No Wings to Fly by Jess Foley

sir, and I wouldn’t know what a gardenia looks like.’ She touched one of the little sprays that lay in the grass. ‘I makes ’em meself. Silk and linen and such. Pretty, ain’t they?’ Her smile lit up her face.
    Joel nodded. ‘They are indeed. They’re very pretty.’ Then to Lily: ‘Which one will you have?’
    She gave a little shake of her head. ‘Really – it’s not necessary.’
    ‘Oh, go on,’ he said. ‘Which one?’
    ‘Well – you choose.’
    ‘Right.’ He eschewed the flowers laid on the turf and dipped into the basket and brought out a little spray of mauve blossoms. ‘Gardenias or no,’ he said, ‘these’ll do fine.’ He held them out to Lily. ‘Yes?’
    ‘Yes,’ she smiled, and took the flowers and moved as if to hold them to her nostrils, but stopped, while the girl said, ‘They ain’t got no smell, miss. They ain’t real, they’re just ‘and-made.’
    The girl handed Lily a pin then, and Lily fixed the little mauve spray to the lapel of her jacket. As she did so, Joel paid the girl her two or three coppers and she scooped up the flowers from the grass and dropped them back into her basket. Then, wishing the two of them a good day, she went on her way.
    ‘They’re nothing special,’ Joel said, watching as Lily adjusted the flowers, ‘but I couldn’t refuse her, could I?’
    ‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ Lily said. ‘Anyway, they’re very pretty. And they’re very nicely made.’
    She glanced up to find him studying her, his dark eyes almost piercing, and she felt herself colouring slightly under his gaze. ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘What is it?’
    ‘Ah, Lily,’ he said on a little sigh, ‘you talk about pretty – And if you’re not the prettiest girl a chap ever set eyes on ... well, I don’t know . . .’
    She did not know what to say, and took a breath and said nothing.
    ‘And I don’t mean I just discovered that,’ he added. ‘I thought it from the very first moment I saw you, sitting in that little room at the factory while the rain was tipping down outside. I thought then – my word! here’s a champion-looking girl if you ever want one.’ He paused and gave a little laugh. ‘And a chap does, you know. Oh, indeed he does. Well, this one does, most certainly he does.’
    He laughed again, and Lily laughed too, and she felt so close to him, and so admired, and so very happy. It didn’tmatter that she still felt the dampness under her arms and around the line of her hat band, and that there was dust on her white gloves and her right shoe was scuffed at the toe. She was there with him, and he was so handsome in the grass, and his smile was so white and so warm, and she felt a gladness and a joy and a thrill that she had never known in her life before.
    ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, giving a harsh little groan. ‘Off to France on Tuesday. Just two days away.’ He groaned again and dramatically put his head in his hands. Raising it again, he added, ‘I’m not going to see you again for ages – unless I can get back for a few days before I go on to Cambridge. Anyway –’ he gave a little shrug, ‘we’ll have to see.’
    He sat for a few moments looking at her while the music of the band drifted on the breeze. Keeping his eyes on her, he ran fingers through his hair. Then, taking up his sketchbook, he said, ‘I want to draw you. I want a picture of you, something to keep while I’m away.’
    ‘Now?’ she said. ‘You want to draw me now?’
    ‘Of course now. There won’t be another opportunity before I go away.’ He was already opening the sketchbook, turning the leaves to a fresh, unmarked page. From his shirt breast pocket he drew out three or four pencils, looked at them and selected one. From his trousers pocket he took a small pen-knife, opened it to expose the blade, and then sharpened the pencil lead to a fine point. ‘There.’ He closed the knife and laid it down beside his cap. ‘Now – pay attention, please – Mr Leonardo Da