The White Dove. Rosie Thomas
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thank you,’ Amy said firmly.
‘I’ve never been to a party like this before,’ she added. ‘Where everyone seems to have so much to say to everyone else.’
Angel laughed. ‘Oh yes, there’s always plenty of talk. That’s half the trouble with armchair comrades like us. Too busy talking about what’ll happen when the revolution comes to actually do anything about making it happen.’
‘Can it happen without you?’
‘Most definitely,’ Angel said. ‘And what about you? Are you on our side?’
Amy thought suddenly of Chance and the cedar tree shading the cool grass, and of the hunger marchers sleeping in village halls on their endless walk to London. And then of Peter Jaspert and his fluent talk of trade tariffs.
‘I’m not on the other side,’ Amy said at last. ‘Although I’ve only just discovered that.’ At once, she felt that she was a traitor to everything she knew. Quickly, to cover up her own uncertainty, she asked, ‘Does Tony Hardy come here a lot?’
Angel glanced curiously at her. ‘Tony comes and goes. Got his own fish to fry, as they say. As far as all this goes, he’s less committed than some but his heart’s in the right place. Does that tell you what you want to know?’
Amy wasn’t sure what she wanted to know.
‘What about Jake Silverman?’
‘Yes, everyone always wants to know about Jake. He’s probably much more like you than you would think. His father and the rest of his family are in the garment trade, rather prosperously so. Jake turned his back on all that when he was eighteen. I think he’d describe himself as a full-time political activist now. He supports himself by working in the Left Bookshop downstairs, and writing the odd article for the quarterlies. He lives here with Kay.’
‘Kay’s his wife?’
‘No,’ Angel said coolly, ‘not his wife. Kay doesn’t believe in marriage.’
Amy began to laugh, so that Angel stared at her even harder. She was thinking of Johnny Guild and his friends, and Peter and Isabel in St Margaret’s, Westminster.
‘I don’t think I do, either,’ Amy said.
‘I imagine not, if you’re going about with Tony Hardy. Here he comes now, looking for you.’
In the next room, someone was piling records on to the ancient gramophone. The music was very loud and very crackly, and there was hardly room to move, let alone to dance. Tony bowed gravely and held out his arms.
At once Amy lost track of the evening’s progress. She had the impression that the party was in full and noisy swing, and that a telephone had been ringing insistently somewhere. She was startled when Jake crossed the room and turned the music off.
‘Sorry, everyone.’ Jake grinned at them. ‘Complaints department. Either the row stops or the police arrive.’
Tony found Amy’s coat for her, and the hat that had been rolled up and stuffed in one of the pockets.
‘Good night,’ Jake boomed from the top of the stairs. ‘See you next time, Tony. And you, Amy Lovell, whoever you are.’
Amy smiled to herself. She wanted to come again. She definitely wanted to come again, and not just because of Tony Hardy.
Out in the darkness she began to walk briskly the way they had come, back towards the bus stop. Then she realized that Tony was still standing at the kerb, and that he was laughing at her.
‘D’you imagine that we’re going to catch a bus at one in the morning? This way. We’ll have to look for a cab towards Oxford Street.’
‘You’ll have to pay,’ Amy reminded him. ‘I put my taxi money in the hunger hat.’
‘I think I can manage. You may do it next time.’
They found a cab, and Tony handed her into it. In the familiar stuffy interior Amy leaned back in her seat. The wine she had drunk and the relaxed atmosphere between them made her ask, without thinking very hard, ‘Angel Mack said something odd. I told her I didn’t think I believed in marriage, and she said something like “I’m not surprised, if you’re going about with Tony Hardy.” What did she mean?’
Amy thought she saw Tony’s head jerk round, silhouetted against the street lights rolling past outside. But then he was so still that she thought she had imagined it.
‘I’ve no idea,’ he said smoothly. ‘Possibly pique because I’ve never made a play for her myself. Practically everyone else has. But I shouldn’t pay too much attention to what Angel says. She works very hard at being modern and hardboiled, and a good deal of it is just for effect.’
‘I liked her,’ Amy said.
‘I like her too. But it doesn’t mean I have to trust her, or believe what she says.’
The silence that followed was awkward, and Amy wished fervently that she had kept Angel’s remark to herself. In the end Tony said, with his old lightness, ‘My views on marriage are the same as yours. So we don’t need to mention it again, do we?’
‘No. Why should we?’
But neither of them could find anything else to say, and the cab rumbled to a stop in Bruton Street. Tony paid the driver, and they got out and watched it rattle away again.
‘Don’t you need him to take you home?’ Amy asked. ‘I don’t even know where you live,’ she added sadly.
‘Not far from Appleyard Street. I’ll walk back. I like walking at night. It’s my thinking time.’
In the shadow of the front doors, Amy fumbled in her handbag.
‘Don’t you have to ring to be let in?’
‘Not after midnight. I agreed it with Mother. It isn’t fair to Glass and the footmen. I’ve got my own key. Father doesn’t know.’
Tony put the key in the lock for her, and the door swung open. He didn’t even glance inside at the cavernous hallway.
‘You do have quite a lot of freedom, you know. You shouldn’t complain.’
‘I’m not, any more. Good night, Tony. Thank you for this evening.’
Amy turned to him, and Tony saw the curve of her cheek, and the shadow of her eyelashes under her hat brim. He kissed her, very quickly, just brushing the corner of her mouth with his own.
‘Good night,’ he answered.
Amy felt a faint, vanishing flicker of disappointment. But what else could she expect from him here in the front doorway?
‘Next time I take you out,’ he added, ‘we’ll do something more orthodox. Dinner, perhaps?’
‘Yes, please.’
He was turning away when Amy called after him.
‘Tony? Are you a Communist?’
He chuckled. ‘There are a number of shades of opinion to the left of Peter Jaspert, you know. No, I’m not a Party member. I belong to the ILP. The Independent Labour Party. Good night, Amy Lovell.’
Amy closed the big door quietly behind her, and made sure that the bolts were secure. Then she walked slowly up the great curve of staircase. On the first floor, where in the daytime a high glass dome brought light spilling down into the well of the house, she stopped under a line of portraits. The King’s Defenders, back over the centuries. Would Gerald, she wondered, take up the ceremonial sword to defend his Sovereign against Jake Silverman, and Kay and Angel and even Tony Hardy, when their revolution came? And on which side of the barricades would Amy Lovell be standing?
‘I’ve no idea,’ she said aloud to the row of impassive faces. ‘I’ve no idea at all. I should start thinking about it, shouldn’t