Read Online The English Girl by Margaret Leroy - Free Book Online Page B

only just met … It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Stella.’
    A little thrill goes through me, hearing my name in his mouth. He sees this.
    ‘I may call you Stella?’ he asks.
    As though we may meet again. But I don’t see how that could happen.
    ‘Yes. Yes, of course you can.’
    I know I must look dejected. I try to paste a cheerful smile on my face.
    The woman walks rather languidly across the gallery towards us. All the men in the room are turning to stare.
    He’s half-turned from me already. But he doesn’t move away quite yet.
    ‘So, Stella. Do you often come here on Saturday afternoons?’ He speaks so casually. As though this question is of no consequence. As though this isn’t the most important question I’ve ever been asked.
    ‘Well. I’ve never been before,’ I say carefully. ‘And there’s such a lot to see…’
    He nods. ‘Far too much for one visit.’ His voice almost playful. The words spiralling down between us, feather-light on the glimmery air. ‘You might want to come again, perhaps next Saturday afternoon?’ He glances at the painting behind us. ‘And Cranach’s
Paradise
is always worth another look…’
    He doesn’t say goodbye.
    I stand there, trying not to stare, as he goes up to the woman, kisses her hand. A little bud of hopefulness is opening out in me. I find myself praying:
Please give him to
me. Please, God
. I picture God in my mind. He has flowing red robes and a white forked beard, like the God in the Cranach painting.
If you give him to me, I promise I’ll never ask
for anything else. If you give him to me, nothing else will ever matter as much. Please.
    I watch as he walks out of the room, arm in arm with the raven-haired woman.

12
    ‘Anneliese. There’s something I’m dying to tell you.’
    We’re in the Landtmann, after my lesson.
    ‘This thing happened,’ I tell her. ‘In the Kunsthistorisches Museum. I went to look at the paintings…’
    She’s wearing the hat I rescued, and she has ruby and diamanté earrings, that glitter as she turns her head and send out small shards of light.
    ‘And I left my umbrella behind,’ I say, ‘so I had to go back. And I met … I met…’
    ‘Ooh.’ She’s intrigued, her liquorice-dark eyes gleaming. ‘How exciting, Stella. And is he good-looking? I mean, this is a “he” we’re talking about?’
    ‘Yes. Yes to both questions.’
    Just talking about him makes my pulse race.
    ‘So – when are you going to see him again?’
    ‘Well, I don’t know if I am.’ I suddenly feel I’ve presumed far too much. ‘He sort of suggested meeting again – but it was all terribly vague. I’m not even sure if he really liked me. He said I was very reserved…’
    Her dark eyes sparkle with laughter.
    ‘Stella. That’s what they always say when they want to seduce you.’ she says.
    I’m startled that she’s so direct. People don’t talk like this in Brockenhurst. But mixed in with my amazement, there’s a little tremor of hope.
    ‘D’you really think so?’
    She nods. The skin crinkles in little laughter lines at the corners of her eyes.
    Our Esterházytorte and coffee arrive.
    ‘Well, don’t stop there, Stella. Tell me more. So what’s he like, your mystery heart-throb?’ she asks.
    ‘Well.’ I sip my coffee. I don’t know where to begin. ‘He was very polite—’
    ‘Oh,
Stella
. You’re just so English, aren’t you? It’s really terribly sweet. What I meant was – what exactly does he
look
like? What’s the attraction?’
    ‘Dark. Tall. Kind of intelligent-looking…’
    Her face falls slightly. She obviously finds this unsatisfactory.
    ‘And what does he do? Did you find that out?’ she asks me.
    ‘He’s a doctor.’
    ‘Ooh. Clever hands. What could be nicer?’ she says.
    She’s outrageous. The thought sneaks into my mind – that she might be
experienced
. I don’t know if I dare ask.
    ‘Anneliese – have you ever … you know…?’
    I’m trying to say it casually, as though I