The Blue Hour Read Online Free PDF Page A

around the heel of my hand. Mindful not to disturb Charles, I rock minutely back and forth, gaining little relief and even more frustration.
    Her eyes, with their singular shade; the way they seem to see straight past my careful barriers and directly into me. The sinuous gleam of her back as she leaned to the bar. The set of her mouth. Her scent. How I feel inside when I am with her.
    You’re worse than a schoolgirl, Rose. Giddy, foolish. I chastise myself, but I was never like that, as a schoolgirl. Good, dependable Rose. Turning my pillow in agitation, an unsettling thought arrives with the feel of cooler cotton against my cheek.
    I stare at the darkened mass of the wardrobe opposite my bed and genuinely question for a moment if I have imagined her. If Eve Soames, with her combination of girlishness and maturity, and the pronounced effect she has on me, is merely some fabrication of my overwrought mind—a protest against the hopeless banality of my life.
    No. She’s my secret. She is real.
    And she kissed me on the lips.
    I shift in the bed at the memory and two fingers slide against my opening. An image of red lips suddenly presses down on all my senses, pinning me to the bed. My mouth parts in a silent gasp, fingers soaked. Then I remember the dance tomorrow night, and despite Charles’s dire warnings, I fervently hope she’ll be there.
    * * *
    Before leaving the next evening I take more care with my toilette than I ever have. For the first time, I want to keep my hair down, but feel certain Charles would question it. Still, I spend several stolen minutes in front of my own dressing table, close enough to the mirror to see myself without my glasses and with my hair loose over my shoulders, imagining her sat beside me again.
    This evening, the familiar scenery at the hotel looks different somehow, like the stage for a play. Grace doesn’t seem put out by my meagre contributions to our conversation. I suppose she finds it normal, but her green eyes still follow mine on the several occasions I can no longer help scanning the room, nor contain my disappointment after.
    It’s gone half past ten by the time I finally see her. My heart, which has seemed lodged in my throat for most of the evening, leaps to my mouth when I catch a glimpse of the pale bare back through the press of bodies. I’m already half-raised from my chair before I realise she isn’t alone. Eve’s arm is wound around the waist of a man. A beautiful man.
    “And so I told her that... Rosina! What is it?” Grace’s tone seethes annoyance. “What?” She repeats sourly, with a sharp look in the direction I can’t help but stare in.
    They’re dancing now, the tall young man spinning her effortlessly to a tango. Her back is to me, just as before; she wears a black dress again, beaded this time. A red rose is tucked behind her ear. Her head is tipped in laughter.
    “Rose!”
    The song draws to an end. I can’t see either of them any more; I can see nothing through the haze of shame at my own fanciful imaginings.
    Worse than a schoolgirl. Giddy and foolish.
    I blink at Grace’s indignant face and finally register she has been speaking.
    “I just... excuse me a moment.” I’m gone before she can splutter a reply.
    My legs are jellied. I stagger through the forest of evening dress with no thought for where I might be going, beyond away. Dull, reckless jealousy—I recognise it, now—propels me forward, and near the bar I hear her laugh and turn towards it instinctively, then immediately curse myself.
    “Rosina?”
    When our eyes lock, the laughter fades from the scarlet. Her fine features wear a curious expression—nothing I might have expected. Not derision, or scorn. Pity, perhaps? I dig my fingernails into my palms.
    “You were dancing.” The words are out before I can stop them; I barely recognise the strangled tones as my own. I glance towards the door, but my traitorous feet won’t seem to move.
    “Freddie,” Eve says slowly to the