Ellini raised her hand to her mouth. At some point, she had got to her feet, but she didn't remember doing it. "Elisabetta walked through—?"

"It might have been all right," said Sergei. "The light-level was low—only one guard had really seen it. But she panicked when he yelled, and tried to run. I suppose it had become second nature to her. I pretended to stumble and knocked into the first guard, but there were two of them, and they both had guns."

He stretched out his legs and then drew them in again, as if he thought he could ease the pain of this memory by finding a more comfortable position to sit in.

"I remember thinking that the bullets would pass right through her—because she was panicking, and she always became insubstantial when she panicked. But they didn't. She was still alive when the guards dragged her back to Bucharest to await deportation to the colonies. One bullet wound in the thigh and one in the shoulder. I don't even know if she lived long enough to see the prison colonies. That was the last time I saw her."

"And what did they do to you?" Ellini mumbled, her hand still clamped in horror over her mouth.

Sergei shrugged. "Nothing fatal, as you see. They didn't want to let me out of the country, but I had a place at an Oxford college by then, and nobody wants a diplomatic row with Oxford, no matter how godless and demonic they consider the city to be."

"I'm sorry—"

Sergei winced. "Please don't. This is the whole point of the story. It is not your fault." He got up, looking a lot older than he had when he'd started the story, and went back to the box he had left on top of the glass case, toying thoughtfully with the ribbon.

"I know every man is supposed to think you resemble his first love, but the likeness between you and Elisabetta really is remarkable. The horrible past, the patient listening, the dark, inscrutable eyes. All I want is for your life to be different from hers. That is why I would like you to marry Jack. I never knew what Elisabetta wanted. She never gave the impression of wanting anything. It was as though she had got to the stage where everything was just currency for survival. Going to bed with a man was as prudent as locking the door at night. In a life like that, it's the frivolous things that suffer. And so I think you should have a chance to be frivolous. Wear pretty dresses—go dancing—marry handsome, thoughtless young men because you can. I am not saying you're shallow—and still less am I saying that Jack deserves you. I'm just saying that you must follow your desires at this stage, because anything else would be horrible. Do you understand?"

Ellini looked at him, forgetting to keep her eyes resolutely trained on the floor. She didn't think she had ever really seen him before. In her head, he had just been a victim of her demonic symptom—someone whose life she was sure to ruin—another reason to hate herself. She had forgotten that he had a will of his own. Maybe all the men she influenced had a will of their own.

And if they could choose what they did, despite what they felt, then maybe it wasn't her fault.

The consequences of that idea were fluttering just on the edge of her awareness, like a window that had banged open somewhere out of sight. But her mind couldn't help veering back to the story—to Elisabetta.

"You know, I think I understand why she was so nervous at the border," Ellini mumbled. "She thought it was too good to be true. She had the chance of a new life in Oxford, and a proposal from a good man—"

"And yet you have both those things, and you're still determined to die the day after tomorrow," said Sergei. "Funny how these things go."

Ellini stayed silent. But Sergei could never be angry—if you could call that anger—with anyone for long.

"Anyway, I bought you this." He indicated the box. "I just saw it and thought of you. In fact, as it turns out, this dress was made with you in mind. I pointed you out to the tailor to ask whether he thought it would fit you, and he told me you were the inspiration behind the whole design. He'd seen you walking through the city and was captivated by your elegance—as well as the rather inelegant way you moved. He wanted to design a dress that would make even your motions seem graceful. Only, he couldn't decide which colour would suit you best, so he made two—one in red and one in white."

Ellini stared at him. "Have you been talking to Manda?"

"Manda? Why?"

"I just—" she hesitated, then shook her head. "I'm sorry—please go on. You were telling me about the colours?"

Sergei gave her a puzzled smile. "Well, he asked me to choose, since I knew you."

"What did you choose?"

Sergei laughed at her agitation. "I didn't realize you had any strong views on the subject. I just chose the one I thought was nicest."

"But which was nicest?" she insisted, taking a step forward.

Sergei, still chuckling, motioned towards the box. "Go ahead—open it up. It's yours now. I hope I got it right."

Ellini approached the box, feeling as though she was climbing the steps to the gallows. She realized she'd already been allowing herself to hope. She had already accepted Jack's proposal, in her head. All this time, while she thought she was being prudent and considering all the options, she had been climbing out of the gloom. And climbing to such a height that she would probably break her neck now, if the dress turned out to be red.

Blushing at Sergei's amusement, she fumbled with the ribbon. That took long enough, but then there was the lid to be removed, the crepe paper to be pulled back—and, of course, she had to make sure that what she had revealed really was the dress, and that another dress wasn't lurking under the folds of the first, ready to make a fool of her.

She pulled it out of the box and held it up, letting its full, satiny length unroll to the floor. She released the breath she had been holding at the same time.

It was white.

It was also beautiful. She wondered why that detail had never sunk in before. She must have passed the two dresses in the window of their boutique half a dozen times. But in her dark moods, the red dress had been the red of old, dried blood, and the white dress had been the white of dirty snow.

But this was dazzling in its purity. This was the kind of snow you would find at the top of some unscalable Himalayan peak—it was never walked on, and it never thawed.

It was altogether the sort of thing that the fifteen-year-old Ellini had imagined she might get married in, before Robin had come along, and put an end to all those childish fantasies about weddings and husbands. And, for the first time since then, she imagined how she might wear her hair with an outfit, and thought about matching shoes. It was liberating and embarrassing at the same time. It made her giggle.

"Do you like it?" said Sergei.

"Yes, I like it," she replied. "I'd like to see the girl who wouldn't. But you can't afford to buy me presents like this."

"Actually, I can. And this is because I am not a penniless ex-warlord, whose only way to stay out of prison is to take pills for a living." He sighed wearily, and his smile became gentler. "Although I am prepared to admit that he has other qualities. You will marry him?" he went on, wincing in that good-natured way of his. "You will stay with us?"

"I will," said Ellini, still giggling at the thought of matching shoes. "Of course I will."

"Good," said Sergei, sinking back into the stone chair, as though this was all he'd had the strength for.

***

That night, Manda dreamt about the white dress again. There was so much detail that she was sure it had to be a vision of the future. Even when she'd seen bright red blood seeping down the steps of the Turl Street Music Rooms, it hadn't been as vivid as this.

In fact, the white dress seemed like a creature in its own right, swishing and shimmering around the dark streets of Oxford. Of course, it was draped over a girl who had a very awkward way of moving. Ellini's back and shoulders were always slightly slumped, her head always bowed, in a desperate bid to avoid eye-contact. In this dream, she was walking through empty streets, but she was clearly not going to risk looking up anyway.

In honour of her dress, the long gloves which took the place of her usual black ribbons were white. Nothing could be done about the hair, though. It was tied back, but little, voluptuous clusters of it still hung down behind her head, bouncing as she walked.

Manda saw her pass the steps of the Turl Street Music Rooms. For some reason, an American flag was flying from a flagpole in the forecourt. There wasn't much wind, so the flag was as slumped as Ellini's shoulders. She didn't glance at it, but something at the bottom of the steps seemed to catch her eye, and she bent down to pick it up. It was a little posy of forget-me-nots. Ellini scooped it up as though it had been left there for her—as though she'd been expecting it—and then walked on.

Manda's eyes followed her down Cornmarket Street and St. Aldates, to the smart new River Club by Folly Bridge. Manda had walked past it at night hundreds of times. From the bridge, you could see down to the wooden promenade beside the river, where fashionably dressed ladies were waltzed about by their partners.

Soon after going into the club, Ellini appeared on the promenade and made her way towards Jack, who was waiting for her by the bandstand. They talked for a few minutes, leaning close to each other so their voices could be heard over the noise of the band. Ellini drained a glass of wine with unseemly haste for such a genteel woman, and smiled when Jack placed another one before her.

She wished she could hear what they were saying. She felt as though this whole alternative future would be unlocked if she could only hear them. Were they happy? Did Jack remember her now? And who was lying across the steps of the Turl Street Music Rooms while they were here, enjoying the moonlight?

Ellini drained her second glass, then Jack offered her his hand and led her onto the dancefloor.

And it was the most triumphant expression of the white dress, with all its clean, cascading satin and swishing skirts. It billowed out and around like the membrane of some luminous jellyfish. And even when Manda felt the dreamscape start to dim, and realized she was waking up, she kept her eyes fixed on that white shape as it was dragged away from her, down the long, dark road to the inevitable.

To be Continued...

***

Thank you so much for reading! If you've made it through to the end, you are the nicest and best reader in the world, and I'm truly grateful!

This story will continue in Book Two: Red, White and Blue.