I spun round and there he was, outlined with a faint yellow glow from the windows. Robert’s hair was ruffled, and he’d loosened his white bow tie. Now, this was almost like one of my favorite daydreams, but I didn’t have a clue what he was going to say. My stomach knotted with delicious tension.
“No, I’m fine. Just … having a breather.”
“Bit different from our practices.” Robert leaned next to me, his shoulder close enough to mine for me to feel the heat clinging to his tailcoat.
“A bit.” I showed him the inside of my right arm, red and raw from spinning at high speed against wool jackets.
“Ouch!” He touched it with a delicate fingertip, and the contact didn’t seem odd. Each time I was alone with him, we seemed to have skipped ahead a few invisible steps. “You’ll need to get something on that, it’ll bruise.”
“No, I’m proud of it. War wounds. And not my fault, for once.”
He grinned and leaned against me, a Get you nudge. “You’re doing really well. You know, someone asked me where the English girl was who couldn’t dance. And I said, ‘You were standing three down from her in the Duke of Perth, and your husband seemed to be enjoying himself when she reached him.’ ”
“Joke?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, thanks.”
We leaned together, watching the moon rising over the hills, turning the snow bluey-white. I wasn’t sure whether we could be seen from inside; the heater and the wall partially hid us from view. It certainly felt as if there were only us in the whole world.
“Is it what you expected?” he asked. “Your very first ball?”
“Yes!” I said. “And no. I mean, it’s a lot rougher. You can tell it was once an excuse for a good grapple with the opposite sex without getting a slap. And you get to review the whole room, don’t you? I think I danced with everyone by the end of that last one. And …” I paused.
“And?”
“And I felt as if the room came to life. Didn’t you? I could feel the floor underneath my feet, flexing as we danced on it.”
“It’s a sprung floor,” said Robert. “Shipped up from London specially. I found the invoices. Good job Violet ordered it while Papa was paying the bills.”
There was a luxurious pause between us, filled with echoes of glances and conversations from the last week. I’d told him to look in Violet’s boxes, and he had. And he’d seen what I’d seen—a love story worth unpacking.
“Worth it, though,” I said.
“Mmm,” he replied. “Although I’ll reserve final judgment for Hamilton House.”
“Why’s that?”
He angled his head to look at me. “Because that’s the one we’re dancing together. Isn’t it?”
I shivered at the direct way his eyes fixed on mine, and at once he was shrugging off his tailcoat. “No, really,” I started, but he draped it over my shoulders.
This was exactly the way I’d imagined it. I bit my lip, not wanting to say the wrong thing. I’d rather be silent than get it wrong and spend the rest of my life thinking of what I should have said.
“I’m really glad you came,” said Robert, leaping into the silence as if he was suddenly aware we wouldn’t be alone again.
“Are you?” I said. My lips were very dry, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his mouth. I hoped I didn’t have Kiss me written obviously across my face.
“I am,” he said. “Otherwise I’d probably never have found out that my great-grandmother was a master criminal, and that somewhere round here there’s a family of highly skilled cabinetmakers I should be turning into a cottage industry. I think that’s a good thing.” He paused. “It’s certainly more interesting than what I thought I knew before.”
“And are you … going to stay?”
“If I can get the right team together.” He carried on looking at me, with a slightly woozy look in his brown eyes. “It’s a big project to take on.”
Did he mean Catriona? Or literally some management team?
I blinked, then kept my eyes closed, trying to get my thoughts in order. The champagne was jumbling everything up. That intimate glimmer in his eyes—was that flirting, or just the reflection of the lanterns? Did we have a real connection, or was this his final fling, a last flirt in the moonlight with a girl who’d be leaving in the morning?
“Have you spoken to Catriona?” I asked without opening my eyes. I didn’t want to see his face. I tried to measure my words carefully, not saying too much. I wanted to keep this gorgeous night of pure romance as a perfect memory; but something in me, some tiny destructive force, couldn’t help asking the question I didn’t actually want him to answer.
“About?”
“About the perfect reel.” Had he proposed or not? She hadn’t got that manicure for nothing; that was a Look at my ring! manicure. “Not one misstep, unless you count my sister cutting in. Is there some separate tradition that comes into force for midreel partner changes?”
“Good point. Do you think I should?”
So he hadn’t yet. I struggled with myself, trying to do the right thing rather than the dramatic, selfish thing.
“I thought you didn’t like people telling you what to do?”
Robert said nothing, and I opened my eyes. His dark eyes were still fixed on my face, only now they were burning with a sort of impatience, as if he was only just containing himself.
“Evie,” he said quietly, and reached for my cheek with his hand.
Inside I melted, but managed to stay rooted to the spot as his fingers curved around my jaw, as his other arm slipped round my waist. He pulled me into him, and I could feel the warmth of his body through the fine cotton of his dress shirt, and the heat of his breath close to my face.
Slowly, without taking his eyes off mine, Robert tilted his head, and I found myself leaning forward to meet him—again, kind of off-message. He kissed me, tender at first, our lips brushing dryly against each other’s, then more urgently; just as it was about to flare into something passionate, he pulled back, leaning his forehead against mine.
I let out a shuddery gasp. Fireworks were going off inside me, hot and cold and shivery. I’d never had a kiss quite like that, and it had barely started.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” Robert whispered. “I was going to kiss your cheek. Sorry. I couldn’t help it …”
I took another breath. I’d be gone tomorrow. He’d be engaged by Monday. I was at a ball. This wasn’t real, any of it.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said, and threw caution properly to the winds. I slipped one arm round his neck, tangling my fingers in his thick brown hair, and pulled him close to me, kissing him as if it were the last kiss I’d ever have, wanting to remember every last smell, taste, touch of him.
Robert tightened his hold on me, and we fitted together as if we’d been here before, his lean frame against my softness, my shoulder nearly level with his, his long fingers caressing the curve of my back. For a couple of seconds on the chilly stone terrace, it was just us, him in his evening dress, me in Violet’s borrowed feathers, and Kettlesheer’s benign presence and the navy-blue February sky.
Then, just as a tiny moan escaped from deep in his throat, I pulled away. A hunting horn was being blown inside to indicate the next reel. It cut through the silence outside, breaking the spell. I had enough there to base a hundred daydreams on. It was more than I should have taken anyway.
“We should go in,” I said.
“I’d rather stay out here,” said Robert. He turned and leaned on the wall, looking up at the spotlit façade. He held out an arm for me to nestle into.
I dragged my gaze away from his bare throat and made myself focus on the now. “No, you’ve got reels to dance. Girls to spin.” If we stayed out here, I had no idea what would happen; and much as I hadn’t warmed to Catriona, snogging someone else’s boyfriend at their de facto engagement party was hardly the stuff of Jane Austen.
I tried to smile. “And I’ve only got a few more chances t
o reel in your ballroom.”
“Is that a euphemism?”
“No,” I said. “Please, take me inside.”
“They’ll be doing some waltzing now. The band runs through its Glenn Miller routine between the main reels.” Robert lifted his eyebrow. “Can I tempt you?”
“You know you can’t,” I said. “You’re only meant to be waltzing with one person tonight.”
“I know.” He paused. “But I wanted to ask.”
“Sorry,” I said.
Robert looked at me for a long second, as if he was trying to save the memory too. Then he sighed, and held out his arm, and very courteously led me back inside to the clatter and chatter of the hall.
*
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of red jackets, black jackets, glasses of ice water brought on silver trays, an old Chinese fan lent to me by Ingrid, and constant, exhilarating reeling. I got everything wrong; I accidentally shoulder-barged a very nice old lady and trod on several toes, but it didn’t matter, next to the handful of moments when everything was going right and my feet felt two inches off the floorboards.
My dance with Robert flew round too soon as well. We lined up at the top of a long, long line of other dancers, starting off the Hamilton House reel. The butterflies in my stomach weren’t entirely down to him; nerves were joining in for the ride, with every expectant, experienced face turned my way.
“Watch out, this is the flirty one!” said Sheila, next to me. She didn’t need to remind me; it was flirty from the moment we sank into the preliminary bow and curtsy, then stepped forward into the reel.
I could feel Robert’s eyes following me as I hammed it up with Fraser and yielded cautiously to Douglas’s turn. Whoever had invented it knew something about flirting: pretending to toy with other men only sharpened the thrill of electricity that tingled across my skin as Robert and I joined hands and spun back together in the middle of the set. I loved the amateur dramatics that followed me down the line, winks and playful nods from strangers in kilts and frilly shirts, joined in the rituals of the reel. But Robert’s burning glances weren’t feigned; they reached right into my heart.
When we finished, I was breathless. When Robert lifted my hand to kiss it, I felt tears prick at the back of my eyelids. If Douglas hadn’t hustled us both downstairs to breakfast, I might have cried, it was so perfect.
In the cellar, long tables had been set up in the butler’s pantries, covered in white linen tablecloths, ivy wreaths, and silver candelabra, in contrast to the robust breakfast on offer. I spotted Duncan and Ingrid sitting with the Grahams beneath a painting of some McAndrew racehorse; they waved us “young people” over, and immediately waitresses appeared with trays. Normally I couldn’t face a full English breakfast, but the constant energy of the reels had made me ravenous, and I devoured the bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage, and soft floury bun, along with three cups of strong tea.
Alice seized the moment when everyone was sitting down and concentrating on their breakfast to announce her engagement.
By which I mean she said to me in a loud voice, “Evie, could you pass me the ketchup?” and then reached out her hand so it was right next to a candelabra, sparkling up the emeralds and diamonds in the ring she was now sporting on her left hand.
I nearly screamed with delight. “Oh, my God!” I yelled, bouncing to my feet. Tea spilled over my breakfast plate, and the lady sitting behind me got shoved into the table with the backward force of my chair. I think I might have got ketchup on Fraser’s jacket, but he was very nice about it.
Alice got up too, elbowing Dougie in the face.
“I’m so pleased for you!” I sobbed into her hair as we clung together. “It’s all going to be fine. You are going to be so happy. This is going to be the first really glamorous Nicholson wedding. You don’t even have to have a fruitcake!”
“I know,” she wept back. “I’m going to tell Mum I want a croquembouche!”
We were still hugging and crying and accidentally catching ourselves on people’s evening dresses when Catriona came sailing by.
We hadn’t seen a lot of Catriona throughout the evening. While the Grahams and McAndrews had booked reels with each other, the Learmonts’ more dynamic social obligations meant Catriona, Janet, and Laura “had to” partner the local member of Parliament, a minister of the Scottish Parliament, some judge in an ill-advised pair of trews, and so on.
But now she appeared, just as Alice was showing off her engagement ring, and my good mood cracked.
“Oh, pretty!” she said. “Is it an old one?”
“My grandmother’s,” said Sheila.
Catriona patted Alice’s shoulder. “Aw. Maybe he’ll buy you some nice new earrings to go with it,” she said in a consoling voice. “I was wondering when there would be a happy announcement—everyone’s been saying that was the best Reel of Luck they’ve seen in years!”
She glanced down at Robert meaningfully.
“The most surprising one, at any rate,” said Duncan. “We’ll have to check the history books—see if there’s a precedent for Eightsome reels danced by nine people! Perhaps it foretells bigamy! Ah ha-ha-ha!”
“Are you going to have some breakfast?” Fraser asked. “We can move up—”
“No, no. I couldn’t eat a thing!” she said. “Too much to do!”
Ingrid exchanged a guilty glance with Sheila. “Oh, but even the committee can clock off a bit now?”
“I’m already thinking about next year.” Catriona tapped her long nose. “Improvements, tweaks. You can’t start planning these things too soon. Who knows what might happen in the meantime to eat into my schedule,” she added kittenishly.
Robert threw his napkin on his half-finished bacon and eggs and pushed back his chair. “Well, that’s me done. I should probably pop upstairs and thank the band, shouldn’t I? Take them some beer?”
“So you did check your to-do list!” trilled Catriona.
“No, I just thought it would be a nice thing to do.” He pressed his lips together and rolled his shoulders back. “Come up with me, Cat. I’ve barely seen you all night.”
Catriona preened. “Well, when you’re the hostess—” she started, before Ingrid’s shocked expression pulled her up short. “As Ingrid will tell you. Busy, busy, busy!”
Robert said nothing, but suddenly Janet appeared and put her bony hands on their shoulders.
“You two!” she said. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I need to have a little word about …” She dropped her voice and looked at the pair of them, her plucked eyebrows arched. “You know what! A certain announcement?”
“OOOOooooOOOooHHH,” said Dougie and Kirstie.
My mood finally popped. So that was it. They probably had some kind of fireworks-display announcement outside, their initials in sparklers or something. I felt nauseated with regret, and had to fight my face, which was threatening to crumple.
Robert looked at me; and that, I thought, was a good-bye expression if I ever saw one. I managed a wan smile, and he pressed his lips together.
“Chop-chop!” said Janet. “Almost time for the final reel!”
We watched them weave through the tables to the door, Catriona waving and acknowledging people as she went, in the manner of the Queen.
“When you’re the hostess …” muttered Sheila. “Not yet, lassie.”
“I thought you liked her,” I muttered back. “I thought she was the ideal wife for Kettlesheer.”
Sheila shot me a look. “Aye, well. You can change your mind.”
“So is that another proposal for the night’s count?” Fraser asked, cheerfully oblivious. “Will Robert be leading her to a secluded alcove beneath the family tree?” He turned to me. “Did you come across any priceless family engagement rings in your travels?”
Something had stuck in my throat. I think it was a big lump of jealousy and misery, but it might just have been tea cake.
My eyes watered as I shook my head and banged my chest.
Our eyes met, and her eyebrows lifted in an It’s not too late! expression, but I shook my head.
I’d used up my courage outside, in that kiss. Now I had to step out of the dance, and let their real life take over.
“So, last reel of the night!” Fraser rubbed his hands together. “I believe you’re dancing with me, Evie! I should warn you that the Reel of the Fifty-first gets a bit fast and furious. You might have to hang on tight, but I’ll do my best to keep you on your feet.”
Last week, the prospect of Fraser’s strong hands wrapped around mine would have sent me into quivers of daydreaming ecstasy. Now I was just dancing with my sister’s lovely fiancé.
“Fine with me,” I said miserably. “Reel me as hard as you like.”
Twenty-seven
I didn’t see Robert again that evening, except across the dance floor.
Catriona had led him down to a group of her own friends at the other end of the ballroom, and our paths didn’t cross, despite the room-churning wildness of the final dance, which seemed to throw everyone together.
Fraser hadn’t been exaggerating: the Reel of the 51st Division, invented, he explained, by Scottish prisoners of war to remind them of home, was like being trapped in a blender of fiddles. God knows what the German guards thought they were up to; inventing a new form of attack, possibly. I was whirled from one man straight to the next, my arms nearly bounced out of their sockets as our linked hands formed the Saltire cross featured on the Scottish flag across the ballroom.
At one point, as the music whisked into a final frenzy and the sprung floor flexed beneath us, every single person on the floor was either turning or being turned, skirt billowing or kilt flying. Even before it ended, the crowd was cheering for an encore, and I was glad to have Fraser’s protective hands catching mine as I sailed down the room, dizzy with adrenaline and champagne.
It was the purest, happiest moment of my life, filled with nothing at all except the music and the dance.
There was a short pause, in which you could hear everyone gasping for breath, laughing and slapping each other on the back; and then the band launched into “Auld Lang Syne,” the signal that the ball was over for another year.
The Vintage Girl Page 26
