Grant & White's bookshop. London, 1959

Patricia Taylor glanced up from the books on chamber music she was pricing up. Somewhere, someone was whistling. Reasonably competently, it must be said, but really! Whistling! In a bookshop! She frowned, irritated by her inability quite to catch the tune, as much as by the inappropriate noise.

The whistler stopped suddenly, then restarted at the beginning. Patricia listened despite herself until the unknown person got to the same point and stopped again. When it happened a third time, she tutted in irritation, closing the door to the music department and returning to her work.

By then the tune was unfortunately lodged in her mind and, it being vaguely familiar, she found herself humming it: a pleasant waltz, a happy tune with a tug of loneliness underneath. Gosh, it was annoying! Almost as annoying as hearing the unknown whistler not quite manage to get all the way through it.

Revelation came while serving one of her regulars: it was from 'Sleeping Beauty', Tchaikowsky's masterful ballet. Her gasp of relief alarmed the elderly man, and she had to apologise and explain. They discussed the ballet's merits for a while, agreeing that they'd always preferred it over his other two. The old chap also went away humming the tune to himself.

Patricia briefly allowed herself to enjoy the guilty memory of being an oboist in the orchestra of a repertory company back in her working musician days, in the late '40s; they'd taken 'Sleeping Beauty' on tour all over the North and Midlands. She hadn't thought about those days very much since – deliberately so – and she was surprised at the warm happiness of the memories: the full audiences, eager for some culture after the War; the sights and sounds and smells of new places; the great good fortune of being chosen to take part in such a tour; the camaraderie amongst the members of the company...

Such happy times! Although always tainted by an unexpected friendship with a desperately pretty young dancer in the corps de ballet, which had so very nearly got out of hand.

Thanks goodness Patricia had drawn back from it in time. The girl had been upset, making a dreadful scene one night in their boarding house somewhere near Doncaster, but they had managed to avoid each other for the rest of the tour, and as soon as they had returned to London, Patricia had given up playing, not feeling able to trust herself in such a relaxed and loose environment. She had retreated into a comfortably uneventful life at Grant & White's, where there was no danger of meeting anyone unsuitable and she could maintain the outward appearance of a respectable, if prim, spinster.

Without warning, she trembled with unwelcome and unbidden emotion as she recalled the agonies of loneliness which followed her break with the dancer, and had to steady herself against her desk. She chided herself for allowing such inner commotion to break out so suddenly, and breathed hard for a while to restore the calm lack of feeling she had so carefully cultivated in the years since.

Suppressing such shameful stirrings of longing for a previous life deliberately cut off, she sat down heavily and returned to her pile of work.

*

In time, she had almost managed to convince herself that the dry and erudite books, and her repetitive and rather dull existence amongst them, brought her comfort and satisfaction.

Her fragile peace that morning was disturbed again shortly afterwards, however, when the owner's niece bustled in. Miss White was around twenty-two, and had recently started work on the general sales side at the bidding of her father – who had decided his daughter's fresh ebullience needed taming. Thus far, it had had no apparent effect on the girl whatsoever. She still came to work in make-up and frocks with full skirts in a modern style which just managed to be appropriate by being in an acceptable shade of grey or black; her shoes were usually daringly high-heeled. She had even been known to share a joke with customers. (Although, as far as Patricia could tell, it was from a genuine friendliness, rather than any deliberate indecorousness.) Nevertheless, Patricia disapproved of young Miss White almost as much for her guileless joy in life as her resemblance to the young dancer she had spent a decade forgetting.

"Miss Taylor, I wonder if can you help me? I have this tune in my head..." The girl started to whistle and ignored Patricia's attempts to quiet her. "I just know you'll know it, and you simply must put me out of my misery. It's sending me almost mad."

Patricia refrained from mentioning how she had also been driven to distraction by it, and interrupted her snappily before she could start again from the beginning. "It's from 'Sleeping Beauty', Miss White." Part of her was reluctantly impressed by the girl's confident ability to whistle in tune.

"Oh well, I know that, I saw it the other day. But I feel sure it's from somewhere else before that."

They looked at each other in mutual incomprehension. Patricia recovered first. "You went to the ballet? I didn't know it was on..."

"The cinema, silly. Such a colourful film." The girl frowned. "Though I do always think the story is terribly unfair to us women."

"The cinema?" Patricia removed her spectacles and pinched her nose.

"Don't look so shocked, Miss Taylor. We'll have to go if you haven't seen it. I should love to see it again."

"I've never been to the cinema in my life, Miss White. I wouldn't know where to start..."

"Really, it's not a difficult procedure, Miss Taylor. You simply bowl up, buy tickets and sit down to enjoy the feature. I go all the time with one girl pal or another."

"Well." Patricia saw an escape. "Can't you take one of...of your real...'pals'?"

Miss White waved a hand airily. "Oh I haven't got anyone much at the moment. This job does restrict one's ability to make new friends somewhat."

"Miss White, with respect, you and I are not friends." Patricia tapped her desk firmly. "Not 'pals'."

Miss White leaned in a little with a grin, and laid her hand on Patricia's arm for a moment. "Not yet, Miss Taylor. But I dare say we could be the most enormous pals, if we let ourselves be." She straightened up and narrowed her eyes slightly as she noticed a look of alarm flash across Patricia's face. "I'm sorry, I realise I can be terribly forward sometimes. I must learn to behave myself." She smiled ruefully, and suddenly her tone was much gentler. "Why don't you consider it, and I'll repeat the invitation tomorrow? It might be fun."

"Fun?" Patricia sighed weakly. She felt helpless and exposed under the girl's relentless attention, but couldn't deny that somewhere, deep inside, Miss White's blundering enthusiasm had perhaps begun to stir something – a sense of there being more to life after all, a hint of new possibilities. It had been a long time since Patricia had even entertained the notion of having fun for its own sake, and she was surprised how appealing she found the idea.

*

Miss White was true to her word, following up on her invitation to the cinema almost every day after that, for a week.

Each day, Patricia proposed a different objection, which she had spent the previous evening devising as it seemed easier than allowing herself to be tempted. Miss White promptly demolished each one:

"Would it not look a little odd, someone of your age taking an old fogey like me to the cinema?" - "You're not old, Miss Taylor." - "I am thirty-four, Miss White." - "Precisely."

"I have nothing to wear, I shall look terribly plain." - "It's dark in the cinema, Miss Taylor. No-one will know, apart from me, and I shan't mind."

"Why do you insist on asking me?" - "Because you are cleverer and more cultured than me, and I like that in a friend. I should like to see what you make of the experience. And although we are vey different, I wonder if we mightn't find we have things in common, too. You see, your severe exterior notwithstanding, Miss Taylor, I believe you will prove a most interesting and rewarding companion."

Patricia wondered why she felt no need to correct Miss White's familiarity – or indeed why she did not find it as presumptuous as she ought to. Eventually, she gave in. "Miss White, if I finally agree to accompany you to the cinema, will you stop barging in here every day, and let me get on with my work?"

"Why of course, Miss Taylor." She smiled sweetly, and Patricia felt her irritation begin to dissolve. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it very much," the girl continued quickly. "It's a new animated film from America, but the Regal is only showing it for another two nights now. Would you like to go tonight or tomorrow?" Her face lit up as a new idea occurred to her. "Why, if we go to an early showing tomorrow, we can have tea in the Lyon's afterwards. I should so like that. You're not working tomorrow, are you, Miss Taylor? I checked the roster earlier..."

Patricia was becoming used to feeling as if the whole situation was now utterly beyond her control, so seized on an irrelevant detail. "If it is an animated motion picture, is it not for children?"

"I dare say, partly, but all sorts of people go to see all sorts of films. We shouldn't make the oddest couple there, I guarantee."

Patricia shook her head weakly, allowing herself to be overwhelmed by the onslaught of cheerfulness. "I...no, I'm not working tomorrow. Very well." She held up her hands in resignation, and was taken aback by the sunniness of the smile Miss White gave her in return.

*

The next day, as the time for their rendez-vous approached, Patricia somewhat nervously brushed off the most attractive frock she owned from the very back of her small wardrobe – it was horrendously out-of-date, having been purchased as a treat over a decade before with her carefully-hoarded clothing stamps, but it did have the virtue of still fitting her and was quietly attractive with its red polka-dots on a grey background. Wearing it again felt strange – but also thrilling, as if it brought back some of the excitement and colour of her earlier life.

For the first time in a long long time, she spent a while dressing her hair, and shocked herself when she looked in the glass and found she appeared closer to her actual age than her usual middle-aged spinsterly image. She had no make-up, but she did find a small bottle of half-forgotten perfume in a cupboard and splashed it subtly on her neck and wrists.

She hadn't been out socially with anyone for years, but she couldn't decide whether the fluttering inside was nervousness at the unfamiliarity of the experience, or anticipation of doing something to break the careful monotony of her life as it now was. She had had to admit to herself that, now the possibility had presented itself in Miss White, she felt much keener than she had thought possible to break out of such dullness. She felt almost as if she were waking from the long, deep stupor of emotionless routine, to a new world of possibilities.

*

Miss White, who was herself in a full-skirted bright green frock, pinched a fold in the skirt of Patricia's dress when they met. "What lovely fabric." She let it drop. "I'm surprised to see you in such a handsome dress, Miss Taylor. But not disappointed. You look very charming."

Patricia felt her heart lift, and much of her nervousness dissipate – she was unused to looking the least bit glamorous, and it was immensely reassuring to be met with Miss White's frank and genuine approval.

The cinema's seats were plusher than she'd expected, and something about the enclosing darkness after the lights had dimmed, and the gentle pressure of Miss White's shoulder against hers as they settled back, gave a reassuring sense of comfort.

To her surprise, Patricia found herself beguiled by the skill of the film-makers – the figures were so credible, especially the human ones such as Prince Phillip, and the Sleeping Beauty herself, Aurora: Patricia wondered how a mere animation could be made to look and act with such realism, and be so attractive with her gorgeously flowing hair.

The film's score was mainly based on Tchaikowsky's tunes, which she found both charming and irritating – much like her companion, although by now she was much more inclined to find Miss White just charming. She could understand now why the girl had found the great Russian's original waltz tune so hard to shift from her head, because the score wove itself so skilfully around the action on screen.

She had to admit she was very much enjoying being out with someone, and glanced over at her companion. Miss White glanced back, and Patricia saw her return a wide and genuine smile in the flickering light from the screen as their eyes held for a moment. The frank pleasure Miss White evidently had in being out with her was beguiling and, for the first time in several years, Patricia felt herself truly warming to another person. She was long unused to knowing that someone found genuine pleasure in her and her company, and Miss White had pressed her friendship with such insistence that Patricia had begun to feel it would only be churlish to withstand her. In her more private moments, she had also recognised that she had no desire to be so distant in any case.

In the darkness of the cinema, she allowed herself to embrace the secretive thrill that it wasn't simply any sort of person, either, but an attractive woman, indeed!

At a moment of suspense in the film, Miss White suddenly seized her hand in the dark.

It was only some minutes later that Patricia realised they were still holding hands, and took hers back briskly. As she was flushing with embarrassment, she felt Miss White's hair on her cheek as the girl leaned in, her lips lightly brushing Patricia's ear. "I've seen this film three times now, and that moment always takes me by surprise. I'm glad you're here with me."

Patricia nodded, unable to move or respond in any other way. No-one had ever whispered so intimately in her ear in her adult life, apart from the dancer that one night when they had almost allowed themselves to go too far. She sat in the darkness trying to quell and control the swirl of shame, pleasure and nervous excitement the small – and no doubt, innocent – gesture had caused to arise inside her.

Yes! Innocent!

Miss White was merely being Miss White, and would mean nothing by it. By the time the dancer had got to the point of whispering intimacies in Patricia's ear, it was plain that they shared a shamefully powerful passion...but there was no such understanding between her and Miss White.

She breathed more easily. She had resisted the dancer and committed to resisting any such stirrings in herself since. She need not worry if she felt any for Miss White, as the girl was bound not to be similarly abnormal, so the temptation would not arise. Even as she thought this, Patricia felt a small part of her still-cautious happiness shrivel before it had even begun to grow properly.

To her surprise, Miss White slipped her hand into hers again, towards the end of the film during the climactic fight between the prince and the evil fairy, and held it in such a way that Patricia could not easily let go: her fingers linked through Patricia's with a gentle determination that caused Patricia's conviction to waver that the girl's friendliness was as innocent as she was persuaded to believe. Not least as it was approaching the moment when Aurora and Philip were bound to seal their future in a kiss...

She felt Miss White sigh beside her as the prince woke Aurora with the kiss, and squeeze her hand more tightly. Patricia was very aware of the soft fabric of Miss White's dress against the back of her fingers, and felt a frisson of pleasure at the realisation that Miss White's thigh was pressed really quite firmly against hers. Instinctively, Patricia squeezed the girl's hand in return before she could think about it, and deliberately kept her leg very still where it was against the comfortable solidity of Miss White's.

In the closing scene, after the high drama of the fight and kiss, Miss White leaned in again, pressing their legs and shoulders even more firmly together. If anything, her face was even closer this time, and her whisper was urgent. "Oh! How I do love to be kissed like that!"

Patricia nodded again, unsure how to reply and anyway pre-occupied in fighting the seductive, forbidden stirrings deep inside. She'd turned away from the dancer, and had refused to imagine what her kiss would have been like...seeing something like it on screen, however, after so long, made her tingle with a delicious, illicit excitement. She felt her years of self-imposed resolve melt quickly away and she finally allowed herself to yearn to taste another's lips. To yearn to submit to the desires she knew deep down had never really left her. To yearn to abandon herself to the arms, lips and body of a vibrant and beautiful young woman...

For a moment, Miss White rested her head on Patricia's shoulder, and Patricia gave in to her long-suppressed impulse to respond in kind. They sat there until the lights came up, only then letting go of their hands and moving apart, but didn't leave their seats until the theatre was empty.

*

On the way to the nearest Lyon's Corner House, Miss White linked her arm through Patricia's. "I could smell your perfume, when I was whispering in your ear. It was very nice, Miss Taylor." Her body swayed briefly against Patricia's.

Patricia felt herself lift a little straighter in pleasure.

*

Over tea, Patricia asked why Miss White should seek to be her friend. The girl replied that it was because she felt drawn towards her, saw something in her eye that belied the prim exterior and suggested a more passionate and interesting person than the world was allowed to see.

"I must tell you something, Miss White. Something very frank, which I hope you will take in confidence." Patricia could hardly believe she had reached this point, but knew she could not go back from it.

"Of course, Miss Taylor. I am better at keeping secrets than you might suppose."

"I...I fear I must warn you to be careful of my friendship. I had a very dear friend, one much like you, some years ago, and did not deal well with it. I fear I caused her no little hurt."

"Like me in what way, Miss Taylor?" Miss White was listening carefully and her expression was genuinely serious.

"She was young and very beautiful...it was when I was about your age and she was the same. She was open and passionate, like you. So unlike me." She sighed.

"Perhaps that is why she liked you so much." Miss White ran a finger over the tablecloth. "I take it she did feel deeply for you." She watched Patricia nod. "Well, then. That is why I like you, and I'm not surprised I'm not the first."

"You do appreciate what I am trying to say?"

"I believe so." Miss White smiled hesitatingly.

"There was a certain...understanding between us." Patricia sought a flicker of comprehension in Miss White's wide eyes.

Miss White held her gaze for a moment then looked down, surprisingly shy for once. "Was your friendship rather...intense?" Under the table, she moved her foot so that her ankle rested against Patricia's.

"Very." Patricia did not move her leg away, but was very aware of all the respectable people on the surrounding tables. She leant in and spoke quietly. "Not as intense as it might have been...I ran away." She felt her voice catch. "Despite myself." She glanced at Miss White, and was caught off-guard by the girl's earnest gaze. "That is what I am trying to tell you."

Miss White nodded and also leant in a little. "Would you react in the same way again, should the situation arise?"

Patricia looked out of the window and considered the question, although she already partly knew that she would probably not have the energy to fight such feelings so completely a second time. Perhaps, she thought, she should accept them and accept the chance she thought she might be being offered to allow them to flourish. In some ways, it seemed the easier choice. "No. I think I should be far less able to resist." She pressed her ankle against Miss White's more firmly and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Or willing to."

Miss White moved on her seat so that more of their legs touched under the table. "Then, Miss Taylor, I believe you and I might also come to an understanding." Another slight shift in her chair and, suddenly, their knees were touching.

Patricia took a moment to control her heavy breathing. "You have reawakened a side of me I had thought to hide away. Could you consider calling me Patricia? Outside work, of course."

"If you'd allow yourself to think of me as Rose."

They smiled at each other, and Patricia felt the dark burden of years of hiding from herself disappear in the light of Miss White's – Rose's – openly affectionate gaze. Patricia took a deep breath and deliberately touched her hand to Rose's on the tablecloth. Rose didn't move back. "I think I should like it very much, Rose, if we were to become close friends."

Rose White nodded, and smiled in such a way that Patricia was momentarily overwhelmed by a shiver of intense anticipation.