Feeling much more cheerful I walked down the stairs, past a couple of the dinner guests still waiting in some agitation for the loo on the landing. They gave me a reproachful look as I went past. I pretended I hadn’t noticed.
Strains of Glenn Miller wafted down the hallway as the Hunt Secretary’s regimental association band played in the as yet empty ballroom and mixed with the distant thump of bass notes as the Master’s daughter’s boyfriend tried out his amplifiers in the discotheque. About a hundred people were hanging around in the marquee near the all-important bar, looking rather beginning of partyish and not entirely sure whether they wouldn’t be having a better time elsewhere. The Doc Marten brigade hadn’t got the serving behind the bar up to speed yet. As the number of hands holding glasses began to increase so did the noise level until after an hour I was hearing people say, ‘Splendid party, what?’ and ‘Best ever this year, don’t yer think?’ Around my third glass of champagne I stopped looking around nervously for Aunt Jane and began to enjoy myself. So what if the whole family began to buzz with gossip? It was only talk, I thought as I was whirled around the dance floor by Cressida’s father. I discovered I could waltz rather well, especially when partnered by someone who had been forced to attend dancing lessons as a small boy. Old Ambrose proved a dab hand at the fox-trot too (as well as the bottom pat) though that was early on in the evening. The last I saw of him he was peacefully stretched out on a Chesterfield in the drawing room, several empty glasses on the floor beside him.
I was having a marvellous time. The men had impeccable manners so they all felt obliged to ask every woman in their party to dance if she wanted to, and this one most certainly did. I was twirled round the ballroom and grooved around the discotheque to my heart’s content. The attempted grappling session by one of Cressida’s brothers-in-law wasn’t quite such a happy experience, but that was another matter. Once everyone had performed their duty dances James drifted to my side, giving a masterly impression of having only a polite interest in his hostess and playing the devoted boyfriend to the hilt, making it clear I was saving the last waltz for him as well as a lot of those in between. I could only admire his technique, especially the way he glared at the brother-in-law when he demanded another clinch to music. The brother-in-law retired to the other side of our table and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the evening.
Cressida was fluttering around the tables, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed with pleasure as she stopped to speak to people she knew. She was in her element as the centre of attention, being congratulated on putting on such a good show after barely having moved in and being told how lovely she looked. She bounced up to our table, bubbling over with pleasure. ‘Stefano was absolutely right to say that we should buy a house near where I grew up. It’s so nice knowing all these people and catching up with old friends. There are people here I haven’t seen since I stopped going to children’s parties,’ she declared, then lowered her voice. ‘One boy had lovely golden curls and now he’s going quite bald. He’s only a year older than me too. I didn’t recognise him, it was so embarrassing.’
She pulled out a chair to sit down and then as the discotheque started up with a particularly loud rendition of ‘Good Golly, Miss Molly’, exclaimed, ‘Oh, I love this!’ Tapping her foot, she turned to Stefano. ‘Darling, I know you’re much too stuffy for rock and roll, but you aren’t, are you, James? Don’t you remember when I got you to take me to those classes in Wandsworth? Weren’t they in a church hall? They were really fun.’ She beamed around the table. ‘Though I say so myself, we were quite the best, weren’t we, James? Come on, dance with me, please.’
He glanced quickly at Stefano, then stood up with a smile. ‘How could I possibly refuse? You know I’d love to.’
I wondered if Stefano had decided James was no threat after all, for he didn’t even bother to glance in their direction as they wove their way through pushed back chairs and people standing in gangways gossiping, their progress considerably impeded by the way Cressida kept stopping to talk to James over her shoulder. Stefano turned to me and began to talk about his plans to plant a rhododendron hedge at the bottom of the garden.
By the end of the second record his eyes were scanning the room restlessly. Halfway through the next, he stood up abruptly. ‘I’m sure you want to dance, Laura.’
It was an order, not a request. I obeyed. He expertly manoeuvred me around the crowded strobe-lit discotheque until he had a view of his quarry. My worst forebodings that we would find them locked together in a little oasis of stillness while everyone else jived around them weren’t realised, though to my over-sensitive nerves it seemed as if they might well have been standing like that only thirty seconds before our arrival. Having got himself in guard dog position Stefano seemed prepared to devote his attention to me, or about ninety percent of it anyway. He was a good dancer, light on his feet and with an excellent sense of timing though I gathered from the occasional pained expression that pop music wasn’t really to his taste. Then the music changed again, to something really slow. Cressida stepped towards James, arms held aloft. He glanced over her head, saw me, then Stefano, and his eyes widened in horror. I smothered a giggle. James wasn’t usually so appalled by the idea of a pretty woman wrapping her arms around him. He bent his head and said something to her. Probably ‘Shall we go and get another drink?’ She made a moue of discontent, but despite her reluctance he put his hand in the small of her back and steered her firmly towards the exit.
It didn’t surprise me that Stefano immediately lost interest in dancing. He cut purposefully across the floor and met them by the door. I made rather a poor fourth in the race. James turned to me. ‘I didn’t see you in there,’ he said with a distinctly syrupy smile. ‘What a pity. This is our song, isn’t it?’
It was the Pointer Sisters with ‘Slow Hand’. I could have killed him. ‘It might be mine but I think “My Little Ding-A-Ling” is more appropriate for you,’ I hissed.
He didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘What an unkind - and untrue - thing to say!’ And just to show Cressida and Stefano that there were no hard feelings between us, he put his arm around my waist and dragged me towards him until I was glued so close to his side I felt as if I’d been transmogrified into a Siamese twin. He pressed a brief kiss to my forehead before smiling sheepishly at our audience.
I nestled my head against his shoulder and hissed, ‘Loosen up! I can’t breathe.’
‘You shouldn’t have eaten so much at dinner,’ he retorted, but relaxed the iron grip a little. I took a deep gulp of air in relief.
With his arm still around my waist, James headed back towards our table. It was like doing the three-legged race. I’d been concentrating so hard on playing my role properly that I only dimly registered the well-upholstered woman who was looking our way. Then I realised there weren’t many women of her age who would dare to dye their hair that particularly unlikely shade of bronze. I nudged James as hard as I could - difficult when your arm is pinioned against you.
He looked. ‘Oh, hell.’
Aunt Jane advanced on us, beaming. ‘James, how lovely to see you. I didn’t know you were coming. I would have thought it would have been too difficult for you, dear boy, but you must have stopped carrying a torch for her at last. I’m so pleased.’ I felt the dear boy go rigid as Aunt Jane’s clarion tones reached most people within a ten-yard radius. I hoped Cressida and Stefano weren’t following us too closely.
‘And won’t you introduce me to your—’ Aunt Jane went on happily. I gave up trying to hide my face against James’s shoulder and raised my head. ‘Laura!’ Her beady eyes went quickly from him to me and back again. She smiled roguishly. ‘And how long has this been going on, you sneaky things? You’ve been keeping it very quiet, haven’t you? I had no idea, James, I thought—’
Sure that she was about to proclaim to the whole room her regret that James and I had never previously looked at one another, I butted in with, ‘We’re staying here, aren’t we lucky? Let me intr
oduce you to our host and hostess. Aunt Jane, may I present Count Stefano Buonotti and his wife Contessa Cressida.’ Aunt Jane’s face was a picture. ‘Stefano and Cressida - this is Mrs Cartwright. Oh, dear.’ I looked at Stefano. ‘I’m sure I got that wrong, didn’t I?’
He smiled, ‘A little, but does it matter? At least we all know who we are.’ He picked up Aunt Jane’s hand and kissed it, to her fluttering delight. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Signora. Any relation of the enchanting Laura is doubly welcome in my house.’
Aunt Jane fluttered again. An impressive sight on someone of her bulk. ‘But I’m not Laura’s aunt, I’m James’s,’ she said in a doubtful tone as if she expected the welcome would instantly be withdrawn.
‘James’s?’ echoed Stefano, looking puzzled, as well he might.
‘Yes, but Laura’s stepmother is my oldest friend,’ added Aunt Jane helpfully.
Stefano looked even more confused. His gaze went from James to me. ‘So you are childhood friends?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Certainly not!’ I said promptly, earning myself a dig in the ribs from my supposed beloved. ‘I didn’t even meet James until I was nearly fifteen.’
‘But you were nutty on him even then, weren’t you?’ asked Aunt Jane in a soapy voice.
I longed for a nice deep hole to open up and swallow me. James leaned against me and whispered in my ear, ‘Were you really?’ with obvious relish.
‘They’re stepbrother and sister,’ said Aunt Jane.
Stefano was looking like a man who feels he’s been well and truly taken for a sucker. ‘But why have you not told us this interesting information before?’
James shrugged. ‘Because people either react as if we’re committing incest or instantly presume it’s not possible and there must be something fishy going on.’ He stared hard at Stefano for a loaded moment then down at me with an adoring expression that should have failed to convince anyone who knew him well. ‘Besides Laura isn’t my stepsister any longer. Hasn’t been for several years,’ he said with emphasis. He smiled at Stefano man to man. ‘And if I tell you that Aunt Jane is still friends with Laura’s mother, that my father sits on a committee with Laura’s second stepfather, and that Imogen, Laura’s current stepmother and Aunt Jane’s best friend, looks on it as her duty in life to keep the whole of Laura’s real and step families - and mine - up to date on all the family news, you’ll understand why we weren’t too keen to shout our business from the rooftops.’
I watched Stefano trying to digest all of this. At last he said, ‘I think perhaps a drink would be a good idea.’ I, for one, thought it an excellent one. He turned to Aunt Jane and proffered his arm. ‘Signora, would you care to join us for a glass of champagne?’
Aunt Jane fluttered again and accepted. I was on tenterhooks lest, due to the way Stefano kept refilling her glass, she said something really indiscreet, such as, ‘Is that really the girl who jilted you, James?’ or ‘What about that pretty blonde you were all over three weeks ago?’ or ‘But aren’t you walking out with that writer, Laura?’ Mercifully she couldn’t think of anything but the delightful surprise that was James and I. At long last she remembered she had come with a party of her own friends and that she’d better go and find them. As we watched her substantial bulk casting off, tottering slightly to the alarm of those who feared she was about to land on their laps, Cressida said curiously, ‘How many are there in your family, Laura?’
‘Including steps and ex-steps? I lost count ages ago, but my sister and I worked out once that we have some sort of current or former relative in every county of England,’ I said. ‘The Christmas card list is murder.’
She sipped her champagne. ‘And I thought Stefano’s mother and sisters were bad enough. They all live near the castello. They like to drop in,’ she added expressionlessly.
‘At least you left them behind in Italy.’
‘They telephone. And threaten to visit.’ She spoke with a surprising amount of bitterness. ‘Stefano insists that he’s head of the family and it’s my duty to welcome them whenever they want to come, and I would if they were halfway decent to me. But because I’m twenty years younger and a foreigner, they assume I know nothing about running the household. Or making Stefano comfortable. So they tell me how to do it. But even so, according to them, I’m not very good. I don’t make my own pasta, you see.’
James leaned across me and asked, ‘But do they make their own steak and kidney pie?’
The air of resentment vanished in an infectious giggle. ‘No, nor apple crumble either. And Stefano loves that.’ She put out her hand and covered James’s for a moment. ‘You’ve always been able to stop me getting worked up about things.’ She glanced at me with a rueful expression. ‘I try not to lose my temper but it’s difficult sometimes.’
In my opinion her hand lingered a fraction too long before she took it away again and swiped a stray tendril of hair away from her face. I purposely didn’t look at Stefano to see what he thought about it.
Slowly the ball was beginning to wind down. We queued for our enormous breakfasts of bacon, eggs, sausages and tomato. James ate most of mine since a corset-like dress does wonders for taking the appetite away. Perhaps I should take to wearing one more often. By three o’clock the Doc Marten brigade were telling the last punters they were very sorry but all the drink had run out, though I knew for certain that one of them, a spotty youth with a cowlick, had been steadily stashing bottles behind the flap of the tent for a second party later on. I was just about danced out, flexing my toes in shoes that were no longer so comfortable as earlier in the evening, and I could feel my hair coming down at the back. James was slumped in his chair, bow tie dangling out of his pocket; Stefano looked much the same except that his tie was still in an immaculate bow. The lecherous brother-in-law was staring blankly into space, nearly comatose. One of Cressida’s sisters had already given up and weaved her way to bed. Only Cressida still seemed to be alive with energy, darting about restlessly, telling people they couldn’t go yet, it was still early, and demanding that someone come and dance with her. Stefano looked up indifferently while she pulled on one of James’s hands. Maybe exposure to Aunt Jane had convinced him that James and I wouldn’t dare fabricate gossip fodder or more likely he knew perfectly well that James was far too tired to get up to anything.
James smiled lazily. ‘You know I’d do almost anything for you, Cressy, but I couldn’t dance another step.’
Her face creased in disappointment while I thought regretfully that I wouldn’t have minded having one last dance with him myself. We were a good fit, his shoulder was just the right height for my cheek.
Before she could plead a second time he smothered a yawn and said, ‘I’m bushed. I think I’ll go to bed. Coming, Laura?’
A minute ago I’d been wistfully thinking of resting my head on his shoulder on the dance floor, and now within minutes we were going to be in bed together. I wouldn’t call myself a complete innocent, but I had no idea about the etiquette for this sort of situation. I mean, who gets the bathroom first? What happens if you roll over into the middle of the bed during the night and accidentally touch? Would he get ideas? Without the rose-tinted effect of sated lust would he survive the shock of seeing my face first thing in the morning? Swallowing a sudden attack of sheer funk I got up and said goodnight to the others.
‘I think that went off quite well, don’t you?’ said James as we began to go up the stairs.
‘Er, yes,’ I replied inanely, looking at him sideways in an effort to gauge exactly what was on his mind. Only the slight glitter in his eyes and his grasp of the banister gave any clue that he’d been drinking, but that didn’t mean his inhibitions were all firmly in place. ‘Has Cressida really got a temper?’ I asked by way of diversion. ‘She looks far too sweet-natured.’
‘Not always. She’s been known to throw the odd plate or two.’
‘Are you speaking from experience?’
He chuckled. ‘I still have a scar. She does
n’t do it often so I shouldn’t think it’ll be necessary to appear at breakfast wearing your tin helmet.’
That of course immediately set me back to thinking about what was going to happen in the hours before breakfast.
Needless to say I hadn’t got around to unpacking properly before dinner so James, claiming that ladies always had first shot at the bathroom, lounged on the bed and watched while I rootled around in my case for my make up remover and night-dress - fortunately my most decorous, a voluminous floor-length affair of opaque navy sprigged cotton. I shot into the bathroom and locked the door. Two minutes later, red in the face with frustration and fury, I had to open it again.
James was in the middle of taking off his shirt. Luckily he’d started disrobing from the top. ‘Can you help me? The zip’s got caught on something and I daren’t force it in case it tears.’
He flung the shirt in an untidy heap on the floor, giving me an admirable view of his torso, nicely honey-coloured and no flab, before I hastily turned around and presented my back with the half-undone zip. It seemed to take ages as he gently worked at the zip, teasing out the tiny scrap of fabric that had got caught. I stared rigidly ahead, clinging on to the front of the dress which was liable to drop off completely once the zip was undone and trying to ignore the way his fingers brushed against my bare skin as he worked. At long last he said, ‘There you are. Done,’ and the zip slid free. His voice sounded a bit unsteady.
I breathlessly said thank you and shot back into the bathroom again. I took as long as feasibly possible over the cleaning, toning, nourishing routine. I wasn’t going to risk catching James undressing again. He was respectably covered up in a silk dressing gown when I came out, though as I’d suspected there was no sign of any pyjamas. I got into bed quickly and lay down facing the wall, my heart beating uncomfortably.
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