“You two need separating, if we’re not all to feel sick by the end of the evening.” This was Caro, interupting good-naturedly as she lit a cigarette in a long black holder.
“Yes, and you might remember that some of us are single with not a trace of romance on the horizon,” Sarah Flint added.
“Hear, hear,” came from Lottie Green. Evelyn smiled at the happy, if teasing, tone in the room. Clara and Courtney had gathered a group of interesting, intelligent women as their friends. And in this room, the idea that they all loved other women seemed a long way from remarkable. For them, it was normality. As such, Evelyn took confidence from them. If they felt that way, then it was entirely possible for her to do the same, surely.
As the night drew on, Evelyn talked mostly to Jos, although Clara and Courtney would join them from time to time. She learned a lot more about Courtney’s life in New York and listened to a detailed comparison of the two cities from Clara. America was a place Evelyn had barely considered and certainly not a place she had dreamed of visiting. But Courtney’s presence here in London, this woman who had grown up on the other side of the Atlantic, made anything seem possible.
Nor, she learned, was Courtney the only foreigner in the room. Gisela Blumstein was German, having fled her country in the immediate aftermath of the war, seeking a better life in England. She had travelled to England with a husband but had since been divorced, amicably, from him. Irene Jacobs was half-Belgian and had been living in Ypres when that town had found itself the centre of the battlefield. So she had sought the sanctuary of her mother’s British family in South London. Suddenly, moving from West Coombe did not seem at all dramatic or unusual. Evelyn felt rather relieved to find this. Her Devon accent did not set her apart in a room of such diversity. To her surprise she realised she felt more comfortable with these women than she had at any time since she came to London. In addition, she wanted to know what they did, to know Jos like they knew other women. She wanted to share herself with Jos in the way that she saw Clara and Courtney share with each other, or connect with her in the way that Ronnie and Irene sat so comfortably hand in hand, even when conversing with different people.
The hours flew by. Evelyn barely gave a thought to the Grainger household, or to where she would say she had been if Lilian asked. It barely seemed important. She was happy and felt carefree. Besides, every word and look she exchanged with Jos drew her closer. She sipped her gin purposely slowly so that, although it relaxed her and made her more inclined to giggle, she did not lose the sharp edge of her perceptions or the sting of her desire for Jos, which only grew more and more. The women in the room seemed to already accept and understand that there was something between them and their acceptance made it seem more real, more possible. If only she knew exactly what was expected of her in such a situation. But all she could do was wait for Jos and try to demonstrate that Jos wouldn’t panic her by taking another step along a path they both wanted to explore.
It was approaching midnight when Jos was cornered by Gisela and Abigail. Evelyn overheard the beginning of their conversation—it seemed Gisela had written a play about the current situation in Germany and they were seeking advice about how to put it into production. Evelyn liked the idea that Jos was considered an expert in such a creative field. She tried to listen to more of their conversation.
Suddenly, the place at her side was taken by Suzanne Flint. She smiled but looked at Evelyn rather intently. Clearly, Suzanne was a little more than tipsy, which made Evelyn cautious. “Hello,” she said. “I’m doing terribly with names, but I think you’re Suzanne. We’ve not had a chance to speak yet.”
“Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you properly. Now, you must spill the beans, what’s happening with you and Jos?”
Evelyn looked back in astonishment. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. She had understood the question but she was not sure what she was supposed to say in response.
“Oh, poor thing. I suppose, being from the country, you’re not used to our London ways. What I mean is, are you and she sleeping together?”
“No,” Evelyn replied impulsively, before she had chance to consider it any further.
“Good. Because I wanted to warn you. It’s not that I don’t like Jos, I do. But I know more than one girl who’s ended up in her bed and it’s all ended very badly. Oh, I don’t mean the night itself. From all accounts, she’s very good at that. But she can’t deal with being close to someone. It’s since her parents died, I’m sure. But she’ll love you by night and dismiss you by day, that one. I hear her brother’s the same. Excellent at luring a girl in, terrible at showing any concern for her afterwards. So yes, flirt if you will, but prepare yourself. She won’t commit to anything.”
Evelyn was staring at Suzanne now. She didn’t understand why she was being given this information and quite why Suzanne, who she’d not even spoken to until now, felt the need to provide this warning. At the same time, it was difficult to ignore the words. What if she did share everything with Jos, only to find it had
