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Gabe looked at her curiously. ‘Do you go to these a lot?’
Her face fell. ‘Not any more,’ she said. ‘Which is a shame because there are loads now, big affairs like this one looks to be. But I did go to a few vintage clubs and smaller affairs when I was at university. I’ve always loved the twenties; you know, flappers and jazz and the art deco style. Everything that was around when Rafferty’s was founded.’
‘Why don’t you go any more?’
She sighed. ‘The usual,’ she said. ‘Time—or lack of. I used to collect nineteen twenties accessories; costume jewellery, compacts, that kind of thing, but I haven’t even wandered into an antique shop for a couple of years. Ooh.’ Her face lit up. ‘This is great timing. We could have a vintage pop-up at Rafferty’s? Our centenary is in just a few years. We could have a whole series of twenties-inspired events leading up to that?’
Gabe had no intention of still being there in a few years but he could picture it perfectly. ‘Is this just so you can dress up as a flapper?’
‘Of course.’ She looked down at her outfit. ‘Although today I am loosely channelling the fifties. You must have known we were coming here when you picked out the dress.’
Gabe could see the house clearly now; they had ended up at a stately home after all. But this was a place gone back in time, to the middle of the last century if not back to its seventeenth-century roots.
The path had brought them out onto a large terrace at the back of the house overlooking lawns and ornamental gardens that seamlessly seemed to merge into the fields beyond. The furthest lawn was covered with an array of carnival rides, none of which was younger than Gabe, horses going round and round in a never-ending circle, helter-skelters and coconut shies.
Tables and chairs were dotted all around the terrace and lawns, served by a selection of vintage ice-cream vans parked in a row by the entrance gate, some selling the eponymous food, others cream teas, cakes or drinks.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Polly breathed, still hanging onto his arm, her gaze transfixed on the scene before them. ‘Doesn’t everyone look fabulous? We’re completely underdressed, especially you!’
Swing music was coming from the house, clearly audible through the parade of open doors. Parading in and out were people from another era: brightly lipsticked women with elaborate hair accompanied by men in old-fashioned military uniforms. Behind them girls with big skirts and ponytails were chatting to men with Brylcreemed hair and attitude to match. It was all pretty cool—if you were into fancy dress.
It had never been Gabe’s kind of thing. Life was a mystery as it was; why complicate it by pretending to be someone you weren’t? By emulating the lives of those long gone?
‘It’s a good thing the rain’s stopped.’
Polly huffed. ‘And people say the English are obsessed with the weather. Come on, Gabe. Let’s go in.’
* * *
‘What do you think?’ Polly twirled around in front of Gabe, She hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to have her hair pin-curled and it hadn’t taken much to persuade her into the accompanying makeover.
Or a new outfit. ‘You look like you’re from a film,’ he said. Polly wasn’t sure whether he meant it as a compliment or not but decided to go with it.
‘That’s the idea.’ She looked down at the pink-flowered silk tea dress. ‘It’s not twenties but it will do. You need something too. A coat. Or a hat! We should get you a hat. This is so much fun. Why haven’t I done this for so long?’
She led the protesting Gabe over to a stall specialising in military overcoats. ‘I hope they have a French coat,’ she said. ‘Army, air force or navy?’
She knew she was chattering a bit too much, was being a little too impulsive, happily trying—and buying—anything that took her fancy.
It was better than thinking or worrying. She was almost fooling herself that everything was okay, that nothing had changed.
She wasn’t fooling Gabe though. She could see it in his eyes.
‘Lighten up.’ She held a coat up against him. ‘You’re the one who wanted a day out, a change of scenery, remember?’
‘Oui.’ But his smile seemed forced, concern still radiating from him. Concern for her.
Unwanted, unneeded.
Suddenly the dress seemed shabby rather than chic, the lipstick heavy on her mouth. She had just wanted a day to forget about everything, a day with no responsibilities or decisions.
‘I need some air.’ She pushed past him, ignoring his surprised exclamation.
The swing band was still going strong in the ballroom and couples were engaging in gymnastics on the dance floor, a series of complicated lifts and kicks. At any other time Polly would have stopped to watch, to join in with the onlookers enthusiastically applauding each daring move, but she felt stifled, too hot, too enclosed. She wandered over to the terrace, stopping at one of the ice-cream vans to buy a sparkling water and took it over to a table where she examined her impulse purchases.
