Cecilia does not want to press her, to unpick what the doctor may have said and what Odette has taken from it. It would be too cruel to wrench that hope from her, but there is a great tremor of fear beneath it. Such miraculous recoveries are not impossible, but they are rare, and she fears what may happen to Odette when – if – this fresh hope is shattered.
Odette bounces up, pulls Cecilia with her. ‘Come on – my father has said we must all go to the drawing room and hear it for ourselves.’
Cecilia follows Odette downstairs, where Uncle George, Claudine, Penelope and Leo are already ensconced in armchairs or pressed together on the settee.
The London doctor is very different to his country counterpart. He is long and thin, with a sharp nose and quick, intelligent eyes. He has less of a bedside manner, but Cecilia finds this leads her to trust what he says more.
He is already speaking when Cecilia and Odette join them.‘.?.?. all promising signs. If she pulls through, I am afraid she may be an invalid for the rest of her life and require diligent care, but I am pleased that she is keeping more food down, and there are good signs that the ulcers have begun to heal themselves. It is a tribute to your attentive nursing,’ he says to Claudine. ‘Mrs Fairfax-Waugh is lucky to have a sister so adept at the feminine arts. You will be a great aid to her recovery. It is the joy God gives to unmarried women to provide such careful ministrations.’
He smiles as he speaks, and Claudine inclines her head in acknowledgement. She sits stiffly upright on her chair, and Cecilia wonders if she is the only one who notices that Claudine is clasping her hands so tightly the knuckles show white through her skin.
There is some more light conversation. Odette is keen to have the doctor repeat his good opinion, at which she cries, to the discomfort of all, announcing the end of the gathering. Odette disappears back into Lydia’s room for the remainder of the day, and Penelope ushers Leo and Cecilia home, insisting that their intrusion is no longer wanted.
They eat a simple meal braced against the cold that the unending rain has brought with it. The turn of the weather has come sooner than expected, and half the chimneys still need clearing out of birds’ nests that have filled them through the summer, so there is only a fire in every other room. Cecilia’s bedroom is like ice, the bedding so cold it feels wet to the touch, and her muscles ache with the tension of holding herself against the onslaught.
When, late that night, Odette beckons her through the open window of her room across the road, Cecilia needs no second invitation.
It is trickier for them to find private ways to be together in London, in their two separate houses. Lydia’s illness has given Cecilia good reason to stay close to herfriend, but alsoammunition to her mother to insist that she does not disturb a household under stress. Her mother has a library of etiquette books to fortify her claims, and Cecilia struggles to counter them. But here, in the brief opportunity of night, when the house is locked up and the servants are busy with their final tasks, Cecilia knows how to climb out of her window, slip across the road and clamber up to Odette’s own room.
Odette waits for her at the window, to haul her in – and, once Cecilia is inside, Odette is on her at once, with an intensity that takes her by surprise. Odette’s hands pull at the collar of her shirt, at the hooks and eyes at her waist, as her mouth presses a hot line along Cecilia’s throat.
It is impossible to speak; Cecilia cannot find the words. It is easier to guide Odette to the bed, to introduce some softness to her touch. But still, Odette is hungry, desperate, Cecilia’s shift lifted up over her head while Odette remains fully dressed. It is never quite like this between them. Cecilia likes to lead, to serve, trying out each stroke of her fingers or lap of her tongue as though making an offering to her god, attentive to what is welcomed and what is spurned.
Now, it is as though Odette has become a vengeful, demanding spirit of old, capricious and instinctual. She pushes Cecilia back onto the pillows, kissing her with sharp teeth, biting at her throat, her collarbone, before covering Cecilia’s nipple with her mouth. Her other hand pushes Cecilia’s legs apart and strokes a line up the inside of her thigh.
Cecilia gasps and arches back, overwhelmed by the twin sensations.
‘Odette – slow – slow down.’ She is not sure she means it, but there is something wild and frightening about this passion, as though they are riding full pelt into a rising tide. ‘Talk to me.’
Odette gives her response with a scrape of an incisor across sensitive flesh, before moving her hand to dip between Cecilia’slegs. All thought dissolves like mist against the bright sun of Odette’s touch.
They have been with each other long enough that Odette knows too well exactly how to bring her pleasure, and Cecilia surrenders into it. If she tries to move, squirming against the building sensation or canting her hips into Odette’s hand, the teeth against her breast press dangerously close to a bite. Odette wants her submission, and Cecilia will give it to her. Cecilia would give her anything.
At some point, Odette moves to straddle Cecilia’s leg, grinds herself down against her thigh in rhythm with the movement of her hand, and they fall over the edge together, Odette’s voice muffled against Cecilia’s body and Cecilia with one hand across her own mouth to silence herself.
When they settle side by side on the bed, naked and clothed, Odette cannot look at her. She curls into Cecilia’s side, hiding her face against her body.
‘Are you – is everything all right?’ Cecilia asks, and it is so worthless a question, so profoundly inadequate.
After a moment, Odette says, ‘I do not know what I am.’
Cecilia strokes her hair.
‘Life is—’ Odette pauses. ‘It is too much. How can anyone endure it?’
‘I don’t know.’ And it is the truth. ‘We will weather it together. Promise me we will always be together.’
Odette is silent for too long. ‘No one can promise that.’
Cecilia swallows. It is a blast of icy Heath air across her skin.
No. She supposes no onecanpromise that.
But she wishes Odette would lie to her.
Cecilia slides free with a plea of needing to use the privy. She finds Odette’s dressing gown and slips down the corridor, a well-practised ghost. The whole household should be asleep, or she would not risk it.
‘This is not what I agreed to.’