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II

THE NIGHT THEY MET

April 1st, 1931.

By now I should be in my bed, but it is already well known that inspiration comes to me late at night, so I will continue to write.

My ribs ache because of the corset and my feet are blistered. As I explained in my previous entry, the night of March 31 would be the gala dinner of Ada's magazine. It took place at the house of one of her brothers, on the outskirts of Birmingham, and what happened tonight left a mark on my body and soul.

I've always had a tendency to exaggerate and over-dramatize things, and my friends have reminded me this whenever they could. Ada has been one of them and for that, I am eternally grateful. Without her advice and scolding, I would never have attended the gala: I was too nervous and expected the worst. After all, it would be the first time I read one of my poems in public. I was terrified of the guests, all men of culture, hearing the uninhibited poetry of a woman of my class.

My fears came true thanks to a certain man, but on the other hand I had the pleasure of being admired by my friend and her strange family, in particular by one of her brothers.

His name is Thomas, and I saw him for the first time during the reception.

I was stunned by the luxuries that surrounded me and was clutched at Ada's arm like a little boy clings to his mother's skirts. The cognac was swaying in the crystal glass because of my nervous pulse when two men and a woman approached us. The woman gave off an aroma of French perfume so strong that for a moment I felt more intoxicated by it than by the drink I was forcing myself to drink. Despite her age, she wore a beautiful red dress with a plunging cleavage and a necklace of pearls decorated her fine neck. One of the men was quite tall and slender and, behind the thick mustache, he looked as nervous as I did; the other one, however, had serenity painted on his angular face and, when he fixed his blue eyes on me, a chill ran through my body.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" The woman asked before raising the cigarette holder to her lips.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intimidated by the presence of those three. There was something particular about them, a certain attitude that did not correspond to the social class they were trying to represent. I knew that, like me, Ada had belonged to the working class before her family's business began to work extremely well, but that had been many years ago and, knowing the type of woman Ada was, I was struck that her family still had behaviors from the proletariat.

"Her name is Olivia Westerling, she's a poet, and we met in London," my friend introduced me. "Olivia, this is part of my family. She's my Aunt Polly and she's like a mother to me".

The woman reached out her gloved hand and shook mine with some haughtiness.

"Elizabeth Gray," she introduced herself. I understood then that the nickname "Polly" was only for the close ones.

"I'm Arthur." The man with the mustache hurried to say his name. "Ada's older brother".

"And he's my other older brother, Thomas," my friend said, finally introducing me to the other man.

Thomas didn't say a word. He nodded subtly and almost politely, then proceeded to ignore me completely. He had a cigarette between his fingers that soon put in his lips for a long puff.

"He is the homeowner, president of the Shelby Limited Company, and a Member of Parliament for South Birmingham," Ada said to me, somewhat uncomfortable by her brother's silence. Then she talked to him. "Tom, will it take long to serve the entree?"

"Ask Lizzie. She's taking care of that," said Thomas flatly. Immediately afterward, he nudged his brother and, with a slight nod, they both started to walk away. "If you'll excuse us…"

I noticed how Ada got suddenly tense ...

"Did she say I ignored her?" Tommy interrupted the reading. He had been trying not to give in to it but had failed.

"That's what she wrote." Ada shrugged. "I don't remember with so much detail what happened that night but I was the one who introduced her to you and I'm sure that you didn't pay that much attention to her," she added, and scrutinized him with her eyes."Was it different for you?"

"Very different." Tommy took a long sip from his glass of whiskey. For some reason he was offended. "That night I had certain things going on in my mind, you know well which ones, but ..." He took a second when he realized that the reminiscence overwhelmed him. "When I saw her for the first time, stuck to you like a little scared bunny and wearing that dress ..." Tommy took the cigarette Ada had left in the ashtray. His body was asking for nicotine in industrial quantities.

"I continue reading." Ada tried to ignore the anguish that had suddenly hit her brother.

I noticed how Ada got suddenly tense and approached her aunt trying to simulate calm.

"Polly, please tell me they're not going to do what I think they're about to do." Using a quiet voice, Ada spoke through clenched teeth. "Not tonight, please."

Confused and knowing that this conversation didn't concern me, I walked away from both women and, being hostage to that damn blue velvet prison called dress, I walked through the large room with little mobility. I held the glass of cognac with fear as I struggled to ignore the gaze of the other guests.

I tried to distract myself by admiring the mansion. I didn't know for sure if I was short of breath due to the tightness of the corset or anxiety, so I began to look at the paintings that decorated the walls. They were mostly portraits of Thomas, the owner of the house. However, I found one where he was not present and this was the representation of a beautiful blonde woman, whose gaze hypnotized me for a moment. I wondered who that woman would be, and found out when, a couple of paintings later, I found her again with Thomas by her side and a chubby baby on her lap. I assumed that she was his wife, and I surprised myself with a smile as I whispered: "It was obvious."

"Excuse me" A feminine voice appeared at my side and I couldn't help but startle. Turning my face, I found a rather tall woman with an adamantine face and light blue eyes. "Are you Miss Westerling?"

"Yes"

"Nice to meet you," she said. "My name is Lizzie Shelby, Thomas's wife". The confusion overwhelmed me and, being too abrupt, I looked at the woman who was speaking to me and then at the blonde one in the painting. Lizzie noticed this and let me see an expression of displeasure. "We are going to take a picture. If you want to be in it, go to the hall".

Thomas Shelby's wife hurried away from me just as I was about to apologize. I didn't know why I was going to apologize to a stranger but my attitude had struck a chord. Thomas had a house full of paintings of a woman who was not his current wife but who —my intuition told me— had loved too much. Much more than he loved Lizzie at the time.

"How observant you were, my dear Olivia," Ada whispered, then tore her eyes away from the page and stared at Tommy.

"What was 'obvious'?" Tommy ignored his sister's malicious comment. He had been brooding over a certain sentence.

"What are you talking about?"

"What did she mean when she said 'it was obvious'?" He asked the question impatiently.

"That could only be answered by her but I think she means that it was obvious that you would be married."

Tommy lifted his upper body over the desk and with a surprising speed for his drunken state, he snatched the diary from Ada.

"Oi!"

"I remember very well what follows: the picture, the conversations with people who weren't relevant, the tasteless entrees and all that shit." He took the last puff on the cigarette and put the butt in the ashtray. Victim of an unexpected anxiety, he began to turn pages. "I know this because I was watching her all night, even though she said I ignored her."

"Did she hurt your male pride?" Ada attacked with a mocking tone. "Olivia said you had ignored her the moment I introduced her to you..."

"I want to know what she wrote about main course," Tommy interrupted his sister. "Because, when we were sitting at the table, we exchanged glances and she got so nervous that ..."

"She spilled her wine," Ada finished the sentence for him. "Yes, she wrote about it, Tommy. And give me back the fucking diary. You are too drunk to read."

At dinner time, we all headed toward the sumptuous dining room. A wide table ran the entire length of the room, and a stack of chairs surrounded the wooden surface on both sides, full of silverware and chandeliers. Above the head of the table was a huge painting, the largest painting I had ever seen in the manor, where Thomas was once again seen, now holding a white horse by the reins.

I was aware that the Shelby's immeasurable fortune had begun to sprout on uneven ground: horse racing betting. Only a couple of times I had the courage to ask Ada about how her family had made to make such a large amount of money in that randomly linked field since I was afraid that the bussiness had taken a course far from the law. She always avoided giving me a direct answer at all costs and through her avoidance, I knew she wanted to make me understand that the Shelbys' business was not something I needed to inquire into.

As I said before, I'm a proletariat myself and I know, thanks to my own experience, how difficult it is to make a small place in a world governed and directed by and for the powerful. I was born in a London East End neighborhood; my mother was a teacher and my father worked in a small printing shop. Thanks to my father's work and the books he brought me whenever an impression went wrong, I learned things about the world that I could not have learned in the poor school I attended. I fell in love with the stories, writing ... and the aroma of ink. I was lucky. I was fortunate for the simple fact of knowing what should be basic for any human being, and that is why I don't understand how such a large family can go from living in the poorest neighborhood of Birmingham, to owning mansions in such a short span of time.

I'm laughing because, reading what I wrote, it sounds like I envy Ada. And no, I don't envy her. I adore her. Only Ada could give to me the opportunity I had tonight, and when Thomas gave her the seat at the table's head and she placed me on her right side, I understood that she wanted me to be the protagonist.

Thomas sat on the left side of Ada and was therefore facing me. At his side, his wife, and next to her, Arthur. Elizabeth Gray, or "Polly," sat on my other side, and I couldn't see where the rest of the guests sat because I concentrated on breathing. I was short of breath again.

Ada stood up.

"Before start eating, I'd like to thank everyone who came tonight and bet on this new project," she started to say. "We are living in a new decade and I hope that through this magazine new writers with new ideas, will be revealed." Ada smiled a little nervously. "That's it, I just wanted to say thank you".

Applauses preceded the servants with food of all kinds. I asked for some wine to accompany the beef because I understood that is what you drink when eating beef. Why? Supposedly it enhances the flavors of meat but, if I am honest, I am not sure.

"Olivia was your name, wasn't it?" Elizabeth Gray talked me as a butler served wine for her as well. I nodded, taking the napkin to my mouth: I was already chewing on a piece of beef. "Ada introduced us to you and telling us what you do but not how you two met".

"We met in London," I said, hurrying to swallow.

"Yes, she told us that, too. But where?"

"It was at an East End women's club in 1923. We met every Friday to discuss women's suffrage".

"Women already vote" Arthur snapped with his mouth full.

"At the time we met, only women over 30 did" I said. "Our club actively fought for everyone to vote" I explained, trying to be as polite as possible.

"Bah, that's not important" Arthur questioned after taking a long drink from his glass of wine.

"Arthur, you're an animal" Polly cursed at him with narrowed eyes and then looked at me, a little friendlier. "I assumed you had ideals similar to Ada's, although I see you both and find it hard to believe. You are like day and night".

"What do you mean, Pol?" Ada asked.

"Well, your friend doesn't seem like the kind of feminist who violates public property and chains herself in front of Buckingham ... does she?" Polly was giving her full attention back to me and I was becoming more intimidated.

Suddenly, I had become the center of attention at the table and everyone there was waiting for my answer. I tried not to look at anyone in particular and turned my attention to the salad in front of me.

"If necessary, I would, but, in my opinion, we must first use democratic ways..."

A thunderous laugh from across the table made us all jump up and turn our heads toward the source of the sound. At the opposite head I met a man in his sixties, gray-haired but with abundant hair. His pale, wrinkled face was stretched with a mocking smile.

"And what would be the democratic ways, Miss?" Asked the man, who, although he had seen a couple of times at the reception, I did not know.

"We women have earned some participation in Parliament so…"

"Do you really believe that?" The man interrupted me. The silence at that table was terrifying and out of the corner of my eye I could see Ada squeeze the tablecloth. "Do you think women have their place in Parliament just because they were allowed to occupy chairs in it?" The tone in which he addressed me was increasingly disgusting. "You are wrong, Miss. The only way for women to be heard in Parliament is if they go to bed with a parliamentarian and if it occurs to him to repeat the stupidities said woman told him in bed."

"Lord Pennington ..." Ada mumbled and tried, unsuccessfully, to get the old man's attention.

"Unfortunately, men never remember what women say," Lord Pennington shrugged. "And even less so while we're focused on ... other business".

"I very much doubt that any woman has anything to say to you during such an act" Polly's voice was music to my ears, "since they would be too busy regretting."

I couldn't help but smile a little and Ada, seeing me in that state, smiled too. Arthur laughed out loud and Thomas and Lizzie exchanged a couple of words. The hubbub settled on the table.

"Well, I understand what you are saying, Mrs. Gray." Lorn Pennington spoke again. He was furious. "I am an old man and my young years are behind me but I am not the only member of Parliament at this table and his nephew, besides being a member of Parliament, is much more handsome than I am, right? What do you think, Mr. Shelby?"

Thomas raised his eyebrows and looked a little surprised.

"Do I have to answer this question in front of my wife?" Ada's brother tried to dodge the responsibility of issuing an answer.

Lizzie looked at him and forced a smile before speaking.

"Come on, dear. Don't make me look like a jealous woman. " For some reason, Lizzie Shelby fixed her feline eyes on me. Undoubtedly, the painting situation had upsetted her greatly. "I'm also interested in knowing your opinion. I have always been in favor of women's rights."

"In that case ..." Thomas cleared his throat as if he were going to give the speech of his life. He was very handsome, and from the other side of the table, I could smell the fragrance of his cologne "I think you, Lorn Pennington, are immensely wrong."

"Am I? Can you tell me why?" The decrepit old man insisted. At that point, I already hated him. "Did some woman manage to get some of her whims "through you" to Parliament?

"No," Thomas denied, "and if they had tried, I would have ignored them."

"Tommy, what the hell ...?" Ada scolded quietly. Something threatened to break inside me for a second.

"I wouldn't have listened to them because I think women are capable enough to make themselves heard." Listening to him, whatever was about to break, remained intact. "You see. Without the help of anyone and doing everything by their own they managed to get the female vote. It doesn't matter if they did it by setting Scotland Yard vans on fire ... like my sister did" the guests, Ada included, laughed. "or using more peaceful ways like Miss Westerling here..."

He looked at me. And although it was not the first time we exchanged accidental glances that night, it was the first time that I felt something different in his eyes. As he caught me still smiling at the comment he made regarding Ada, a sparkle passed through his eyes and I felt myself dying. I was alarmed, nervous, and tried to hide the heat that was rising on my face having my glass of wine. My hands, sweaty from all that situation, played a trick on me and the glass slipped from my fingers, pouring all its content onto the spotless white tablecloth, the salad bowl and Ada's plate.

"Olivia!" Ada exclaimed, alarmed.

"I'm so sorry!" I apologized, trying to clean the wine with… white napkins.

"Don't worry, my dear," Polly said to me, with a certain suspicion in her expression. Something told me that she had realized what had caused my stupidity. "Servants are coming to clean up this mess. What were you saying, Thomas?"

"I forgot" Thomas snapped, satisfied. He was obviously happy that he didn't have to keep talking.