Lucy Gordon - Princess Dottie

“But what about the 'faraway' you mentioned? What about the lands of your dreams? Don't you ever have dreams? You've got your café and your garage mechanic, and that's it?”

“You're having a go at poor Mike, aren't you? Look, I know he's not the answer to every maiden's prayer-”

“That depends what you think the maiden was praying for,” he said wryly.

She gave a choke of laughter. “Well, this maiden was praying for someone who was kind and good-natured, and who'd let her look after him.”

“That's what you like? Looking after people?”

“Of course,” she said, sounding surprised, as though it was a matter of course. “It's wonderful to be needed. I used to think-”

“Go on,” he said when she stopped.

“You mustn't laugh.”

“I promise.”

“Well, at first I wanted to be an actress. But then I used to think I'd like to be a children's nurse.”

“Why would I laugh at that?”

“Well, honestly! Me! I'm too dumb. I never passed any exams at school. In fact I never took any. There was just me and Grandpa by then and he was always sick so I bunked off school.”

“But that doesn't mean you're dumb, just caring. If there'd been someone to care for you, you'd have done well.”

“I did have someone to care for me,” she said firmly. “Grandpa loved me. It's just that things got on top of him a bit. Anyway, I couldn't be a nurse. It's not in my stars.”

“You read horoscopes?”

“No, not that sort of stars.” In a sudden expansive gesture she flung a hand up to the night sky. “Fate,” she said dramatically. “Destiny. There's a niche waiting for you somewhere in the world, that only you can fill.”

He'd once thought the same. His niche had been clear, and he was well prepared for it. But then it had turned out not to be his at all. “That's a dangerous doctrine,” he said somberly.

She sighed and went back to gazing over the water. “You're right. It's not good to dream too much. It's better to be a realist.”

“Maybe reality will turn out to be stranger than you think,” he murmured.

She looked at him. “You sound as though that meant something particular.”

“Nothing special,” he said hastily, trying to make his face and voice blank so that his pain wouldn't show. Mostly he kept that pain under stern control, but this disconcerting young woman had touched a nerve.

A cab rumbled by and he hailed it. “Let's go back,” he said.

The lamps were still on in Hanver Park, and as they climbed the broad steps Randolph became aware of something very curious. But for themselves the park was empty, yet the two mime artists were still there, earnestly gesticulating, oblivious to the fact that nobody was watching them. They seemed completely happy in a world of their own, where no audience was needed.

They stopped to watch. The entertainers continued in serene silence, their white faces ghostly under the lamps. After a while Randolph looked away from them, to Dottie.

She was entranced, oblivious to him, her eyes gleaming with the colored lamps, her lips parted in a half smile of delight. He wondered when he'd last been so happily unselfconscious, but he couldn't remember it. Perhaps never.

Dottie's radiant innocence was like a blow to his heart. She was so candid and trusting, so sure the rest of the world was as honest as herself. How could she realize that the man with her was the serpent in Eden, plotting to destroy her happiness? He would take everything away, first the world in which she was at ease, then the lover who meant so much to her. And in their place he offered wealth, grandeur and a kind of power-all of which, Randolph was increasingly convinced, would mean nothing to her.

She looked up at him suddenly. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing's the matter.”

“Yes it is. You were thinking about something that made you sad.”

Her shrewdness caught him off guard and for a moment he floundered.

“Is it me?” she asked. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No Dottie,” he said gently. “You've done nothing wrong. You've been delightful, all evening.”

The two artists had stopped miming and were watching them intently, looking from him to her, and back.

“Yeah, well, I gave you a laugh, anyway.”

“More than that,” he said seriously. “I think you're one of the nicest people I've ever known.”

A soft breeze had sprung up, making her hair drift about her face. Randolph couldn't take his eyes from her.

“It's been a lovely, lovely evening,” she sighed. “Like magic.”

“Yes. A kind of magic. That's just what it was.”

Dottie became aware of the anxious gaze from the two white faces. “What's up with you two?”

“I think they want me to kiss you,” Randolph said, and putting his fingers under her chin, he lifted it and bent his head.

He made no attempt to put his arms around her, and his lips barely touched hers. It wasn't passion that she felt in him, but tenderness, a continuation of the enchantment that had pervaded the whole evening. When he lifted his head he saw that she was smiling. He smiled back, then, turning to the two mimes he said, “Thank you.”

Their response was to jump for joy, dancing around Dottie and Randolph. He took some money out and again tried to give it to them. “Won't you let me show my gratitude?”

But, as before, they shook their heads. Then they turned and ran away, hand in hand, until they vanished into the darkness of the trees.

“Why did you thank them?” Dottie asked, speaking as in a dream.

“Because without them I wouldn't have dared to kiss you.”

“I'm glad they wouldn't take money,” Dottie said. “That would have spoiled it somehow.”

“Yes,” he said, in quick appreciation. “It would.”

Dottie didn't say anything, but stood looking at him in unutterable content. This was part of the glory of the whole evening. It was as though time had been suspended for a few hours. Later it would start again and she would become her real self once more. But nothing would be quite the same.

They wandered on out of the park until they reached the hotel, which was in darkness.

“Got your key?” she asked.

“Later. I'm walking you home.”

“It's only two streets away.”

“A gentleman doesn't let a lady walk home alone.”

And the spell could last a little longer, she thought happily. They walked the two streets in silence and stopped outside a shabby brick house, three floors high.

“Good night, Dottie. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“It should be me thanking you. I've never-” she laughed and sought for words. “I've just never…just never…”

“Never drunk white burgundy?” he said, smiling. “Never eaten nouvelle cuisine?”

“Never talked like that,” she said. “It was nice to fly.”

“Don't you want to keep on flying?”

She shook her head. “But it was nice to do it once.”

“You're so certain that it will never happen again?”

He thought for a moment that she would answer, but then she backed off like someone who'd seen danger. “I've got a real life to live. You can't do that flying.”

“But-”

“I have to go in now,” she said hurriedly. “Good night.” She ran up the short path to the front door.

“Good night,” he said regretfully and turned away. But before he'd gone more than a few steps she called out to him. “Yes?” he said hopefully.

“Don't forget to miss a step as you go into your room. Otherwise you'll hit the wobbly floorboard.”

“I'll remember.”

“Have a good night, and I'll bring you a real English breakfast in the morning.”

“Thank you,” he said, trying to conceal his feelings at the prospect of this treat. “Good night.”