Something Quite Beautiful (15 page)
Read Something Quite Beautiful Online
Authors: Amanda Prowse
‘Is it something about my leg?’ he yelled again.
‘Your leg? NO, NO. WOULD YOU CARE FOR A DEVILLED EGG?’ This time she over-enunciated every word. It took a monumental effort to stop her from laughing out loud.
‘I’m afraid I don’t care for much, lost my brother in the war y’see.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir, but can I tempt you?’ This time she lifted the tray until it was practically under his schnoz.
‘What is that?’ he asked, prodding at the softened offering.
‘They are canapés, sir.’
‘Cans of what?’
Dot felt her shoulders begin to shake. A ripple of laughter was working its way up her throat and down her nose; she felt fit to explode.
‘Excuse me a mo, I’ll be right back.’ She thought it best to make a hasty retreat to the kitchen and compose herself. Turning quickly, she failed to see that another devilled-egg seeker in military uniform was standing not a foot behind her. It was a collision of comical proportions.
The tray of canapés flipped from her arm and stuck to the front of his tunic. Squashed eggs and mayonnaise sat like a cloying, liquid blanket on his jacket. One hollowed-out egg was actually lodged on a brass button. Almost immediately the silver platter hit the floor with an almighty crash. Both parties bent to retrieve the tray and, with perfect timing, bashed their heads together, sending her flying along the newly polished wooden floor and leaving him clutching his forehead with mayonnaise-smeared palms.
Momentarily dazed, Dot was aware of several shouts of ‘Oh no!’ and the collective gasps of thirty of London’s finest watching as she went sprawling. She lay back and looked up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time that it was painted with the most beautiful mural. Fat-bottomed cherubs played harps and lutes in each corner and there was a gold table stacked high with bowls of fruit and flagons of wine. Clouds parted to reveal a heavily bearded God with his arms spread wide and beams of sunlight shining through the gaps. She was captivated. Lowering her eyes from the ceiling, she saw a circle of faces above her. Dolly-peg lady, greedy bastard and the dust-and-fish-paste gang were among them. Someone reached into the circle and held onto both her hands, then she felt herself being pulled swiftly upwards.
Finally upright, her attention was drawn to her right and the smeared khaki and tarnished brass of a uniform that had met with an unfortunate accident involving a platter of eggs. Dot bit her bottom lip. What had she done? Joan would go mad.
She looked up at her rescuer. Her breath caught in her throat and her knees buckled slightly as she swayed. She was staring into the face of a black man and he was holding her hands. She was caught somewhere between fascination and fear; she’d never seen a black person up this close before, let alone held hands with one. But what surprised her more than anything was that it was the most beautiful face she had ever seen. He was the piano player.
‘Are you all right?’ His voice was like liquid chocolate, deep, smooth and with an accent she couldn’t place, like American, but different. His big eyes, framed with thick curly lashes were so dark, she couldn’t see where the pupil stopped and the iris started.
‘I’m fine. You all right?’ she countered, looking at him through lowered lashes and wishing she had put more lipstick on.
‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you, but I’m not the one that’s been wrestling on the floor with men old enough to know better!’
‘D’you think anyone noticed?’ She smiled
The pianist cast his eye over the mess and the bemused onlookers. ‘No, I don’t think anyone noticed a thing.’
He hesitated. ‘I don’t know your name?’
‘Dot.’
‘Dot? As in dash, dash, dash, dot, dot—’
‘Yep, as in Dot.’ She smiled.
‘Is it short for anything?’
‘Ah, well, there’s a tale. Apparently me dad was one over the eight when he went to register my birth in Canning Town. Mum was still lying in and when they asked him my name, he couldn’t remember that it was supposed to be Dorothy – after Dorothy Squires, no less! – and so he said “Dorothea”, but I’ve only ever been known as Dot. That’s me, I’m just a Dot!’
He studied her face, her wide smile, the peachy skin with the smattering of freckles across her straight nose. Her eyes were wide and sparkling – whether from her bump on the head or something else entirely he couldn’t be sure.
‘But I think you are more than just a Dot. If you hadn’t been there to provide the evening’s entertainment, I’d still be stuck in there trying not to look bored. You have been the highlight of my evening so far – although the night is young.’
‘Ha! Let me tell you, I’ve met the whole gang up there and I am definitely the highlight of your evening.’
‘I think you might be right.’ He gave an almost imperceptible wink.
‘And when you are calling me Dot, what should I call you?’
‘Sol, short for Solomon. My dad wasn’t one over the eight when I was registered.’
‘Well, lucky old you. And what does Solomon mean?’
‘It means “Peace”.’
Can you ever escape your fate?
Somewhere in the wilds of Scotland, three boys await their fate. They have been sentenced to twenty years in Glenculloch, a remote prison for the most hopeless of criminals. The rumours say that it is run by a woman who thinks she’s God. A woman who decides what is ugly, and what is beautiful. A woman who decides who lives, and who dies...
A short story exclusive from bestselling author Amanda Prowse.
Praise for
What Have I Done?
‘A cracking page-turner’ —
The Bookseller
‘This story of a woman’s fight to rebuild her shattered life is captivating, heartbreaking and superbly written’ —
Closer
‘An absolutely gripping read… the characterisation is done superbly’ —
Iain Dale, LBC Radio
Praise for
Poppy Day
‘Great novel – let’s get it to number 1!’ —
Gok Wan
‘Poppy Day is a brilliant book, I couldn’t put it down’ —
Carol Vorderman
‘A rattling good book to curl up on the sofa with, I thoroughly recommend Poppy Day by army wife Amanda Prowse. She has turned her own fear and anxiety into a page-turning novel of loss and courage’ —Lorraine Kelly,
The Sun
‘A modern day love story’ —
Daily Mail
‘A fast, unputdownable read, Amanda Prowse adeptly fuses a tale of love and courage with the stark realities of war, both on the field and at home’ —
Red
‘This romantic story of courage and determination is simply captivating’ —
Closer
‘Army wife turns fear into fiction’ —
Sunday Mirror
‘Set to become a bestseller’ —
RAF News
AMANDA PROWSE was a management consultant for ten years before deciding to pursue her ambition to write. Her husband, Simeon, is a soldier, and they live in the West Country with their two teenage sons.
You can contact Amanda via twitter,
@mrsamandaprowse
or via her website,
www.amandaprowse.org
Stories to remember, long after the final page is turned...
Find out more at
www.headofzeus.com
Amanda Prowse’s
No Greater Love
sequence is a series of contemporary stories with love at their core. They feature characters whose histories interweave through the generations: ordinary men and women who do extraordinary things for love. They are stories to keep you from switching off the bedside lamp at night, stories to remember long after the final page is turned...
Ever since hairdresser Poppy Day married her childhood sweetheart, Mart, she’s been deliriously happy. Now Mart is fighting in Afghanistan, and Poppy is counting the days until he returns.
It takes one knock at the door to rip Poppy’s world apart. Mart has been taken hostage, and it’s too dangerous for the army to rescue him.
