Imelda wrinkled her nose.
‘Bit of a disappointment, actually. He said he was unemployed.’
‘I spoke to Liza this afternoon,’ said Dulcie when Imelda had sashayed off. ‘Couldn’t persuade her to come along. She’s driving down to Devon tonight, spending Christmas and New Year with her parents.’
‘And Eddie and ‘I will be up in Manchester with his family over the New Year,’ said Pm. ‘I mean, I’m looking forward to it, but it won’t be the same. We’ll miss our usual get-together.’
She looked worried. ‘I feel awful, as if we’re abandoning you. What will you do this year, made any plans yet?’
‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,’ Dulcie said firmly. ‘If she isn’t off playing doctors and nurses, I’ll go out with Imelda. Or if ‘I really want to have fun,’ she added with forced cheerfulness, ‘I can work a double shift in the pub.’
Eddie came up to them, grinning and waving a fax. He kissed Dulcie and give the fax to Pru to read.
‘How are you, darling? Oh dear, I know I shouldn’t laugh, but this just came through from Zermatt.’
‘What is it?’ asked Dulcie curiously as Pru began to giggle. ‘It really isn’t funny.’ Eddie tried hard to sound severe. ‘Poor Liam—’
‘What is it?’ demanded Dulcie, making a grab for the sheet of paper.
‘He sent it from his hospital bed. He’s in traction,’ said Pru. ‘Apparently he fell off a ski lift and broke both his legs.’
‘I told him skiing was dangerous,’ said Eddie, ‘but he assured me he was an expert. He said only people who were unfit had accidents.’ He shook his head, brushing away tears of laughter. ‘I told him only idiots slide down mountains on skis. Lazing around on a hot beach – now that’s my idea of a holiday.’
Until that moment, Dulcie had cheered up. Now she experienced a pang of misery.
‘That’s what Patrick’s doing right now. He’s in Bali,’ she struggled to sound normal, ‘with Claire.’
Pru frowned.
‘I don’t think he is.’
‘Well, somewhere like that. Bali ... Barbados ... somewhere hot and exotic. Not Skegness,’
Dulcie added bitterly, ‘that’s for sure.’
‘No, I mean ‘I don’t think he’s away. He phoned me this morning. Asked me if you were going to Roger and Abby Alford’s party tonight.’
‘Roger and Abby Alford?’ Bewildered, Dulcie said, ‘I haven’t seen them for years!’
‘Well,’ Pru shrugged, ‘I said no, anyway. ‘I told him you were coming here.’
Imelda was still on the dance floor, all but undressing her dishy doctor. Dulcie bought herself another drink and found a wall to lean against; she picked abstractedly at the polish on one of her thumb nails and tried without much success to ignore the horrid lurching sensation in her stomach.
It had come as a shock, discovering that Patrick had actually reached the stage where he wanted to avoid her. Pretty obviously, he was only prepared to go to the Alfords’ party if he knew for sure that she wouldn’t be there.
I’ve really lost him now, thought Dulcie miserably. He doesn’t even want to be friends any more.
‘Cheer up, it might never happen.’
‘Oh fuck off.’ Dulcie didn’t even bother to look up. She was studying her thumb nail, with its unattractive picked-off burgundy polish. Really, tonight was turning into one disaster after another.
‘Dulcie!’ exclaimed the voice, half-amused, half-shocked, and this time she recognised it.
She gave Rufus a hug. He was looking somewhat out ofplace in his blue woolly sweater and a pair of worn-at- theknee fawn corduroy trousers, but his eyes were bright and he was evidently delighted to see her.
‘I’m sorry, I thought ‘I was about to be chatted up by a prat.’ Dulcie smiled and touched his bristly cheek. ‘You’re growing your beard back! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I know, hardly my scene. Some friends dragged me along.’ He sounded abashed. ‘And now I look an idiot. I must say, I didn’t realise it was going to be quite so smart.’ He indicated Dulcie’s jade-green satin dress and added admiringly, ‘Not like you, of course. You look fantastic. I’d ask you to dance, but I’d only show you up.’
He was right. Over his woolly shoulder, Dulcie saw a group of Brunton Manor regulars — a particularly snotty group — nudging each other and smirking. She took Rufus’s hand and led him past them, saying loudly as they went ‘... darling, that’s the whole point of being a multi-millionaire, you can get away with wearing anything you like.’
They danced to George Michael’s ‘Last Christmas’.
‘Oh Lord, was that your foot? Sorry ... oops, done it again ... sorry!’
But it was so nice to see him again, Dulcie didn’t even mind her toes being broken.
She grinned at Rufus. ‘Ever thought of taking up wine-making? You’d be brilliant at trampling grapes.’
He looked anxious. ‘Would you rather sit down?’
‘No, you might get the hang of it in a minute. Anyway, you’ve cheered me up. Tell me what’s been happening in the cafe. Tell me what you’re doing for Christmas.’
Tell me anything to stop me thinking about Patrick...
Aargh!’ yelped Dulcie as Rufus whirled her round, managing to step on both feet at once and —
