“Ah!” Louise exclaimed. Both Alice and her mother, glanced at each other, confused.
“Ah, what?” Alice asked.
“Louisa, not just Louise.”
“Why?” Alice asked.
“It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” Alice pressed. She felt irritation rising in her. Something was happening to her sister, and it had nothing to do with her face. What had that doctor done to her? The irritation began to quickly subside into fear. Why am I afraid? she wondered.
“It’s just more . . . well, I just think it’s more elegant. More memorable. Goes with my face better.”
“Really?” Alice asked in a shaky voice. How could swapping one letter, one vowel for another, really do all that? Then the irritation returned. “Perhaps I should change mine to Alicia, even though I haven’t had plastic surgery? There could very well be a tiny Alicia scampering about inside of me. Just gasping for air. Dying to be released.” Alice’s voice had bloomed into full, scalding contempt.
But Posie, always attempting to broker peace between her two strong-minded daughters, began to chatter away. “Of course, dear. I had thought of naming you Louisa, but your father felt it seemed heavy freight for a delicate little girl. You were so delicate.”
“Louisa” laughed. “I suppose Papa would call that ‘schwere fracht’ now,” she said.
Alice and her mum exchanged horrified glances at Louise’s admission of her father’s location. Louisa appeared engulfed in a tidal wave of sudden remorse.
“I’m sorry! Sorry, sorry!” She jumped up from the table and rushed over to kiss her mother. Posie looked at her daughter with a steely glare.
“Sorry, won’t do. You said it, Louise! Out loud!”
“I said it softly, Mum. No one could hear. The cottage isn’t wired.”
Posie pushed her plate away. “I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll set the kettle on for tea.”
The incident, though not forgotten, was never again mentioned. Everyone kept calm and carried on, as the motivational posters instructed; they had been plastered up all over England.
Louisa’s face continued to heal. The puffiness, within another two weeks, was completely gone. Her complexion was no longer tarnished, and she was back to the proverbial English rose. Alice was just returning home from an errand when she saw a small cluster of girls who often walked the two miles to and from Cambridge University for lectures. They stopped at a window of the millinery shop to admire a copy of the queen’s hat.
“It’s just perfect for wartime, I think,” one girl was saying.
“Yes, you’re right, Florrie,” Louisa replied. “You don’t want anything too cheery and colorful. No dyed ostrich plumage. Just nice tawny pheasant feathers. Not Buckingham Palace tea-party fashion.” She sighed wistfully. “Those days are behind us.”
Alice thought that Louise had seen her, for she had looked directly toward her at some point in this short exchange. Alice briefly hesitated but then decided to interrupt. “Uh . . . but they are primary feathers, wing feathers for flight, Louisa.”
Louise turned now and looked at her straight on. Looked at her and through her. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition for at least five seconds. In Alice’s school experience, it would take her teachers, and those who would eventually become her friends, at least a month to remember who she was. She had so often seen this same gradual glimmer of dawning recognition during that first month—the blankness as they raked their memory to figure out who this face belonged to. Where had they seen it before? Then the dim flickering melted at last into a gleam of recognition.
“Oh, Alice!” Louisa laughed awkwardly. “Forgive me,” she said, turning to the other two girls. “Florrie, Jean—this is my sister, Alice.”
For a moment Alice actually felt unsteady on her feet. It was as if she had been snagged by a strange kind of riptide, pulled away from her own sister, who stood on the beach, watching her but not knowing her. But now Louisa bid her friends goodbye and then, tucking Alice’s arm snugly beneath hers, they walked off in best-of-friends fashion. But the problem was that Alice and Louisa were not the best of friends. They were sisters. And that was different. Completely different.
“Oh, Louisa!” Florrie called out. “When can you come over and teach us to dance the Charleston?”
Louisa laughed. “Maybe tomorrow”
“Terrif! You know, Alice, nobody can dance the Charleston like your sister!”
Alice smiled. “I know, she is really good!”
Alice was haunted by this encounter. She dared not mention it to her mother. For she also noticed that Louise was beginning to spend a lot of time in front of the two mirrors in their cottage. Alice observed as Louise regarded herself in the mirror, tipping her head as she practiced a variety of smiles that showed the dimple Dr. Harding had created. The scent of a perfume that Louise had begun to wear wafted down the hall. Since she was no longer a spy, Louise could indulge in perfume now too. She had bought it as soon as she came home from her surgery.
“Is it working?” Alice asked as she watched her dab on some perfume.
Louise gave a small yelp. Again there was the blankness in her sister’s eyes, this time followed by a flash of absolute terror. She actually thinks I’m a thief, a home invader! Then Louise shook her head as if to clear it.
“Oh, Alice. It’s only you! You sneaked up on me.”
“Crikey, Louisa! You left the door open. I wasn’t sneaking up on you . . . Lou Lou in the loo!”
“Thanks!” Louisa snarled. And began to shut the door. But Alice put out her foot to stop it.
“What are you doing? I want some privacy.”
“Just one question before you slam me out.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I now? Oh, that’s rich.” Alice could not hold back. “I think you’re the dramatic one. You look like an actress trying out expressions for an audition.”
“I’m not an actress, and I’m not auditioning for anything except Bletchley. It’s rather nerve-racking.”
“Well, I was wondering: is the dimple working?”
“What are you talking about?” Alice could almost hear Louisa’s teeth grinding.
“You’ve told me that it takes the fun out of flirting if you know the fellow won’t remember you the next day. So how are the fellows in front of the lecture hall now? Calling up for dates?” Alice couldn’t stop herself. She knew she was being spiteful, but she couldn’t help it. She felt as if a river of bitterness was flowing through her.
There was an earsplitting sound as Louisa slammed the door.
And the mirror cracked.
Alice ran downstairs to the parlor where her mum was knitting. She didn’t want to alarm her mother, but she had to say something.
“Mum,” she gasped.
“What was that sound I heard upstairs?”
“Oh . . . uh . . . the door was left open in the lavatory and the wind . . . came through the window and slammed it. I’m afraid the mirror is probably cracked . . . a bit.” Yes, blame it on the wind and not on her sister’s vanity.
“Oh, I can take it to the glazier. He might be able to patch it up.” Her mother sighed. “I know Louise—I mean Louisa—spends quite a bit of time in there. Dr. Harding gave her all sorts of ointments to put on.”