‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘It’s the officers’ and nurses’ summer dance. Didn’t you hear about it? They’re having a bit of a hop.’
Through the trees she could see back to the lawns and the hospital building, where the enormous room that was the canteen in 2017 was decorated with garlands of flowers and hung with red-white-and-blue bunting. Its chandeliers burned brightly, so that it seemed the entire ceiling was covered in diamonds. Near the French doors, flung wide open, a band was playing ragtime tunes, and scores of couples were dancing, nurses in their white or blue uniforms, and officers in khaki and polished boots. The terrace outside was lit up with paper lanterns, and below it was a stone fountain around which candles had been placed. The flames moved dreamily, sending shivers of light across the water. Above them hung a bright, low moon.
‘What’s that tune?’ she asked. ‘I’ve heard it before.’
‘It’s “Peg O’ My Heart,” from the Ziegfeld Follies. Have you seen it? It’s the most marvellous show. I’ll take you.’
‘I would love that.’ She remembered a much more modern incarnation of the tune: a Pat Boone record her grandmother had loved. ‘It’s lovely; sort of happy and sad at the same time.’
‘I suppose it is rather.’ He gave a little bow. ‘May I have this dance?’
‘I don’t know how.’
‘Then it would be my pleasure to show you.’
‘What, like this, in my dressing gown and slippers?’
‘Why not? Wasn’t Wendy wearing her nightgown when Peter Pan took her to Neverland?’
Before she could say anything else, he took one of her hands in his, then placed his other on her waist. ‘You put your other hand up here,’ he said, nodding to his shoulder.
She reached up and put her hand on his epaulette. The fabric was rough. His brass buttons gleamed in the soft light.
‘That’s a very pretty locket,’ he said.
‘You… you can see it?’
‘Of course I can see it.’ He smiled quizzically. ‘I’ve got my sight back.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said quickly, smiling. ‘I forgot I was wearing it, that’s all.’ Was it because it was so old that he could see it, because it predated them both?
‘Now do exactly as I say,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to tread on your toes. We begin like this, with your right side angled towards me. Then we move together like this…’ He took her through a series of complicated moves. ‘No, not that foot, the other. There. You see?’
She laughed. ‘No, not really!’
‘And then we step forwards again, like this. The rhythm is “slow, slow, quick, quick”. It’s quite simple.’
‘If you say so!’
After a few tries, she stopped looking at her feet and started to find her rhythm. Every time she looked up, he was looking at her.
The moon was dazzling, and she thought she’d never seen so many stars. This was what it would be like without all the light pollution of the twenty-first century, she thought. It was otherworldly. She felt that she was not simply in a corner of Sussex, but at the centre of some vast, endless universe.
They danced on and on. The music changed, and then changed again, she following as he guided them across the forest floor. Were they real, the two of them, she wondered, or simply something dreamt up by this enchanted night, with its endless stars, its soft shudder of violins, its perfume and candles? It felt like the air was made of champagne. Perhaps this was Neverland, she thought – some magical land beyond the moon, where people stayed young forever, stepped out of time and never died.
The band struck up the waltz from The Merry Widow. ‘Can you dance a waltz?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid not. Sorry, you must despair of me.’
He smiled and pulled her closer. ‘For a waltz you must rest your arm on mine. You might have to reach up a little.’
After a while, she let her cheek rest against him, the brass button at his breast a tiny spot of coolness against her burning face. He smelled of sandalwood soap and polished leather.
The dance ended. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, just a bit warm,’ she said. And giddy. ‘Shall we sit out the next one?’
They made for a fallen tree laid on its side. ‘Save me a seat,’ he said. ‘I’ll fetch us some punch.’
She closed her eyes and let the slight breeze cool her face. He returned with two glass cups and gave her one. The punch tasted of oranges, roses and sherry.
‘Is that better?’ he asked.
‘Yes, much. Thank you.’
‘Stay like that,’ he said. ‘No, don’t move your arm.’ He positioned it back where it had been, tucked around her knees, and drew the lantern closer.
‘Why?’ she smiled.
In answer he took out a small sketch pad from an inside pocket, then walked back a couple of paces to a tree stump, where he sat down.
‘You can barely see me,’ she laughed.
‘I can see all I need,’ he said. ‘And anyway, this is exactly how you should be drawn – in the light of lanterns, moon and stars.’ He began to sketch, and her skin tingled. Being drawn by him felt even more intimate than dancing with him.
‘It must be wonderful, being able to see well enough to draw again,’ she said.
‘Shhh. I’m trying to draw your mouth.’
She was silent for a moment. Then: ‘Well? Is it?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘More than I imagined. I thought it wouldn’t mean an awful lot, but I find it actually does.’
‘Of course it does. You’re an artist. It’s in your blood.’
He laughed. ‘And you’re a hopeless romantic.’
‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘More so than I could ever possibly have imagined.’
Eventually, he put away his pencil.
‘Have you finished?’ She got up. ‘May I see?’ The sketch began at her waist, and the outline of her body was impressionistically drawn, but her face and hair had been captured in deft, confident strokes.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said simply, because it was. ‘Oh Robert, it’s so beautiful.’
‘Only because you’re beautiful,’ he said, taking her hand, turning it over and kissing her palm.
Her heart began to race. And she found she couldn’t speak.