is. That’s to say…’ Natalie found herself unusually tongue-tied.
‘I was feeling a bit light-headed…’ Delphi explained. Her voice still groggy with sleep.
‘…So I brought her inside for a rest.’
Delphi had come around twenty minutes ago and she’d grown cold and was now wearing the polo-neck jumper while they waited for her brother, Jack, to arrive and drive them home.
‘Oh, you poor dear,’ Prunella cooed as Delphi and Natalie introduced themselves and shook hands. There was a kerfuffle at the door. A photographer tried to push his way in; the flashbulb went, and a woman with dark hair sent him packing.
‘These newspaper photographers become a nuisance after a while,’ Prunella explained. ‘You were taken ill during the demonstration, I recall? I saw you leave; you looked terribly pale.’
‘Oh it was nothing.’ Delphi flushed red. ‘I was giddy with excitement. I want to train with you, you see.’
Natalie made for the door. They would wait for Jack in the corridor. She regretted sneaking out of the college to come here as it was; to now be meeting Prunella Stack was one dance with the devil too many. But Delphi hadn’t even let go of the woman’s hand. She was under her spell, and at close quarters Natalie could see why.
‘Well I hope we
