Dancing In The Shadows of Love by Judy Croome

hoped Enoch believed me. I hoped he would look at me as he looked at Grace. For, since the day he put his arms around me, since I breathed him in, I have longed for him to touch me once more. To have him rest a hand on my back or a finger on my cheek with the same tenderness he reserved for Grace, Saint Grace, but never for me, not until that day the rebels had attacked us.
    Little Flower’s clamour for his attention became louder each day, until her cries drove me wild and I turned to Barry each night. With a civility that hid my growing panic, I invited him across to my bed. It didn’t help. Little Flower cried and cried for Enoch; she longed for him, only him.
    ‘How are the arrangements for the Hunt Ball coming along, Zahra dear?’ Grace asked. Childlike in her enjoyment of the crumpets she scooped the last drop of warm honey with a dainty Victorian spoon Barry bought me from one of his trips to the Old Land.
    ‘We’ve had a good response this year,’ I said. ‘The best. We’ve had miraculous donations pour in from the most unexpected sources.’
    They shared a glance, which annoyed me, so I added, ‘I’m the chairwoman this year.’ When Grace smiled at me—that irksome, affable smile that drew everyone to her—I was ashamed of my boast. That smile of hers bewitched even me, for, as she laid the tips of her fingers on my arm and bent towards me, I held my breath and longed for her praise, perhaps even her love. But I knew I should neither expect it nor want it, for love made me too brittle, too easily broken.
    ‘You’ve done well,’ she said and my body sighed as muscles, inadvertently tensed, relaxed. ‘But sometimes a small miracle helps too!’ She peeped across at Enoch in a way that said they shared a secret. One that belonged to them and them alone. I ached. I could never share what they had, for there was a force, an insurmountable barrier, binding them together and locking me out.
    I stood, my cup clattering in the saucer. Grace started at the noise and it pleased me that her link with Enoch shattered. He did not move. He sat and watched me with those sea eyes of his, until Little Flower’s cries, which daily became as raucous as the gulls that circled above the distant ocean beyond the mansion gates, nearly defeated me.
    I dug deep to silence her and ignore Enoch. From somewhere I found a smile to rival Grace’s dignity. ‘Will you be coming to the Hunt Ball this year, Grace? Barry and I have a few seats left at our table.’
    ‘Me, dear?’ Grace laughed. ‘I haven’t danced in years. Besides,’ she added as her smile drifted into a frown, ‘I don’t like the thought of hunting those poor animals.’
    ‘It’s a name, Grace, a name! One to remind us of the Old Land.’
    ‘But we’re not in the Old Land, are we, dear? Things should be different here.’
    I sighed and agreed and, to divert her from another ramble, said ‘Barry will dance with you.’
    ‘My Barry?’ she asked. A light descended on her face and coloured it with love and memories.
    ‘Your Barry’s dead,’ I said harshly, upset by her glow, and vexed, because I never expected her to be this difficult to manage. If she did not come to the ball, neither would Enoch. ‘Barry junior will dance with you.’
    ‘I’ll also dance with you, Mrs T,’ Enoch said.
    ‘Will you, Enoch? Will you come and dance with me?’
    He rose from the table, his body relaxed, but strong. His nod weakened me, even as Little Flower grew in strength and hunger. I shivered and wondered what would happen, if ever Little Flower’s ezomo broke free and Zahra lost The War .
    • • •
     
    I inspected my appearance in the long mirror in the bathroom.
    As he had stroked my long, chestnut brown hair and dotted kisses all over my high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes, my Daddy had called Little Flower beautiful. I preferred to call myself handsome. Zahra was a handsome woman, a strong woman. Tonight, I was pleased with my efforts. I was as