The Soldier's Song Read Online Free Page B

motion of the dancers was hypnotic and he felt himself slipping into a trance as he watched them fly past. Now and then a familiar face appeared in the throng. There was Mary D’Arcy herself, flashing by in a turquoise gown and diamonds. He followed her for a few moments, watching the bob of her head and the flash of her smile. Ah, Mary, Mary, quite contrary! Strange how little she moved him now. He remembered the first time he ever saw her, how smitten he was. He thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever set eyes on: as small and delicate as a doll, with a porcelain-white face and dark green eyes. He’d craved a smile, a look, anything to show that she had noticed him, but eventually he realized that it would never come. He’d screwed up his courage once and bid her good morning, braving the curious looks of her friends as they walked to an early lecture. She’d smiled at him then, but it was merely polite, nothing in the eyes, and when he walked away he’d heard them laughing behind his back. He’d hated her then, but even that had faded and now he realized that she meant nothing to him, neither good nor bad. It seemed to him that she hadn’t changed in three years. She was made up differently, she wore a different dress, but the essence hadn’t changed. He heard her high trilling laugh and knew it was the same laugh he’d heard before. Exactly the same – like the call of some exotic bird. There was nothing else to her, he reflected. All she had was her looks and her laugh. Nothing more. She was a doll.
    The band finished their tune with a decisive double note and the dancing couples came to rest, breaking apart and applauding. The sudden stop brought Stephen to his senses. He saw Mary again, clapping madly, and then her father appeared behind her, bending to whisper something in her ear. Impeccably dressed and plump as a pigeon, he had the smooth well-fed look of enormous wealth. A self-made man, by all accounts. A barrow-boy who’d managed to become the biggest bonded merchant in the city. But there was something faintly reptilian about him, something that made the flesh crawl. Maybe Joe wasn’t far off the mark: D’Arcy would buy and sell anybody to get what he wanted. But Stephen put that from his mind. It could be he was looking at his future over there. He would graduate next year and then he would need a job – and Richard D’Arcy might be the man to give him one. Actuarial work, he thought, and his heart sank. He’d be a glorified bookkeeper. He saw a small office with grimy windows and endless rows of figures stretching away into despair and middle age. It didn’t appeal to him in the least, but what choice did he have?
    ‘You are not keeping your end up, Stephen,’ Billy broke in, wiping his mouth with a napkin. ‘What’s the matter? Are you off your hay?’
    ‘I’m not hungry.’
    ‘Oh? Well, it’s your loss, because this grub’s lovely. What are you staring at? Well, well, if it isn’t the Belle of the Ball herself? Thinking of asking her for a dance, were we?’
    ‘No fear,’ Stephen said, without taking his eyes off her, and Billy nodded slowly to himself. Although he’d never said anything, he knew Stephen had once had notions about Mary D’Arcy. Foolish notions, to be sure, but perhaps all the more vulnerable for that.
    ‘Just as well, because she’s already spoken for. She is – what’s that word? Affianced. Yes, that’s it. The dear girl is soon to be married.’ He said this knowing full well it would get Stephen’s attention, and smiled complacently at the look of wide-eyed disbelief. ‘What? Don’t tell me you didn’t see the engagement notice in today’s Times?’
    Too late, Stephen tried to mask his surprise. ‘I don’t have time to read the engagement notices,’ he said gruffly. ‘Some of us have better things to be doing.’
    ‘Well, I’m surprised you missed it. It was practically on the front page. Mr and Mrs Richard D’Arcy, of New