“I did have someone to care for me,” she said firmly. “Grandpa loved me. It's just that things got on top of him a bit. Anyway, I couldn't be a nurse. It's not in my stars.”
“You read horoscopes?”
“No, not that sort of stars.” In a sudden expansive gesture she flung a hand up to the night sky. “Fate,” she said dramatically. “Destiny. There's a niche waiting for you somewhere in the world, that only you can fill.”
He'd once thought the same. His niche had been clear, and he was well prepared for it. But then it had turned out not to be his at all. “That's a dangerous doctrine,” he said somberly.
She sighed and went back to gazing over the water. “You're right. It's not good to dream too much. It's better to be a realist.”
“Maybe reality will turn out to be stranger than you think,” he murmured.
She looked at him. “You sound as though that meant something particular.”
“Nothing special,” he said hastily, trying to make his face and voice blank so that his pain wouldn't show. Mostly he kept that pain under stern control, but this disconcerting young woman had touched a nerve.
A cab rumbled by and he hailed it. “Let's go back,” he said.
The lamps were still on in Hanver Park, and as they climbed the broad steps Randolph became aware of something very curious. But for themselves the park was empty, yet the two mime artists were still there, earnestly gesticulating, oblivious to the fact that nobody was watching them. They seemed completely happy in a world of their own, where no audience was needed.
They stopped to watch. The entertainers continued in serene silence, their white faces ghostly under the lamps. After a while Randolph looked away from them, to Dottie.
She was entranced, oblivious to him, her eyes gleaming with the colored lamps, her lips parted in a half smile of delight. He wondered when he'd last been so happily unselfconscious, but he couldn't remember it. Perhaps never.
Dottie's radiant innocence was like a blow to his heart. She was so candid and trusting, so sure the rest of the world was as honest as herself. How could she realize that the man with her was the serpent in Eden, plotting to destroy her happiness? He would take everything away, first the world in which she was at ease, then the lover who meant so much to her. And in their place he offered wealth, grandeur and a kind of power-all of which, Randolph was increasingly convinced, would mean nothing to her.
She looked up at him suddenly. “What's the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing's the matter.”
“Yes it is. You were thinking about something that made you sad.”
Her shrewdness caught him off guard and for a moment he floundered.
“Is it me?” she asked. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No Dottie,” he said gently. “You've done nothing wrong. You've been delightful, all evening.”
The two artists had stopped miming and were watching them intently, looking from him to her, and back.
“Yeah, well, I gave you a laugh, anyway.”
“More than that,” he said seriously. “I think you're one of the nicest people I've ever known.”
A soft breeze had sprung up, making her hair drift about her face. Randolph couldn't take his eyes from her.
“It's been a lovely, lovely evening,” she sighed. “Like magic.”
“Yes. A kind of magic. That's just what it was.”
Dottie became aware of the anxious gaze from the two white faces. “What's up with you two?”
“I think they want me to kiss you,” Randolph said, and putting his fingers under her chin, he lifted it and bent his head.
He made no attempt to put his arms around her, and his lips barely touched hers. It wasn't passion that she felt in him, but tenderness, a continuation of the enchantment that had pervaded the whole evening. When he lifted his head he saw that she was smiling. He smiled back, then, turning to the two mimes he said, “Thank you.”
Their response was to jump for joy, dancing around Dottie and Randolph. He took some money out and again tried to give it to them. “Won't you let me show my gratitude?”
But, as before, they shook their heads. Then they turned and ran away, hand in hand, until they vanished into the darkness of the trees.
“Why did you thank them?” Dottie asked, speaking as in a dream.
“Because without them I wouldn't have dared to kiss you.”
“I'm glad they wouldn't take money,” Dottie said. “That would have spoiled it somehow.”
“Yes,” he said, in quick appreciation. “It would.”
Dottie didn't say anything, but stood looking at him in unutterable content. This was part of the glory of the whole evening. It was as though time had been suspended for a few hours. Later it would start again and she would become her real self once more. But nothing would be quite the same.
They wandered on out of the park until they reached the hotel, which was in darkness.
“Got your key?” she asked.
“Later. I'm walking you home.”
“It's only two streets away.”
“A gentleman doesn't let a lady walk home alone.”
And the spell could last a little longer, she thought happily. They walked the two streets in silence and stopped outside a shabby brick house, three floors high.
“Good night, Dottie. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“It should be me thanking you. I've never-” she laughed and sought for words. “I've just never…just never…”
“Never drunk white burgundy?” he said, smiling. “Never eaten nouvelle cuisine?”
“Never talked like that,” she said. “It was nice to fly.”
“Don't you want to keep on flying?”
She shook her head. “But it was nice to do it once.”
“You're so certain that it will never happen again?”
He thought for a moment that she would answer, but then she backed off like someone who'd seen danger. “I've got a real life to live. You can't do that flying.”
“But-”
“I have to go in now,” she said hurriedly. “Good night.” She ran up the short path to the front door.
“Good night,” he said regretfully and turned away. But before he'd gone more than a few steps she called out to him. “Yes?” he said hopefully.
“Don't forget to miss a step as you go into your room. Otherwise you'll hit the wobbly floorboard.”
“I'll remember.”
“Have a good night, and I'll bring you a real English breakfast in the morning.”
“Thank you,” he said, trying to conceal his feelings at the prospect of this treat. “Good night.”
Just before she went to sleep Dottie spoke to a photo of Mike that she kept by her bed. She often did this, and not for the world would she have admitted that it could be more rewarding than talking to the real man.
“It was just a meal-not an actual date or anything-a bit like being taken out when you were a kid. It's not like I fancied him. Well, maybe just a bit…all right, a lot. Okay, Okay, so he kissed me.
And I wouldn't have minded if he'd done it again. But you're the one I love. Honest. Anyway, what were you up to with Bren?”
She turned out the light.
Chapter Three
Thursday was the great day of the week, the day when Dottie finished work early, and met Mike in the park. As two o'clock neared she hurried away from the café, rejoicing in the knowledge that all was right with the world. The sun was shining and heaven, in the shape of a chunky garage mechanic, was just around the corner. The fantasies of the night before were no more than colored dreams, like being taken to the movies. It was easier to think like this because there'd been no sign of Mr. Holsson this morning. She'd done him a good English breakfast, as promised, but had persuaded Jack to take it up.
She entered the little wood that fringed the park, and at first she had to stop and blink as the trees blotted out the light. Then her sight cleared and she realized that she wasn't alone. A man stood leaning against a tree, only half-visible through the slanting sunbeams.