Read Online Echoes of the Dance by Marcia Willett - Free Book Online Page A

a finger on the pulse.’
    â€˜Madame?’ he questioned her – and she laughed.
    â€˜We all called her that when we were little,’ she told him. ‘When we got older we had the privilege of calling her Mim. Then we knew we’d really arrived. Sometimes we called her Madame Mim and, just occasionally, we’d call her Mad Madame Mim after the witch in the Walt Disney cartoon film. But don’t tell her that. Everyone loved her to bits.’
    Roly put Uncle Bernard down on the floor. ‘I won’t tell her,’ he promised.
    Daisy suddenly remembered her plan. ‘I wondered if you’d have supper with me,’ she said. ‘You made that wonderful roast dinner last night and lunch again today, it’s time I returned your hospitality. It’s not what you’d call haute cuisine but do say yes.’
    â€˜I should like to very much,’ he said at once. ‘Thank you.’
    â€˜Oh, good,’ she said. ‘Give me half an hour and I’ll be ready for you.’ She hesitated. ‘I noticed that you didn’t drink any wine last night or at lunch-time today and I wondered . . . ?’
    He shook his head. ‘I don’t drink alcohol,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Water is just fine.’
    She nodded, her curiosity aroused, but something in his face warned her off.
    â€˜Fine,’ she said. ‘Great. See you about eight o’clock, then.’
    When she’d gone he lay down again. Uncle Bernard stood on his hind legs, paws on Roly’s arm, and gave a short imperious bark. Roly lifted him up, settling him across his chest, whilst scenes with Mim, with Monica, with Kate, crowded in his mind. An involuntary smile touched his lips as he pictured the increasingly familiar expression of transparent curiosity that lit Daisy’s face when she was longing to ask a question.
    â€˜There is a directness about Daisy,’ Mim had said, ‘that you’ll find very refreshing.’
    â€˜Mad Madame Mim.’ He laughed aloud, quite certain that Mim knew her nickname only too well. ‘Madame Mim.’ The name brought another, more distant, memory and he settled comfortably, trying to pin it down.
    He is sitting at the big table, drawing a picture for his mother as a present ready to give her on her return from London. His father sits beside the fire, reading a journal that is to do with his work except that, just occasionally, his head nods forward suddenly so that Roly knows he is falling asleep. Claude, the Clumber spaniel, is stretched before the fire; his long lemon-coloured ear has fallen back, exposing the pink whorls inside. Very quietly, Roly climbs down from his chair and goes to kneel beside Claude; he puts his ear straight and strokes his warm, soft coat. Claude groans in his sleep and his tail thumps lazily. A log crumbles with a hissing sound and his father opens his eyes, tightening his grip on the journal that is slowly sliding to the floor.
    Roly smiles at him, kneeling back on his heels, enjoying the heat on his back that comes from the fire.
    â€˜Why does Mother have to go to London?’ he asks. He makes his voice casual, as if he doesn’t really mind; he is very fond of Aunt Mary – Father’s elder sister, who comes to look after them when his mother is away – but he likes it better when Mother’s at home.
    Father seems to find the question a difficult one: he frowns, putting the journal to one side and reaching for his pipe.
    â€˜It’s all a question of balance,’ he says after a moment’s thought.
    Roly immediately imagines himself balancing: standing on one leg like the heron or doing a handstand and trying to remain upside down, quite still, while his legs are in the air. He can imagine his mother dancing and singing but not doing handstands.
    â€˜When you grow up,’ his father is saying, ‘it’s important to balance your life so that your mind as well as your