Call of the Kiwi (12 page)

When Gloria traveled with the show, she had to share her car with five other girls, in even closer proximity than at school. Sometimes she was lucky and the young dancers were too self-absorbed to notice anyone other than themselves. But others, jealous of Gloria and her rich and famous parents, liked to pick fights with her. She simply did her best to block out everyone around her.

“Hey, Glory, wake up! Are you still not ready?” Lilian burst into her room, ripping Gloria from her gloomy thoughts.

“What are you wearing?” she asked impatiently. “You don’t need to wear your school uniform; this is a picnic! We’re going to go watch the Cambridge boys train for the regatta. It’ll be fun, Gloria. And we’ll meet some boys. We get to leave this convent once a year, and what do you do?”

“I’d rather stay here,” Gloria said glumly. “Or row in the boat myself. That must be fun.”

Lilian rolled her eyes. “Get up; put on that blue dress your mother bought you in Antwerp. It’s pretty and looks good on you.”

Gloria sighed and cast a glance at Lilian’s hourglass form. She was no doubt wearing a fashionable corset, not that she needed it. Lilian took after her mother and grandmother: short and slender, with curves in all the right places. The reform dress from Antwerp was indeed flattering, but it was hardly the latest thing in fashion, being considered rather an accessory for bluestockings and feminists.

Once Gloria had changed, Lilian plucked Gloria’s eyebrows and touched them up with a burnt-out match she blackened with soot from the fireplace.

“There, much better. Trace a thin line around your eyes. Something thicker would suit you better, but Miss Arrowstone would notice and have a fit.”

2

C
ome on, the coach is about to leave,” Lilian urged. Gloria often wondered what made Lilian so loyal to her.

Oaks Garden had an arrangement with the boys’ college in Cambridge that allowed for occasional meetings with the girls. The events were closely supervised, but when certain couples nevertheless managed to fall in love, the match was nearly always a suitable one. The girls had to be prepared to come out in society, and that included some interaction with the opposite sex. So it was that fifteen excited girls were going to Cambridge, where the last few elimination races for the legendary rowing regatta were taking place.

The cook at Oaks Garden had prepared a picnic, and the two chaperoning teachers watched over the baskets as if they contained no less than the treasury’s gold. The selection of an ideal picnic spot on the banks of the river seemed a huge production as well. As Lilian and her friends endlessly deliberated over the possibilities, Gloria wished herself far away. She would have liked to go for a stroll along the banks of the River Cam alone, observing birds and chasing frogs and lizards. She was still interested in nature, and was always drawing the wildlife she came upon in the fields, but she hadn’t shown her pictures to her teachers in ages. Occasionally, she sent them off to Miss Bleachum, who had taken a position in a girls’ school in Dunedin and wrote to Gloria regularly. Gloria was making tentative plans with her for after graduation. Dunedin had a university that took a limited number of girls, and she hoped to finally be able to pursue her interest in the natural sciences. Gloria had long since ceased to dream of a return to Kiward Station. It hurt her to remember that lost world, but she would hardly feel secure there now. Her parents had ripped her from there once. There was no guarantee they would not do it again.

Lilian and the others finally chose a spot on the riverbank close to the finish line. That way, the boys would already have their race behind them. They might be worn out, but they would at least have time to dedicate to the young ladies. A few of the girls, Lilian among them, wished to serve as lady luck before the start of the race and strolled over to the starting line before the race. Gloria stayed back and helped the teachers unpack the picnic baskets.

The jetty where the boats were moored was packed with boys. All of them wore collegiate sweaters or shirts, and all were muscular from their daily rowing practice. Lilian peered out coyly from under her parasol, daring an occasional shy smile when her gaze met that of one of the boys, and otherwise chatting with her friends as if she had no interest whatsoever in the opposite sex. Yet she had dedicated hours to her appearance that day. She was wearing a green dress whose neckline and hem were trimmed with brown lace. She wore her red hair down, with a wide sun hat. Though she did not need her parasol—it was March, after all, and a jacket would have been handier than protection from the sun—it was a more flirtatious accessory than a jacket, which would have covered her attractive décolleté.

The boys looked the girls over, knowing that a picnic was awaiting them at the end of the race. This was not the boys’ first regatta, so they knew that only the boldest girls turned up at the starting line. The few boys who had sisters or cousins among the boarding-school students had a natural advantage. A friend of Lilian’s saw her brother—and was immediately introduced to several young men. She pulled Lily and the other girls into the circle, and the ice was quickly broken. They chatted about the weather—“lovely, a real stroke of luck”—and about the composition of the team. The nomination of one or two of the boys was controversial, and the rowers discussed it volubly.

“Ben? That greenhorn? He can perform, of course, but he still has three years ahead of him to earn some fame. This is Rupert’s last chance, and for my money, he’s the better of the two.”

“Ben trains harder.”

“Ben is trying too hard.”

Lilian listened, bored, and wondered who these boys were. Ben sounded interesting. It sounded as though he was younger than the others, which suited Lilian.

When one of the boys pointed out Rupert, a tall, broad-shouldered young man flirting with some other girls, Lily realized at once that he was out of the question for her. She did not like his boastful manner, which was recognizable even from a distance; besides, he was really too old for her. Then her gaze fell on a blond boy doing stretching exercises in a nearby inlet. Lilian thought he looked young and trustworthy. She casually separated from the group and strolled over to him, her heart beating a little faster as she did. Surely the chaperones would not want her wandering off on her own. But it was pleasant in the inlet, quieter than on the jetty. She could hear the boy’s heavy breathing and make out his muscles straining beneath his thin shirt. Though clearly strong, he was slender, even wiry.

“Do you really believe that will help now?” Lilian asked.

The boy turned around, startled. He seemed to have been completely focused on his exercises. Lilian found herself looking into a clear, narrow face dominated by alert, light-green eyes. Though his face was perhaps a little colorless, his features were finely carved. His full lips were pursed in concentration.

“What?”

“Your exercises,” Lilian continued. “I mean, if you can’t do it by now, you won’t be able to learn it before the race.”

The boy laughed.

“They’re not those kind of exercises; they’re warm-ups. That way you get into the swing of things quicker when the time comes. Real athletes do them.”

“I don’t know much about sports,” she admitted. “But if they’re so helpful, why aren’t the others doing them too?”

“Because they’d rather chat with the girls. They don’t really take it seriously.”

“Are you Ben?”

The boy laughed. “What did they tell you about me? Let me guess: ‘Ben tries too hard.
’ ”

It was Lilian’s turn to laugh—a little conspiratorially. The boy looked her over, not without interest.

“It’s not true, though,” she remarked. “The way I see it, Ben is also chatting with a girl. Your boat’s still going to lose the race.” She winked at him while playing coyly with her parasol. Ben did not seem to notice, however; the reminder about the race caused him to drift off into his own world again.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. They’re going to nominate this Rupert Landon fellow for the final regatta. Because he’s rowed in an eight every year of college. Even though we’ve lost every time he was stroke. The bloke puts on a good show. And so he’s to get another chance for his last year.”

“And you can’t both row? I mean, there are eight places.”

“But only one stroke. Hence Rupert or myself.” Ben went back to his stretches.

“The stroke sets the pace, right?” Lilian asked.

Ben nodded. “Simply put, he makes sure the oars go in at even intervals. That’s why he needs a good sense of rhythm. Which Rupert hasn’t got.”

“More’s the pity for Cambridge. But you’re still in your first year, aren’t you? You can win next year.” She sat down in the grass and watched him stretch. He moved lithely, a bit like a dancer. Lilian liked what she saw.

Ben made a face. “If there is a next time. Mr. Hallows, our history teacher, thinks there will be war.”

Lilian looked at him, shocked. She hadn’t heard anything about a war. The history imparted at Oaks Garden ended with the death of Queen Victoria. War had to do with Florence Nightingale. Kipling wrote something about it. But otherwise it was a heroic tale with horses and knight’s armor.

“With whom?” she asked.

“I’m not entirely clear on that myself. Mr. Hallows isn’t sure either, but there’s no rowing in a war.”

“That would be a real shame. Could you win today at least?”

Ben nodded, and his eyes flashed. “Today my eight is going up against his.”

Lilian smiled. “Then I wish you luck. I’m Lily, by the way. From Oaks Garden. We’re having a picnic at the finish line. Join us if you like. Even if you don’t win.”

“I’ll win,” said Ben, dedicating himself to his warm-ups again.

Lily remained a few more minutes, but then had the feeling she was in the way.

“Well, until then!” she said.

Ben did not hear her.

Lilian followed the race sitting on a blanket with Gloria. Lilian explained how her new friend Ben was commanding one of the eights, and was already talking about the steering of the boats as if she had spent the last three years on one.

When the race began, the girls cheered for their favorites. Though Ben initially kept his eight even with his opponent, he pulled ahead for the last third of the race and won by a good distance.

Lilian leaped up with excitement.

“He won! Now they have to let him start in London. They have to. Otherwise it wouldn’t be fair!”

Ben, however, looked crestfallen as he strolled over to the girls.

“I told you they would choose Rupert,” he declared, and Lilian thought she saw something like tears in his eyes. “Regardless if I won. And that’s just what happened.”

Lilian looked at him sympathetically. “But the race was fantastic. And if Cambridge loses in London now, everyone will know why. Come, eat something. These chicken legs are really good, and you can eat them with your hands. And this is gooseberry wine from the kitchen’s garden. Well, not really wine, more like juice. But it’s good.”

Lilian served the boy quite naturally, laughing as she did so. Gloria wondered how she could chat with him so easily. Not that Ben intimidated her particularly, but she would not have known what to talk to him about.

“What’s it like in college?” Lilian asked, her mouth full. “Is it terribly hard? Everyone says you have to be very smart to go to Cambridge.”

“Sometimes it’s merely a question of the right family connections,” he explained. “If your father and grandfather went to Cambridge, everything is much simpler.”

“And? Did yours? What do you study, anyway?”

“You don’t look like a college student,” Lilian’s friend Hazel interjected. She had been unable to lure any boy into taking a place on her blanket and now wanted to take part in Lilian’s conquest. She did not go about it very skillfully, however, and Ben reddened at once.

“I skipped a few years,” he admitted, giving Lilian a wry smile. “I try too hard, as they say. And then Cambridge offered me a scholarship. Literature, languages, and English history. My parents are not exactly enthusiastic.”

“That’s silly of your parents,” Lilian said, which caused Miss Beaver to rebuke her.

Ben, who found himself unintentionally at the center of all the female attention, coughed.

“I, er, must be going. I mean, I need to join my friends. But perhaps, would you care to accompany me a few steps, Lily? Just as far as the docks, of course.”

Lily beamed. “Gladly,” she said, about to stand up. But then she thought better of it at the last moment. Instead, she held her hand out to Ben for him to help her up and gracefully rose from her blanket.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to the group, shouldering her lacy parasol and floating off next to Ben.