And she led Evelyn away to a seat and a restorative glass of water. Neither spoke. The moment was too momentous.
That night, Evelyn avoided dinner. Little notes from Miss Everly were slipped under her door, and she enjoyed reading about the Luggs’ amusing faux pas with the pronunciation of a German count.
And then, as she was about to sleep, there was a knock at her door which she answered, and which brought her face to face with Livia the maid. A fresh bowl of water in her hands. Livia walked past her and placed the bowl on the dresser. She turned and smiled at Evelyn. Iss ya berfday soon, she said.
（Broken English with an unexpected cockney accent.）
Yes, said Evelyn. It is.
The night of Evelyn’s birthday, and vermouth was the drink du soir. Vermouth! Imagine! Miss Everly offered a toast about being twenty-one – all in verse, of course – before she led Evelyn into the dining room, into an exquisite setting of candlelight and scent. Sprigs of rosemary, slightly crushed, were draped over picture frames and woven into the backs of chairs, the small blue heads a perfect complement to the pots of violets running centrally down the table. The aroma was heady and majestic.
Evelyn sat down and Livia came out from the kitchen and smiled. She moved behind Evelyn, flapped out her napkin and placed it on her lap, somewhat slowly and sensuously. She did the same for Miss Everly but without the added tactile delight. Other guests entered and gasped at their evening of Italian authenticity and bellezza. Reverend Hyndesight was overcome and said grace before he sat down and Mr Collins bellowed, Well this is more like it! and took his position opposite Evelyn. He lifted the bottle of wine and filled the glasses around him.
By the time the rabbit, white beans and bitter greens were on the plates, two conversations played out either side of Evelyn and she found it hard to follow either.
To her left, Miss Everly was enjoying a heated disagreement with an American who was studying Henry James: the effect he had on the city of Florence and the effect the city of Florence had on him. Miss Everly loathed him from the start.
Oh no! said Miss Everly. I totally disagree. The factionalism of the Guelphs and Ghibellines, at its heart, was a struggle between Pope and Emperor. And in Florence, a permissible interfamilial war for power. Totally unnecessary and led to the exiling of my dear heart Dante. He never got over it. And frankly, neither have I.
And to her right, the reverend had just asked her a question.
Miss Skinner? he said. Can you think of one? An element of transformation?
Evelyn thought for a moment. Livia brushed past, which prompted her neural pathways to spark and caused a momentary flicker of the candles. Il calore è un elemento di transformazione, said Evelyn, looking at Livia who had begun to clear the table. Heat is an element of transformation, she said.
Heat? How interesting. You make it sound so positive, said Mr Lugg. Heat rather transforms me into a heaving blob. Ergo we travel in the autumn and winter months. I had to turn down a position in India because of the heat.
Not just because of the heat, darling, said Mrs Lugg.
No, no, no. Not just because of the heat.
And they looked eagerly about at their fellow diners, seeking a reflection of their own prejudice and bigotry.
Oh, that’s rather lovely, said Miss Everly suddenly, ignoring the new guest and joining in the discussion. Simply put, Miss Skinner, you are advocating the need to wear fewer clothes?
I am, said Evelyn. The fewer the better. What might that do to a body? The shifting of weight. The lightness on the soul, you might say – the ease of movement. To rid oneself of an encumbrance: That to me is transformational.
We remember the rigid corset, said the Brown sisters. When we stopped wearing them, our spines had no strength and we toppled over.
Bone turned to aspic, said Mr Collins.
Miss Everly said, It is a startling fact how the heat of a European sun encourages us travellers to slough off the English tweed and embrace the linens of fairer climes. Lighter clothes, lighter the impulse, lighter the body, lighter the mind. I also feel a need to wear trousers here, she added.
Good Lord! said the identical twins. Trousers?
Indeed trousers, Miss and Miss Brown. The sturdy feel of enclosure around the most intimate part of my anatomy would bring great freedom.
Evelyn noticed that the other table had stopped slurping soup and were looking over at them.
Why the need for trousers, Miss Everly? asked Mr Lugg.
I have a need to stride out, Mr Lugg. To walk as a man might walk. With all the benefits. I do not need to be a woman here. I wish to repel the male gaze. To move through the city with the ease of a man. I want to view the city through the eyes of a man. A poet, you see, is a shape-shifter.