The Secret Keeper (24 page)

‘Mr Rossi,’ he said with a broad smile, holding his hand out to shake the other man’s firmly. ‘Terribly good to see you, old man.’ It was the poshest voice he could find at short notice; he hoped to God it would do.

Being on the other side was every bit as wonderful as Dolly dreamed it would be. Every bit as glorious as she’d gleaned from Lady Gwendolyn’s stories. It wasn’t that anything was obviously different—the red carpets and silk-covered walls were just the same, couples danced cheek to cheek on both sides of the rope, waiters carried meals and drinks and glasses back and forth—indeed, a less intelligent observer might not even have perceived that there were two sides at all; but Dolly knew. And she rejoiced to be on this one.

Of course, having achieved the Holy Grail, she was at some-thing of a loss as to what to do next. For want of a better idea, Dolly helped herself to a glass of champagne, took Jimmy by the hand and slid into a plush banquette against the wall. Really, if she were honest, to watch was enough: the ever-shifting carousel of colourful dresses and smiling faces, kept her enthralled. A waiter came by and asked what they’d like to eat and Dolly said eggs and bacon and they arrived, her champagne flute never seemed to empty, the music didn’t stop.

‘It’s like a dream, isn’t it?’ she said glowingly. ‘Aren’t they all wonderful?’ To which Jimmy paused in striking his match to offer a noncommittal, ‘Sure.’

He dropped the flaming match into a silver ashtray and drew on his cigarette, ‘What about you though, Doll? How’s old Lady Gwnedolyn? Still commanding all nine circles of hell?’

‘Jimmy—you shouldn’t say that sort of thing. I know I probably complained a bit at first, but she’s really quite a darling once you get to know her. Calling on me a lot lately—we’ve become very close in our way.’ Dolly leaned close so that Jimmy could light her cigarette. ‘Her nephew’s worried she’s going to leave me the house in her will.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Dr Rufus.’

Jimmy gave an ambiguous grunt. He didn’t like it when she mentioned Dr Rufus; it didn’t matter how many times Dolly re-assured him that the doctor was her friend’s father and far too ancient, really, to be interested in her in that way, Jimmy just frowned and changed the subject. Now, he took her hand across the table. ‘And Kitty? How’s she.’ ‘Oh, well, Kitty—’ Dolly hesitated, remembering the unfounded talk of Vivien and love affairs the other night. ‘She’s fighting fit—of course her type always is.’

‘Her type?’ Jimmy repeated quizzically.

‘I just mean she’d do well to pay more attention to her work and less to what’s happening in the street and at the nightclubs. I expect some people simply can’t help themselves.’ She glanced at Jimmy. ‘You wouldn’t like her, I think.’

‘No?’

Dolly shook her head and drew on her cigarette. ‘She’s a gossip, and I have to say inclined to wantonness.’

‘Wantonness?’ He was amused now, a smile playing around his lips. ‘Dear, dear me.’

She was serious—Kitty made quite a habit of sneaking her male friends in after dark, she thought Dolly didn’t know, but really, the noise sometimes, one would’ve had to be deaf not to realise. ‘Oh yes, quite,’ said Dolly. There was a single candle flickering in its glass on the table and she swivelled it idly this way and that. She hadn’t told Jimmy about Vivien yet. She didn’t know why exactly; it wasn’t that she thought he wouldn’t approve of Vivien, certainly not, rather that she’d felt an instinct to keep the blossoming friendship a secret, something all her own. Tonight though, seeing him in person, fizzing a bit with the sweet champagne she was sipping, Dolly had the urge to tell him everything. ‘You know,’ she said, nervous suddenly, ‘I don’t know that I’ve mentioned in my letters, but I’ve made a new friend.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, Vivien.’ Just saying her name made Dolly thrill a little with happiness. ‘Married to Henry Jenkins, you know, the author. They live across the street at number 25 and we’ve be-come rather firm friends.’ ‘Is that right?’ He laughed. ‘You know, it’s the oddest coincidence, but I just recently read one of his books.’

Dolly might have asked which one, but she didn’t because she wasn’t really listening; her mind was swirling with all the things she’d been wanting to say about Vivien and had been holding in. ‘She’s really something else, Jimmy. Beautiful, of course, but not in an ordinary showy sort of way; and very kind, always helping at the WVS—I told you about the canteen we’re running for service folk, didn’t I? I thought so. She understands, too, about what happened—my family, in Coventry—she’s an orphan herself, you see, raised by her uncle after her parents died, a great old school near Oxford, built on the family estate. Did I mention she’s an heiress, she actually owns the house on Campden Grove, not her husband, it’s hers—’. Dolly drew breath, but only because she wasn’t sure of the details. ‘Not that she goes on about it; she’s not like that at all.’

‘She sounds tremendous.’

‘She is.’

‘I’d like to meet her.’

‘Well,’ Dolly stammered, ‘of course—one of these days.’ She drew hard on her cigarette, wondering why the suggestion made her feel a sort of dread. Vivien and Jimmy meeting was not among the many future scenarios she’d envisaged; for one thing Vivien was extremely private, for another, well, Jimmy was Jimmy. Very sweet, of course, kind and clever—but not exactly the sort of person Vivien would approve of, not as a boyfriend for Dolly. It wasn’t that Vivien was unkind; she was just of a different class—from both of them, really, but Dolly, having been taken under Lady Gwendolyn’s wing, had learned enough to be accepted by someone like Vivien. Dolly hated lying to Jimmy, she loved him; but she certainly wasn’t about to hurt his feelings by putting it to him straight. She reached out and rested her hand on his arm, picking a piece of lint from the fraying cuff of his suit jacket. ‘Everyone’s just so busy with the war at the moment, aren’t they? There’s simply no time for being social.’

‘I could always—’

‘Jimmy, listen—they’re playing our song! Shall we dance? Come on, do let’s dance.’

Her hair smelt of perfume, that intoxicating scent he’d noticed when she first arrived, almost shocking in its strength and thrill, and Jimmy could have stayed that way forever, his hand in the small of her back, her cheek pressed against his, their bodies moving slowly together. He was tempted to forget the way she’d come over all evasive when he mentioned meeting her friend; the flash he’d had that the distance between them lately wasn’t all about what happened to her family, that this Vivien, the rich lady across the road, might have something to do with it. In all probability there was nothing to it—Dolly liked to have secrets, she always had. And what did it matter anyway, right here and now, so long as the music kept playing?

It didn’t, of course; nothing lasts forever and the faithless song ended. Jimmy and Dolly pulled apart to clap, and that’s when he noticed the man with a thin moustache watching them from the edge of the dance floor. This in itself would have been no cause for alarm, but the man was also in conversation with Rossi, who was scratching his head with one hand, making extravagant hand gestures with the other, and consulting some sort of list.

A guest list, Jimmy realised with a jolt. What else would it be?

It was time to make a discreet exit, stage right. Jimmy took Dolly’s hand and made to lead her away, casual as you please. There was every chance, he figured, if they went quickly and quietly, they’d be able to duck beneath the red cord, meld into the crowd and make a silent escape, no harm done.

Dolly, unfortunately, had other ideas; having made it to the dance floor, she was now rather reluctant to leave it. ‘Jimmy, no,’ she was saying, ‘no, listen, it’s “Moonlight Serenade”.’

Jimmy started to explain, glancing back towards the man with the thin moustache, only to find that he was almost upon them, cigar clenched between his teeth, hand outstretched. ‘Lord Sandbrook,’ the man was saying to Jimmy, with the wide confident smile of a man with pots of money hidden under his bed, ‘so glad you could make it, old man.’

‘Lord Dumphee.’ Jimmy took a stab, ‘Congratulations to you and … your fiancee. Great party.’

‘Yes, well, I’d have rather kept it small, but you know Eva.’

‘I do indeed.’ He laughed nervously.

Lord Dumphee puffed his cigar so it smoked like a train engine; his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Jimmy realised his host was also flying blind, doing his best to call to mind the provenance of his mysterious guests. ‘You’re friends of my fiancee,’ he said.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Lord Dumphee was nodding, ‘Of course, of course.’ And then, there came more puffing, more smoke, and just as Jimmy thought they might be safe—. ‘Only, it must be my memory—quite appalling it is, old chap, I blame the war and these blasted nights without sleep—but I can’t think Eva mentioned a Sand-brook. Old friends, are you?’

‘Oh, yes. Ava and I go way back.’

‘Eva.’

‘Precisely.’ Jimmy tugged Dolly forward. ‘Have you met my wife, Lord Dumphee, have you met—’

‘Viola,’ Dolly said, smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. ‘Viola Sandbrook.’

She lifted a hand and Lord Dumphee took out his cigar to kiss it. He pulled back but didn’t let go, holding Dolly’s hand aloft and letting his eyes roam greedily over her dress and every curve beneath it.

‘Darling!’ The trill call came from across the floor. ‘Darling Jonathan.’

Lord Dumphee dropped Dolly’s hand at once. ‘Ah,’ he said, like a schoolboy caught by Nanny looking at nudie pictures, ‘Here comes Eva now.’

‘Is that the time?’ Jimmy said. He clasped Dolly’s hand and squeezed it to signal his intent. She squeezed right back. ‘Excuse me, Lord Dumphee,’ he said, ‘Many congratulations, but Viola and I have a train to catch.’

And with that, they were flying. Dolly could hardly keep from laughing as they dashed and weaved through the crowded nightclub, paused at the cloakroom for Jimmy to thrust forward the ticket and seize Lady Gwendolyn’s coat, before hurrying up the stairs, two at a time, and into the dark cool of night-time London.

There’d been someone behind them in the 400 as they ran, Dolly had glanced back to see a red-faced man puffing like an overfed hound, and Jimmy didn’t stop until they’d crossed Litchfield Street, blended with the theatre crowd coming out of St Martin’s, and ducked into tiny Tower Lane. Only then did they collapse against the bricks, both of them breathless and laughing.

‘His face—’ Dolly managed to say, ‘Oh, Jimmy, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it as long as I live. When you said about the train, he was so . .

. so flummoxed.’

Jimmy laughed too, a warm sound in the dark. It was pitch black where they were standing; even the full moon hadn’t managed to spill over the eaves to flood the narrow laneway with its silvery light. Dolly was giddy, infused with life and happiness and the peculiar energy that came from having slipped inside another skin. There was nothing that made her spin quite like it, the invisible moment of transition when she stopped being Dolly Smitham, and became instead Someone Else. The details of that Someone Else weren’t particularly important; it was the frisson of performance she adored, the sublime pleasure of masquerade. It was like stepping into another person’s life. Stealing it for a time.

Dolly looked up at the starlit sky. There were so many more stars in the blackout; it was one of the most beautiful things about the war. There were great rumpling eruptions in the distance, anti-aircraft guns giving it back as best they could; but up there, the stars just kept on twinkling for all they were worth. They were like Jimmy, she realised, faithful, steadfast, some-thing you could count on in your life. ‘You really would do any-thing for me, wouldn’t you?’ she said with a contented sigh.

‘You know I would.’

He wasn’t laughing any more and, swift as the wind, the mood in the lane changed. You know I would. She did know it too, and in that instant the fact both thrilled and frightened her. Rather her reaction did. To hear him say it, Dolly felt a string pluck deep down low within her belly. She trembled. Without thinking, she reached for his hand in the dark.

It was warm, smooth, large, and Dolly lifted it to brush a kiss along his knuckles. She could hear him breathing and she matched her own breaths to his.

She felt brave and grown up and powerful. She felt beautiful and alive. Heart racing, she took his hand and placed it on her breast.

A soft sound in his throat, a sigh. ‘Doll—’

She silenced him with a delicate kiss. She couldn’t have him talking, not now; she might not find the nerve again. Calling to mind everything she’d ever heard Kitty and Louisa laughing about in the kitchen at number 7, Dolly reached her hand down to rest it on his belt. She let it slide further.