Opal Plumstead Read Online Free PDF Page A

present, never yet used. It said they were sherry glasses on the presentation box – as if we cared.
    ‘Here’s to clever Father,’ I said, holding my glass high.
    We all drank to his success and devoured our splendid meal, while the sweetbreads stayed in their pan. None of us were used to drinking alcohol, so we started laughing uproariously at the silliest things, and planning in detail the life we would lead once Father became truly rich and famous.
    ‘Now hold on, it hasn’t happened yet,’ he said.
    ‘But it will, my dear, I know it will,’ said Mother, reaching out and squeezing his hand. ‘You’ll be able to give up your position at the shipping office and live like a gentleman. You’ll simply go to work each day in your study.’
    ‘But Father doesn’t have a study,’ I said.
    ‘He will, once we move. Oh, to think we’ve a chance to better ourselves at last! We’ll rent a much bigger house – maybe one of those grand new villas overlooking the park,’ said Mother dreamily.
    ‘Hey, hey, not on fifty guineas’ income,’ said Father.
    ‘But that’s just this first novel to be published. You’ve written many more, haven’t you? Maybe they’ll publish them too. I’ll say this for you, Ernest, you’ve persevered all these years with little encouragement. God bless you, my dear,’ said Mother, sounding choked.
    A tear slid down Father’s cheek.
    ‘God bless you too, dearest Lou. And Cass and Opal. I don’t think we’ll be moving out of Primrose Villa just yet, but we can certainly indulge in a few little luxuries at last. Once I get that cheque you shall all have a trip to the dressmaker’s to order yourselves fine new outfits.’
    ‘Oh
yes
, Father, and new boots too, and gloves – and maybe one of my own hats!’ said Cassie.
    ‘Blue silk,’ Mother breathed, plucking at her brown worsted skirt.
    ‘Can I have a new paintbox instead of a dress?’ I begged. ‘One with thirty-four paints in the palette, like the one I saw in Gamages last Christmas?’
    ‘You can have all these, my girls,’ said Father, spreading his arms wide.

FATHER SET TO work that very night, correcting and amending his manuscript. Mother tiptoed up the staircase every so often to see how the work was progressing. She refreshed his genius with cups of tea. She even prepared a cold flannel in case his forehead was burning. They were still toiling in their different ways long after Cassie and I went to bed.
    I was too happy to go to sleep, and Cassie felt the same. After half an hour or so, she crept out of her room and into my cupboard.
    ‘Budge over, Opie,’ she said, clambering in beside me.
    ‘There isn’t enough room for me, let alone the two of us,’ I said, but I put my arms around her as she squeezed under the sheets.
    We hadn’t cuddled up like this since we were little girls and it felt very cosy, though Cassie’s abundant hair tickled my nose and her great curvy body was squashing me.
    ‘Fancy our pa getting a book published!’ Cassie murmured.
    ‘I always knew he would,’ I said, which was a total lie. I’d always
hoped
he would, but it had never seemed remotely likely.
    ‘You can’t seriously want a boring old paintbox instead of a new outfit,’ said Cassie. ‘Look, I’m sure Father will let you have both. So what colour and style of dress will you choose?’
    ‘I don’t want a new dress. I’m not interested in clothes,’ I said.
    This was a lie too. I was acutely aware of fashion. On rare train trips to London I stared at the young ladies trit-trotting elegantly about in their little heeled shoes, in their spotted silks, their lace-trimmed stripes. I marvelled at the colours of their costumes: subtle sage, soft violet, dusky blue. I was confined to my harsh schoolgirl navy. But it was the shape of modern costumes that unnerved me. They were soft and clinging, emphasizing the bust and clutching the small waists. I didn’t see how I was ever going to acquire the right shape,