A Rural Affair

bold on Angie’s patch, don’t you think?’ Drink surely did loosen the tongue.

He laughed. ‘Possibly, but someone sent me a ticket and Peggy and the girls told me to go for it.’

‘The girls?’

‘Clarissa and Felicity.’

His daughters. I saw them on the other side of the room making furious signals at him.

‘I think you’re supposed to ask their mum for a dance.’

‘I know,’ he said nervously, and I’d never seen the charming Tom nervous. He passed a hand through his still abundant hair. ‘Will she laugh in my face, though? She left an encouraging message on my answering machine a few days ago, but I’m fairly sure she was in her cups and regretted it later, so I didn’t ring back. Is she still furious with me? Will I get a black eye, d’you think?’

‘Only one way to find out.’

Angie was looking very beautiful tonight. Diamonds sparkled around her neck and down onto her black velvet dress like a sprinkling of stars on a night sky; her red-gold hair was piled in loose curls on her head. She was across the room talking to Jennie and … oh, good heavens, Simon. Here without Emma, of course, who, if she wasn’t being detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure, soon would be, rumour had it. I saw Tom straighten his bow tie and approach. Angie smiled and said yes, as I knew she would, and as her daughters had told her to. I caught Clarissa’s eye; she smiled with relief. Which of course left Jennie and Simon together. But before Simon could even give it a thought for old times’ sake, Dan had sauntered up. He was looking remarkably handsome in his dinner jacket, which I’d never seen him wearing before. Quietly taking his wife’s arm and with a polite ‘Excuse me’ to Simon, he masterfully steered her onto the dance floor. Jennie, luminous in her silver gown, glowed, and I sighed. If only men knew how simple we women really are, I thought. That all we wanted was to be shown some chivalry, made to feel special. Of course the road to forgiveness would be much longer for Angie and Tom, I thought, turning to watch them dance – not too close – but this was surely a start. And since you’ve got to start somewhere, a public show of affection in front of all your friends and neighbours – I saw a few people spot them and give Angie a delighted look, which she pretended not to see but the light in her eyes gave her away – was not a bad place to do it.

The party lurched on in a spirited manner. A band replaced the disco and there appeared to be a free bar, a splendid idea as far as I was concerned, and one I made regular use of. I had a bop with Felicity and Clarissa, who for some reason rocked with laughter at me. Frankie and Hugo had diplomatically stayed away, I noticed, so no haunted look for Clarissa tonight. She and her sister were sweet, though, finding me a seat by the wall after I’d more or less cleared the dance floor to ‘Brown Sugar’, so that I felt like a dowager duchess in a Jane Austen novel. They kept asking me, rather anxiously, if I’d like a glass of water? Or some air? I declined.

It was late now, and some girls dressed as French maids were circulating with trays held above their heads bearing little blue glasses.

‘Lethal,’ Peggy warned me, en route to the dance floor with my father as she saw me take one. She sighed as I knocked it back. God, delicious. I swiped another from a passing tray and knocked that back too. Then I went to the Ladies. Went twice, actually. Came back and found my chair. Then found the strap of my handbag incredibly interesting. Everyone was dancing. There were literally only a handful of people left in the dining room – I got up to pop my head round the door. A few people – including Bob, who, oh Christ, was making a beeline for me. I turned and fled. Scurried back to the library to lose him, muscling onto the dance floor.

‘S’cuse me, sorry.’ I pretended I was looking for someone. It was heaving. Would anyone know I wasn’t really dancing with anyone? Perhaps I should dance with Bob? At least then I’d have a partner. I turned back to see him leading Yvonne, from the shop, onto the floor. Right. Great. Yvonne had a moustache.

Disastrously pissed, I gyrated to the music anyway, but my handbag on my shoulder kept swinging into people who looked amused the first time, but not the second, so I put it on the floor. Ah yes, I could see why this worked, I thought, as I peered myopically at it. Why girls did it. You could look at your bag, dance around your bag, pretend you were in love with your bag … like so … I swayed, arms aloft – ‘Yooooo mye-eye, brown-eyed – oops!’

I was steadied by an irritated man who said, ‘For God’s sake!’ But I hadn’t fallen over, only stumbled. Abruptly he caught my shoulders and I turned, annoyed.

‘Look, I’m just dancing, OK?’ I snapped. Only it wasn’t the same man. It was Sam. And I was in his arms. He was dancing with me. Sam Hetherington was dancing with me, and not just jiggy-jiggy: proper hold-you-close dancing. Right against his chest. I was in heaven.

‘Sam!’ I cried ecstatically into his left ear