by Georgia Hill
The television programme Merry had been staring at ended, and a trailer for the new series of Who Dares Dances began.
Venetia watched as the advert built hysterically, and finished by showing a brief sequence from Merry and Daniel’s winning show dance. “You were so good, you know,” she said admiringly. “Daniel’s decision to put you in an Egyptian costume as a reference to that stupid prank was a master-stroke. By the way, I heard on the grapevine, the delightful Mr Dandry is being investigated by the police; the vice squad, no less. Something rather unpleasant has been found on his home computer, I understand. Did you know? A more gratifying end, I cannot imagine,” Venetia added, with relish and complete lack of sympathy. “You haven’t seen much of him lately though, have you?”
“Who, Bob?” said Merry, deliberately misunderstanding.
“Don’t pull that face, Meredith. I know you too well. We’ve been living together for how long?”
“About six months.”
“Is that all? It seems like longer,” Venetia said, with feeling.
Merry poked her in the ribs.
“That’s better, at least I got a reaction. Now, come on, tell me all about it. Tell me why it went so hideously wrong with the divine Daniel.”
Merry sighed, waited until Venetia refreshed their glasses and then explained. It took the best part of a bottle of Venetia’s Merlot before she’d finished. When she had, her aunt looked aghast.
“Is that all that’s wrong with you? I thought at least someone had been murdered. I rather hoped it was Bob’s nasty niece.”
Sulkily, Merry pulled at her fringe, dyed a brighter shade of red for her new role. “Don’t be so dramatic, Venetia. Daniel clearly doesn’t have any feelings for me. He’s still hooked on Julia bloody Cooper and is probably now Marisa d’Havilland’s toy-boy.”
“Defeatist talk,” Venetia said, stoutly.
Merry sat up, thoroughly riled now. “So, Dame Venetia Denning, explain to me just why he hasn’t been in touch since the wrap party. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not even a phone call.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I’ve never ever run after a man and I’m not about to start doing so now. If he wanted me, he would’ve come after me. And he didn’t,” she added on a wail. “He doesn’t want me, Venetia.”
“Oh hush, now. What nonsense.” Venetia put an arm round Merry. “Anyone with half a brain can see the boy is besotted. Let me think for a moment.” She tapped her nose. “Do you know? What we need is A Plan!”
Merry gave a faint groan and let her head sink down onto the sofa. The feel of the leather was far more comforting than her aunt in full sway. “As I seem to remember, it was one of your plans which got me into this mess in the first place.”
“Ungrateful child!” her aunt said. “You’ll be the toast of the small screen before long. That script is marvellous and so suited to you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Merry said and drained her glass. “I was miserable before, when I didn’t have any money and no career to speak of. Now I’ve got plenty of money and I’m still miserable. I thought money was supposed to bring you happiness.”
“Nonsense, Meredith.” Venetia reached for the bottle of wine and emptied the dregs into their glasses, admiring the sparkling crystal as she did so. “Money doesn’t make you happier. It just makes the misery more comfortable.”
Merry managed a laugh. “Oh Venetia. What would I have done without you? Now, tell me, have you, by any chance, got A Plan? I can tell from your expression that you might.”
“Well, I’ve rarely come up with a duff one, as you young people say, but I have to admit to lacking in imagination for this conundrum.” Venetia sipped wine and glanced at her niece’s disconsolate expression. “I rather think we shall have to resort to the direct approach.” A smug look came on her face. “This is what we’ll do.”
A week later, Venetia had bagged two best house seats for Daniel’s new show. Not an easy task, as the previews had gone down a storm and the critics had been unanimous: it was a hit.
Merry settled into her third row aisle seat in the dress circle with mixed feelings. She longed to see Daniel again and desperately wanted to see him dance again. She was even looking forward to the after show party, to which Venetia had also wangled tickets. But she was terrified about what she had to say to him. Venetia had rehearsed it with her but Merry still didn’t feel confident. But, as Venetia said frequently, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained.’
As the theatre lights went down and the audience quietened, Merry felt the familiar thrill of anticipation run through her. She loved this moment, when the audience began to hush and settle for the show to start. But, this time, it was more than that. She desperately wanted to love this, so that she could tell Daniel. She so wanted it to be good.
And it was. In fact it was far better than good; it was spectacular. It was a sort of update on the old film, The Red Shoes but with a male dancer as its star. Daniel played the dancer who couldn’t stop, until, in a twist on the original to create a feel good happy ending, he was saved from his obsession by the love of another dancer. Merry tried not to feel jealous at the sight of her ex-partner dancing with a spectacularly beautiful and wraith-like girl. And failed. Irrationally, she hated Daniel’s co-star on first sight. How dare she dance with him? Why, her hands had been all over him!
Over interval drinks (Venetia insisted on champagne and Merry was glad of some Dutch courage) they could overhear nothing but praise from the crush in the bar. The audience loved it. Merry even heard one woman say it was the third time she’d been.
With the finale music ringing in their ears, they made their way backstage to the after show drinks party. Venetia soon got into conversation with an acquaintance and Merry was left alone, nursing a warm glass of cheap white wine and wishing she was anywhere else. It was cramped and even more crowded than in the bar at the interval, and hot and airless too. Feeling the usual panic begin to engulf her, Merry looked for an escape and, spying a door in between two stage flats, she slipped through into what must be some sort of storage room. In a corner was a rack of gigantic red ballet shoes and leaning against a wall were enormous musical notes, all from the show. And, perched on the corner of a table, swinging one long leg and sipping wine, was Daniel.
He looked up in surprise. “Merry! What are you doing here?” He put down his glass and got up. They stood awkwardly, staring at one another but not moving closer.
Merry thought he looked tired and wasn’t surprised. She knew Marisa worked her team hard; it was one of the reasons why her shows were so excellent.
“Have you been to see it tonight?”
Merry could tell Daniel was trying not to look hopeful. “Yes. Oh, it was wonderful,” she gabbled. “Marvellous. I thought you were great, Daniel. Extraordinary.”
Daniel nodded. “Thank you.”
Merry finished her drink in one swallow and covered her nervousness by looking for somewhere to jettison her empty glass. Putting it on the table to join Daniel’s, she resisted the temptation to throw her arms around him and resumed her spot a couple of paces away.
Daniel sat again and stared down at the floor. He concentrated very hard on a piece of torn lino; it was extremely fascinating. He pushed at it with his toe. Every part of him yearned to rush into Merry’s arms but her three month silence had only confirmed he was nothing to her. Less than nothing. He knew he was being childish but couldn’t stop himself.
Merry’s eyes took in Daniel’s every tensely held muscle. Maybe it was simple exhaustion after the show? But it didn’t seem likely to be that. This wasn’t the Daniel she used to know. His absence from her life had left her aching for him but now she was here, suddenly confronted by him, her resolve to sort things out began to waver. “I’m so glad you’ve got what you always wanted,” she rushed on, no longer sure what to say. Any plan, hatched up by Venetia, disintegrated. Her aunt had wanted them to casually bump into one another. In Merry’s head it had all been simple. Faced by Daniel in this mood, h
er optimism fled.
“And what was that, Merry?” He sounded sulky. This again, was so unlike Daniel.
“A show of your own.” She made an empty gesture. “The West End.”
Daniel snorted and gave a sour grin. “Yes, I suppose I have.”
Behind them, someone popped a champagne cork to drunken cheers. But the frigid silence between Merry and Daniel overwhelmed the party noise.
After a long and horrible pause, Daniel looked up at her. “And you, Merry, have you finally got what you wanted?”
“Yes. Yes, I have.” She watched as Daniel’s face crumpled a little. “I mean,” She went on, “I’ve got rid of my debts, my parents are happy with me, everyone’s pretty sure my TV show is going to be a huge hit -” she tailed off.
“So, life’s good?”
“Mostly.” Merry took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I’ve found though, that there’s something missing. Something fairly major.”
Daniel returned to scuffing the lino. “What’s that then?”
“You.”
Daniel’s foot stilled. His shoulders went rigid and then he relaxed. A little.
“I haven’t got you, Daniel.” She sensed a more welcome warmth in him so took a step nearer. It was proving easier to say it now. ”Look at me, Daniel.”
“I can’t.”
She went to him. Gently, she held his face and forced him to meet her eyes. “Why can’t you look at me?” she said, with a smile in her voice.
“Because you mean too much to me, to want anything other than the real thing, Merry.”
Merry was shocked at his tortured expression. She dropped her hands. “What do you mean?”
He may as well say it, he thought. He had nothing else to lose. “Merry, I love you too much to be another of your light-hearted flings. It’s got to be all or nothing.”
“Oh,” breathed Merry. “You love me!” Her eyes shone. Then she frowned. “What do you mean, ‘fling’? Oh Daniel. Is that what you think I’m like?”
Her woebegone expression nearly unmanned him. “No. I mean yes. Well, you told me you never took anything seriously.”
Merry smiled slowly, understanding him now. “Ah yes. I never took anything seriously until -”
“Until what?”
“Until I met you. And you stole my heart right from under my nose.”
“That’s a terrible image, Meredith.” He felt himself beginning to hope, to believe.
Merry wrinkled her nose and giggled. She stepped between his legs, so that she was as close as she could be to him. She feathered her fingers through his hair and tugged gently. “I love you Daniel.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ve never been more so.”
“And what about your Hillary MacDonald?”
Merry shrugged. “Last thing I heard, he was touring the Italian Lakes in search of Shelley.” She gave her mile-wide smile. “He’s history, Dan. Of the ancient variety.” She arched an eyebrow, the flirty gesture belying a tremor in her heart. “And, um, what about your Julia?”
“Julia?” Daniel gave a rueful grin. “That was over the moment I saw you in those ripped jeans, when you sashayed up to me at the first meet. I’ve been a fool, Merry. I’ve been in love with you from the start, I think. It just took me a while to realise it.”
Merry giggled, relief making her giddy. “You’d better be over her, dance boy because I have no intention of letting you go now.”
Daniel hooked his legs around her calves, bringing her even nearer, if that were possible. He clasped his hands around her waist, relishing the familiar feel of her body against his. “Just as well then.”
Merry lowered her lips to his and kissed him thoroughly. “Just as well what?” she whispered.
“That you’re never going to get away from me again, either.” He kissed her back. “I love you so much, Merry. So very much.”
“Seriously?” Merry grinned.
“I’ve never been more so.”
Venetia, passing the open doorway and seeing the lovers reunited, quietly closed the door to give them privacy. Leaning against it, she raised her glass and toasted them – and herself. And then, with the satisfied smile of a job well done, she turned back to the party.
Georgia Hill
I used to live in London, where I worked in the theatre. Then I got the bizarre job of teaching road safety to the U.S. navy – in Marble Arch! A few years ago, I did an ‘Escape to the Country’. I now live in a tiny Herefordshire village, where I scandalise the neighbours by not keeping ‘country hours’ and being unable to make a decent pot of plum jam. Home is a converted oast house, which I share with my two beloved spaniels, husband (also beloved) and a ghost called Zoe. I’ve been lucky enough to travel widely, though prefer to set my novels closer to home. Perhaps more research is needed? I’ve always wanted to base a book in the Caribbean! I am addicted to Belgian chocolate, Jane Austen and, most of all, Strictly Come Dancing. Keep dancing, everyone!
You can follow me on Twitter @georgiawrites.
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