Lily was quite sure Sybil had only agreed to invite her to the party because they’d need an extra pair of hands to help with the cooking and the tidying up. She could imagine Sybil balking at the idea of Lily being a guest, and almost hear Diana, shocked, insisting that she wouldn’t dream of asking her friend to help if she wasn’t invited.
‘It’s going to be super,’ Sybil said blithely the day of the party, as she, Diana and Lily surveyed Philip’s grandmother’s house and tried to work out what to do first. Sybil had been there since the day before and appeared to have done not one iota of tidying up, Lily decided, looking at the layers of dust everywhere.
‘We’re going to be exhausted by the time we’ve made this house presentable,’ snapped Diana, who, along with her mother, was furious with Sybil for going ahead with the party in the first place.
‘It’s not safe in London any more, Sibs,’ she said. ‘Even Philip says it’s not safe because of the V-2s. I don’t know why you wouldn’t listen to Mummy and settle for a small party at home at Christmas.’
Since D-Day, even Londoners hardened to the sound of air raids had learned to fear the scream of approaching doodlebugs. And now there was a new, even deadlier threat in the shape of V-2 flying bombs which came with no warning and left entire streets devastated.
For the first time during the war, Lily was in a state of constant fear.
‘It’s bad enough I had to miss out on a honeymoon, I’m not going to let this silly Baby Blitz ruin my party,’ she sniffed.
Lily stopped what she was doing. ‘Listen, Sybil,’ she said, between gritted teeth, ‘I’m here on my day off because of Diana, not you. So please keep quiet about the “Baby Blitz” because you wouldn’t call it that if you’d seen its after-effects in the hospital every day.’
For once, Sybil shut up.
‘Sorry,’ Diana muttered to Lily when Sybil had gone off to another room, ostensibly to find a vase for the late roses from the garden. ‘She doesn’t understand.’
‘I don’t know why,’ Lily said angrily. ‘I know she’s insulated at Beltonward, but honestly, Diana, she must see what people are living through. You tell her what you see every day, how can that not touch her?’
Diana shrugged elegantly. ‘Sibs is like Daddy: she only understands something if it affects her directly. Don’t let this ruin tonight, we all need some fun. Please, Lily? You’re going to love The 400.’
Lily allowed herself to smile. She longed to ask if Lieutenant Jamie Hamilton was among the guests, but didn’t dare. She hadn’t so much as mentioned his name since that night. She didn’t want anyone, even Diana, to find out how she’d felt about him.
Anyway, if he was there, she thought, she’d ignore him. If he was that keen to see her again, why hadn’t he made an attempt to get in touch? The D-Day push that had put paid to Sybil’s honeymoon was long over; he’d had three months to get in touch and he hadn’t.
No, if he was there, she wouldn’t even speak to him, that was for sure.
‘Hello, Lily,’ he said that evening at eight, his voice just as she remembered. He was more tanned, and he looked wonderful standing in front of her in his uniform.
He was one of the last of the party of twelve to arrive: everyone else was standing around the dining-room table finishing their drinks. Thanks to Sybil’s flowers and Lily’s skill in laying a table, it all looked perfect. Diana had toiled away stewing the chicken – ‘think it’s rabbit, actually,’ she’d told Lily – that Sybil had brought with her from the country.
‘Hello, Jamie,’ she said.
‘I hoped you’d be here tonight,’ he said.
‘And I am,’ Lily replied. She wasn’t going to make it too easy for him. Once she’d realised he was coming, from reading Sybil’s careful table plan, she’d felt her excitement grow.
‘I wanted to get in touch with you,’ he began.
‘Did you?’ asked Lily lightly.
He nodded.
Lily watched him scan the place names and then reach down the table to swap names so that he would be sitting beside her.
‘We can take our seats now,’ he murmured.
‘Sybil will be very cross with you,’ she murmured back.
‘I can take it,’ he said. ‘I’m only here for one reason and it’s nothing to do with Sybil.’
The quiver she remembered from before rippled through her body again and Lily had to sit before she fell.
She knew the protocol for elegant dinner parties well enough to know that for one course she was expected to talk to Jamie and for the next, she was to turn politely and talk with the man on her other side. But Jamie was having none of it.
‘Let’s not bother with that,’ he pleaded with her when they’d finished the lukewarm minestrone soup served up by one of Philip’s grandmother’s old retainers, Mr Timms, a frail white-haired man with shaky hands. Lily hated watching him serve them. He’s too old, she wanted to shout.
During the first course, they’d talked about the past three months of war and the chances of it being over soon. Now, her tongue and her heart loosened thanks to a glass of wine and a pre-dinner cocktail, Lily wanted to ask Jamie why he hadn’t written to her. But something held her back.
Instead, they talked about their childhoods and, for once, Lily wasn’t economical with the truth. The other guests faded away as they talked and talked. She told him quietly about Tamarin and Rathnaree.
‘You’re an admirable woman, Lily Kennedy,’ he said gravely at the end.
‘Why does admirable not sound like a compliment?’ Lily demanded.
In response, Jamie took her hand under the table and stared into her eyes.
‘All right, you’re a beautiful woman and I haven’t been able to think of anything else since I met you,’ he said so softly that nobody else could hear.
Lily’s heart skipped a beat.
There was an almighty clatter of dishes from outside the dining room. Lily leapt to her feet. It had to be poor Mr Timms. Nobody else moved a muscle. The wine had been flowing freely, the gramophone was playing loudly in the background and the rest of the party were enjoying this respite from war far too much to care what calamity had befallen the hired help.
Outside the dining room, she found Mr Timms nursing a sore knee and the whole of the lemon syllabub lying in creamy globules on the parquet.
‘Mr Timms, let me see that knee,’ she said in her professional voice.
‘Sit here,’ said Jamie. He’d followed her out and now led the elderly man to a chair in the hallway.
While she checked Mr Timms’ knee, Jamie managed to scoop most of the syllabub from the floor.
‘I should strap it up, and then you’ll need to rest that leg,’ Lily explained.
‘I could lie down in the butler’s pantry. There’s an old pull-out bed from when the butler before last was here. He had a bad back and needed to be able to lie down,’ Mr Timms said, and then collected himself. ‘But what about the next course?’
‘They can do quite well without another course,’ Lily said briskly.
Jamie took coffee upstairs to the laughing, chattering horde in the dining room and told them they’d have to sing for their syllabub.