of sweet tea but did not dare go downstairs until it was light enough for her to see to get dressed in her day clothes. Mrs. Cage had promised her that the new trousers and jacket of her uniform would be ready in a day or two but meanwhile she would have to make do with the interview suit and a pair of stockings borrowed from Mrs. Cage. May had reluctantly accepted Mrs. Cage’s offer of a pair of old step-ins but the elastic had given way on the housekeeper’s intimate second-hand garments and were far too loose to stay in place round May’s slim waist. May hoped that her own underwear would have dried on the fender where she had laid it after a thorough rinsing the night before.
A thousand things were running through her mind and she wanted to get them all down in the blue diary as soon as it was light and before recent events crowded out the earlier ones from her mind. Pushing her long dark hair back from her forehead, she wondered if Bertha was missing her. She wondered if she would ever be warm. Was anyone looking after the car? And then she was unable to prevent the bigger questions from tumbling right into the forefront of her mind. Was her mother lonely? Had May made a terrible mistake by leaving her? For a moment a sense of panic overwhelmed her. Sitting bolt upright, by now painfully awake, she wondered if, in all the excitement of this new life, she was forgetting what it felt like to be a daughter?
She shifted back down in the bed and checked the catch of the bracelet of silver forget-me-nots that encircled her wrist to make sure it was secure. Another puffball of feathery curls escaped from the gap in the lining and floated into the air. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep but at once she found herself thinking about Julian. She had been taken aback by the speed and the familiar ease with which he had teased her about her hat. Had he been flirting with her? She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. How did that sort of kiss work? Would he remove his glasses or would she have to duck beneath them to reach his mouth? Her lips puckered at the thought and she felt a flutter of curiosity. That experience, mouth-to-mouth kissing, that she had read about so often in books, seen so often in movies and watched so often when courting sugarcane workers who were unaware they were being observed, remained for May frustratingly mysterious.
A year ago her mother had spoken to her about the nature of happiness. One evening Edith had suggested that they sit on the terrace together and have what she called “a coming-of-age talk.” The conversation had assumed an air of finality about it as if Edith was making the most of a last chance to tell her daughter everything she held to be wise and precious.
“The first thing I want to say, my darling,” Edith began, taking her daughter’s delicate hands in hers, as she had done ever since May could remember, “is that there is no man on this earth who can fulfil all the requirements of a wife. A sense of humour and a passion for books are strong bonuses, I would suggest. There will always be a few tolerable minuses: snoring, or a lack of interest in flowers, for example.”
May smiled. She had lost count of the times she had heard her mother complain to her unresponsive husband about the roseintolerant earth of the West Indies. The whole family had grown used to Edith’s yearning for the sweet-smelling bushes that she had coaxed into growth against the odds in the small garden of her Scottish childhood home.
“But if one is lucky,” her mother had continued “one will find enveloping love, even if it is only for a short time. And if one is luckier still, one will find someone to cherish and be cherished by for a lifetime. Oh yes, and it is important to marry someone who listens, and of course you must listen too, not just hear. There is a big difference between the two. I want you to learn to listen so that you make choices about the way you lead your life rather than falling for any opportunity that presents itself.”
A knock at the door interrupted May’s thoughts. A child of