It wasn’t Charles’s fault their love could not progress; it was the war’s. He was an army captain and put his duty before everything, although this evening had made Alice realise how much that cost him. In any other situation he would have put Mary first.
Alice looked sideways at Edith, catching her animated face as a spotlight beam swept the sky above them. Far from hating the concert, Edith had loved it, swept along by the stirring music and the sense of occasion. It had been a night to remember. She began to hum along to Mary’s spirited rendition of the ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’.
‘Sounds as if you don’t mind that sort of music after all,’ she said when her friends had finished.
Edith laughed. ‘I don’t know if I’d want to go to it all the time but that was just what we needed. I can’t get the tunes out of my head.’
Mary turned around to face them, and in the intermittent light Alice caught her broad smile. ‘See, I said you’d like it. We could go to other concerts if you want, when our days off coincide. There’s usually something on at the National Gallery at lunchtime. Myra Hess, you know.’
Edith made a non-committal noise.
‘Charles used to take me before he grew so busy,’ Mary went on, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Didn’t you? We used to meet there for some music and a quick bite to eat. Remember when they had really strange food? I suppose it was all they could get, and they always like to provide something.’
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