Lessons In Loving by Peter McAra Page B

continued. Now his smile became unashamedly nostalgic. ‘Sort of shiny pink.’ Once again, he amazed Kate with his unlikely knowledge of fragments salvaged from his past. ‘It went all the way to her ankles. I’ve seen girls at the Pioneers’ Ball wearing gowns rather like it. The men wear old-fashioned formal suits. Like you see in photographs of coronations and such.’
    â€˜You’ll wear a formal suit?’
    â€˜A dinner suit, most likely.’
    â€˜And dancing shoes for me?’
    â€˜I reckon your shoes could be pretty much the same size as my mother’s. Take a look later. Now what’s today’s lesson about?’
    ***
    Next morning, Tom stopped by Kate’s cottage on his way to work.
    â€˜You should take over my mother’s rooms for the day, Kate. Try on a few dresses and such. Go through her things till you find something that suits you.’
    â€˜Thank you, Tom. I will.’
    As she headed for the Big House, Kate realised that Tom hadn’t told her how to find his mother’s chambers. She must simply explore. She climbed the wide cedar staircase, now seeing it as a work of art—a beautiful antique. He’d told her the house had been built in 1840. The staircase breathed history. She pictured Tom’s mother sweeping down it, clutching the skirt of her gown in one white-gloved hand, holding the rail with the other, smiling at her little boy as he looked up at her, open-mouthed.
    Kate had work to do. At the top of the stairs, she gazed up and down the long corridor. Most of the polished cedar doors were closed. Near the corridor’s far end, she eventually found what must be Eleanor Fortescue’s chambers.
    As she opened the door, a whiff of perfume from another era tickled her nose. She slipped into the room’s sombre dark, feeling like a time-travelling intruder from the future walking back into the past. The heavy curtains were closed. She opened them a crack. Family photographs hung from the walls—weddings, children’s birthdays, a wharfside farewell awash with ribbons dangling from a ship’s deck down to the dock. In a dark corner she spotted a glass cabinet. It housed rows of trophies—silver cups, shields, a tangle of coloured ribbons. She peered at a large cup, strained to read the now-tarnished inscription in the low light.
    Presented to Thomas Fortescue
    Best Bull Rider, Under 12 Boys
    Croydon Creek Show 1886
    There were more cups and such. It seemed that all through his boyhood, Tom had been a star at country shows. Trophies for buckjumping, bareback riding, whip-cracking, winked back at her from the cabinet. Yet Tom had never mentioned his past glories. Why not? She’d ask him to tell her more when next they sat together over a leisurely breakfast.
    She opened a door of the tall wardrobe which occupied a whole wall. It was packed with a still-dazzling array of long dresses. The gleam of silk, satin and taffeta caught her eye. A musty smell wafted over her, carrying her back in time.
    She must force her mind back to the present. She had Tom’s permission to indulge in a visit to the fairytale world of Australia’s pioneering gentry. One by one, she lifted hangers from the wardrobe, then slipped into a succession of shimmering ball gowns, admiring herself in the full-length looking glass. The elegant woman who smiled back at her was not the Kate Courtney she’d come to know over a lifetime. Looking-glass Katherine was glamorous, elegant, seductive. Kate moved her hips, her hands, slipping into poses she’d seen in ancient fashion magazines. Looking-glass Katherine smiled back, sophisticated, glamorous.
    At last Kate chose a gown which cast a magic spell round her the moment she slipped it over her head. The bodice was satin, the colour of clotted cream. The neckline revealed an appropriately subtle hint of bosom—modesty spiced with a whiff of the flirty coquette. It would be fun to show