‘We did,’ said Stella. ‘We did. Philip was a good dancer.’
The next day it rained. Rather than join Stella on her daily walk, Prue stayed in her bedroom, rummaging through half a dozen dresses, pairs of shoes and most of her hair bows. She sat on the
bed surrounded by stuffed animals belonging to James. A wire mobile hung with shells, made by Philip, swung from the ceiling: when the wind rattled the windows the shells made an empty, chinking
sound, less musical than bells. Prue smiled. She was in a state of excited hope: surely among a whole camp of American servicemen there would be one . . . A single possibility was all she asked. An
evening of fun. Something she hadn’t had for a long time.
That evening they gathered in the kitchen, the three of them, united in their expectations. Though what could Philip hope for? Prue wondered. He wore a beautiful silk scarf in the open neck of
his shirt, and had Brylcreemed his hair so that it was a flat and shining helmet. Stella was transformed, almost the Stella of Joe days at Hallows Farm. She had disguised the patches under her eyes
with swipes of Max Factor foundation, and resuscitated her beautiful mouth with a deep red lipstick. Her hair, loosened from its band, swung about her shoulders. She was almost exactly as the
picture Prue would always hold in her mind. The thought of such a creature stuck here for years and years, with a man who couldn’t dance, brought tears to her eyes. Then when she remembered
the amount of mascara she had applied, they vanished.
They went out into the wind and rain to the car, floral skirts whipping about the skinniness of their thighs, hair everywhere. Prue offered to help, but her help was not needed. Getting into the
car was a routine Philip and Stella had perfected. Prue marvelled at Stella’s patience as she lifted each of Philip’s feet into the footwell. It was all so slow. Prue herself
couldn’t imagine putting up with such slowness for a single day. Observing the laborious process, even this one time, fired her impatience. She was both ashamed of herself and longing to be
off. Stella, she thought, was a saint.
As they entered the large hall where the dance was to be held it occurred to Prue that the organizers of all such gatherings, wherever they took place, had the same idea about decorating, and
what food to provide: for this East Anglian hall was almost identical to the one where Stella had danced with the wing commander so brilliantly that everyone else had stood back to watch –
and where Prue had overdone the gin and lime and could scarcely stand upright for the national anthem. She looked round, smiling, past and present clashing and swerving in her mind. The same paper
chains were pinned to the curtains, a sprinkling of tinsel randomly scattered among them. The old blackout stuff had not been taken down but enlivened with a few cotton-wool snowflakes. ‘Very
early winter, here,’ she whispered to Stella who, with blazing eyes, laughed. They both remembered. God, how they remembered.
Stella pushed Philip’s wheelchair through the crowds, who parted as they advanced, towards an empty table near the stage. On one side of the hall there was a long table rich in post-war
party food, which seemed not to have improved a jot in the last four years: more bridge rolls, more jellies scattered with silver balls, plates of Spam arranged on dying lettuce leaves, a few
shavings of gherkin to add interest.
‘Blimey,’ said Prue. ‘Nothing’s changed.’ Then she looked down on Philip’s shining head and remembered how wrong she was.
They sat at the free table near the stage. A quartet of musicians were rumbling through hits of the day without much energy, but rows of metal chairs behind them promised that the big band would
appear later. Philip offered to go to the bar for drinks.
‘I’ll go,’ said Prue at once.
‘No, no. Let me.’ Philip quickly swivelled his chair away from the table.
‘Let him,’ said Stella.
‘Gin and lime, is it, Prue?’
‘No thanks. Just a lager.’ Tonight she wanted to keep her head.
The thump of the music so close to them meant that Stella and Prue saw little point in trying to talk. In any case Prue had no interest in conversation. She wanted to see what was on offer.
A large crowd of tall American pilots was gathered at the far end of the hall by the bar. Some of them gently punched each other. There was much laughter. They, too, seemed bent on finding out
what the evening might hold.
Prue was glad to see that among the girls there wasn’t much serious competition. Many of them, corralled into giggling groups, had not benefited from mothers who had Mrs Lumley’s
skill with her needle and bits of pre-war material. There was a single blonde in a dress of orange poppies – brighter than all the rest, but not a dress you could admire. The rest were a
dowdy lot who had concentrated on the lipstick and overdone the permanent waves. Prue flicked at the skirt of her expensive daisy dress, pushed the short sleeves higher, and tugged at the
sweetheart neck to lower it enough to expose her shallow cleavage.
Stella was amused. ‘Don’t worry, you’re the star. They’ll be fighting for you.’
Prue shook her head, blushed. Not at Stella’s words but because she was aware that every pilot in the distant crowd had turned with one accord and was staring across the hall at her and
Stella. She slipped off her wedding ring, handed it across the table. ‘Keep this for me,’ she said.
Philip returned to the table. The drinks had been put on a tray, which was balanced across the arms of the wheelchair.
‘Well done, and thanks,’ said Prue, with the kind of exuberance that comes from knowing that something exciting might be about to happen.
‘I can still be useful on occasion,’ said Philip, with a twist of his mouth.
The music above them plodded on. The three of them drank, looking about but not talking. Eventually the weary trio wandered off, instruments slack in their hands. Then, with a great surge of
energy, a group of some twenty musicians hurried onto the stage and took their places on the chairs. Prue’s heart pounded as she made a plan. She saw a few of the pilots take a step or two
forward, as if to cross the vast floor and approach their table, but then think better of it and step back to much jeering. She smiled, glanced up at the stage. Several of the musicians were worth
a second look, too. Then, they were off. With an uproarious boom they launched into ‘In The Mood’. Prue could contain herself no longer. She stood up. Stella and Philip laughed at her.
Philip reached for one of Stella’s hands.
With a toss of her head Prue spraunced off towards the group of cowardly servicemen, hips flicking so that the daisy hem of her dress flirted round her knees. As she got nearer, aware that every
single one of them was watching her progress, she tried to distinguish between the mass of smiling, mostly handsome faces. Then she was among them.
‘Hiya, doll,’ said one, and touched her arm. ‘Shall we dance?’
Prue took in a narrow face and narrow shoulders, as a pilot edged towards her with a narrow smile. Then, too quickly for her to be sure what had happened, a very tall man stepped forward, put a
hand round her waist, and she found they moved to the dance-floor. The music seemed to come both up from the floor and down from the ceiling – pounding, enveloping, demanding.
Prue, flung about by her tall partner, was just aware of stares from the other girls, and the general move forward by the rest of the Americans as they chose partners and moved onto the floor.
In a moment it was crowded with dancers. Stella and Philip, at their table, hands still clasped, watched.
When the music came to an end, Prue and her partner were hemmed in by dancers in the middle of the floor. Prue was panting. Her breasts rose quickly up and down. Her partner was looking down at
her, solemn-faced. ‘Why, thank you, ma’am,’ he said. He gave a small bow. ‘If there’s just time to introduce ourselves – I’m Rudolph. Rudolph Vincent Basie
Junior.’
‘I’m Prue.’
‘I guess that must be Prudence – my grandmother’s name.’
The music started again, a jitterbug. Rudolph Vincent Basie Junior did not bother to ask Prue for this dance: with a smile of the whitest teeth she had ever seen, he simply took hold of her and
they jitterbugged as if they’d been partners for life, continued for three more dances, never speaking.
Finally, when the band paused for a drink, Rudolph moved his hand to Prue’s waist and guided her to the bar. He bought two glasses of lager. ‘Not much place to sit down,’ he
said.
‘My friend Stella and her husband are at a table by the stage. We could go and join them.’ An idea came to her. Although she had known Rudolph for less than an hour, she felt she
could put it to him. ‘My friend Stella,’ she said, ‘is a marvellous dancer. Once at a party we went to she was picked up by a very small wing commander, a professional dancer, and
they gave such a great show that all the other dancers came off the floor. But her husband was wounded in the Navy. Wheelchair for life. I was wondering . . . I know how much she’d love . .
.’ Rudolph nodded. He understood at once.
They made their way to the table. The music started before they sat down. Prue quickly introduced Rudolph and immediately he turned to Stella. ‘I hear you’re something of a
dancer,’ he said. ‘Would you care to have a go at this one with me? I’d be honoured.’
Stella glanced at Philip.
‘Go on, darling,’ he said. Stella pushed back her hair, stood very upright facing Rudolph. Her beauty, returned tonight in abundance, caused a lurch in Prue’s heart. As she
watched them push their way into the crowd and begin to dance, conflicting sensations gripped her.
‘It’s going to happen again,’ said Philip, with a wry smile. ‘Just look.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Prue. Already dancers near to them were turning their heads, moving back to leave more space. Others followed their example. Soon there were only three
couples left, then none but Rudolph and Stella.
Prue’s eyes never left them. She was thrilled by Stella’s obvious excitement at this public display of sensational dancing, but she also would have liked it to be her and Rudolph who
won the acclaim. When she glanced briefly away from the whirling couple, she saw Philip’s downturned mouth. A muscle flicked in his cheek – though when he saw Prue’s face he
smiled. She could not bear the melancholy in his eyes, the knowing what he must be feeling.
The band was enjoying the solo as much as the dancers. They played on for a long time. When finally they stopped everyone applauded. Prue stood up – secretly, meanly, glad the exhibition
had come to an end. She climbed onto the table and clapped harder than anyone. For a moment, as Rudolph led Stella back, she was on a level with him, which made him smile his white smile again.
‘You were marvellous, darling,’ said Philip at once to Stella. ‘Haven’t lost your touch.’
Stella’s breasts were heaving, her cheeks were scarlet. She sat down, took Philip’s hand again.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Rudolph said to her. ‘That was wonderful. A great pleasure. There’s not many who can dance like you.’
The band now slid into a slow number. Rudolph looked at Prue swinging her hips on the table. He put out both hands, lifted her down and guided her back onto the floor. Prue was aware of people
glancing at her, perhaps wondering if she was going to put on a show like Stella’s. But she and Rudolph moved very slowly – hardly moved at all.
‘I’m in the mood for love’, was playing. It was the kind of tune that gave hope to so many strangers. Prue could feel Rudolph’s large hand covering most of her back. She
leant against his chest, shut her eyes. His chin rested lightly on her head. Unless something went dreadfully wrong in the next few hours, she had found her man.
Nothing did go wrong. They danced, danced, almost without stopping. Sometimes they jitterbugged, flinging about, parting, meeting. Sometimes they were so close Prue could feel
the drumming of Rudolph’s heart.
Then it was ‘God Save the King’. Rudolph stood very straight, eyes ahead, solemn with duty, a ramrod in his spine. Prue tried to imitate his stance, but kept glancing at him to check
he did not move until the last chord had died.
People began to leave very quickly. Rudolph took Prue’s hand, led her towards Stella and Philip’s table. At the sight of them Philip, previously tired, bored, suddenly revived.
Rudolph sat down beside him.
‘You’re not by any chance a chess player?’ Philip asked. ‘I don’t seem able to find one anywhere along the coast.’
‘Well now, there’s a thing.’ Rudolph smiled. ‘I’ve been chess-starved, too.’
‘Come over tomorrow, please do,’ Philip said.
‘Sure will.’ Rudolph shook Philip’s hand. It was a deal. Stella stood up and moved to push the wheelchair. She, too, her few moments of exhilaration over, looked tired. Rudolph
took the handles from her. ‘Let me,’ he said. ‘My grandfather’s been in a wheelchair for years. I’m a pretty good navigator.’
Prue and Stella watched as he sped across the emptying hall, effortlessly avoiding empty chairs and tables.
‘The sort of occasion,’ said Prue, ‘when I suppose you could believe in God. He must have been looking down and put the idea of chess into Philip’s mind and it so
happened—’
‘Or you could call it happy coincidence,’ said Stella.
‘Anyway, it’s the solution. I was wondering what was going to happen next. Time’s against us. But now at least Rudolph and I will meet again in your kitchen.’
‘And you can stay as long as you like. We love having you. I must go and get the car.’
While Stella was lifting Philip into the passenger seat, Prue and Rudolph stood looking on, a foot apart, light from a full moon scattered over them.
‘Blimey,’ said Prue, with a small shudder. Rudolph turned to her and smiled a half-moon of electric white against the dark. Then he went to help Stella put the wheelchair into the
boot of the car.
From her place in the back seat Prue waved to him as they drove away. He had given no sign of wanting to give her a polite kiss on the cheek. But that was OK for a while, she thought. She would
try not to be in a hurry. Best not to appear too eager, as her mother often said, though she did not often take her own advice.