by June Gadsby
“Ah, there you are! I’m so glad you could come. Hilary Andrews, looking flushed and even more dumpy than usual in a badly chosen frilly white blouse and long black skirt, left a group of chattering friends and came to greet us. “Oh, my! You poor man. That boot must weigh a ton. Is it terribly painful?”
Greg allowed her to pat him and fuss over him with unusual grace considering he was feeling stressed from lack of alcohol and tobacco. Then she turned to me, kissed me on the cheek warmly, and held me at arm’s length, her small, faded blue eyes taking in every inch of me.
“My dear, you look absolutely ravishing. Such a gorgeous colour.” She hugged me again, then took my arm and pulled me forward into the mêlée of guests. “I daresay there’ll be some jealous wives here tonight once their husbands get sight of you, Megan. Now, speaking of husbands, where’s…ah, there he is! Callum! Callum, dear, look who’s here.”
Callum had his back to us. He was listening to a rather animated young man who talked a great deal with his hands and looked uncomfortable in his black morning suit with his long, thin hair straggling over his collar. Callum, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease in anything he wore, but particularly handsome this evening, I noticed, with an alarming acceleration of my heartbeat. As he turned, his face lit up on me.
“See how pleased he is to see you.” Hilary said hurriedly in my ear. “You have the most marvellous effect on him, so I’m doubly glad you came.”
Callum politely excused himself from his companion with the busy hands and came to join us, two strides of his long legs bringing him face to face with me. He took hold of my hands, gazed down from his elegant height and shook his head slightly before placing a kiss on both my cheeks.
“Megan,” he said simply, his eyes not leaving my face. His gaze was as soft as an intimate caress and my very being melted before him.
“Doesn’t she look lovely, Callum?” Hilary enthused at my side and I felt her arm slide around my waist in a motherly gesture that I could have done without right then.
“Stunning,” Callum said, then dragged his eyes away to acknowledge Greg, who was slumped on his crutches half a pace behind me. “Greg, my friend, it seems you fell out with your car. It was brave of you to come this evening.”
“Actually, it was a friend’s car,” Greg’s face twitched into a rictus of a smile. He still wore a dressing on the cut over his eye. It had been a deep wound and although the stitches were out, the cut refused to heal. However, the bruising was beginning to fade into an interesting shade of greenish-yellow tinged with purple.
Callum gave a wry smile that deepened the long grooves in his cheeks. “I hope you didn’t fall out with your friend as well. Come and sit down. Our table’s over there.”
Callum glanced at me and suddenly realised that he was still holding one of my hands. He dropped it and led us through the milling crowd of laughing, jostling people to a round table that was already largely occupied.
I recognised Callum’s step-son, Stuart, and his wife Pamela, looking thinner and more angular than ever in a black sheath dress that sparkled with silver threads. She was making a big thing out of showing off her rather expensive and gaudy taste in jewellery, one hand constantly stroking a pearl collar that was probably a recent present, the other stroking the hand of a handsome, but bored looking young man next to her. Stuart was scowling disconsolately into his drink and from the look of him, it wasn’t his first.
The other person I recognised was Lady Constance Penfold, who was, I found out later, a Patron of the Association, and the Hon. Mrs. Hassenden-Smythe. Both ladies served on the same charitable committees with Hilary Andrews and were, like Hilary, passionate about flower arranging, cake decorating, embroidery and whist. I had met them when visiting the Andrews’ house. They were both very pleasant, but rather staid and somewhat boring.
The two ladies stared at me rather oddly, I thought, before acknowledging my presence with carefully manicured smiles.
“Well, Hilary,” Callum turned to his wife and although he was still smiling, I detected a slight impatience in his voice. “I suppose you’ve got the seating arrangements all finely organised. Where is everyone sitting?”
Hilary fluttered her hands before her chest, then put one finger to her chin as she thought about his question. “Now, let me see. Ah, yes. Greg, I’ve put you next to me, dear. That side of the table is much easier for you to get in and out of and it’s nearer the cloakroom if you need it. Callum, you’re in between Pamela and Mrs. Hassenden-Smythe…er…do sit down, Callum. I can’t think straight when you frown at me like that.”
“I’m not frowning,” Callum said shortly, the frown that he claimed he didn’t have, growing even deeper.
“All right, dear, but sit down where I told you, so I can see what I’m doing. Right…ah, yes. Now I remember. Megan, you’re here next to…goodness, who have I put there? Oh, yes, I remember now. The Lord Mayor. How could I possibly forget him? He’s late, of course. Always double booked, they tell me. Never mind. I’m sure we’ll all get on famously. Callum, why are you looking at me like that? Have I said something wrong?”
“Not at all, dear, but you’re fussing.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You always fuss when you’re nervous and there’s really no need at all.”
He spoke kindly, but Hilary instantly took it to heart and just for a moment I saw her eyes mist over, but she rallied instantly. “He’s in one of his difficult moods,” she said under her breath and gave me a knowing look. “Oh, dear, I haven’t introduced everybody yet, have I…?”
Greg and I were duly introduced to the other couples at the table and spent some time answering questions about our work as a writer and artist ‘team’. Greg positively bloomed and basked in the praise and admiration that flooded out of them. I sat self-consciously smiling and trying not to seem too gauche because every time a question was directed at me, I could feel Callum’s eyes fixed on my face.
The Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress arrived in time for the main course. He was a jovial character who looked as if he had enjoyed a shadier side of life before gaining his title as Lord Mayor. His wife was small and dark and efficient, the perfect woman behind the man in office.
As the evening progressed quite amicably I began to relax. The only worry I had was the fact that despite being on rather a lot of strong medication, and having been warned to stay off alcohol, Greg was ignoring all advice and was drinking rather heavily. I could see the usual pattern of behaviour evolving. The glassy eyes, the voice that got louder and louder, the laugh that got more raucous, the hands that got clumsier. Then the descent on the other side as he lay back in his chair as far as he could, made difficult by the broken leg, and viewed everything through eyes no bigger than slits. When he spoke, which was infrequently, he did so with a dreamy drawl to anyone who was not too bored to listen.
Callum humoured him, Pamela flirted with him, Stuart and one or two of the others plainly ignored him. Hilary, of course, continued to look after him like the mother hen she was.
The meal over, the tables were cleared, and a group of young musicians struck up some good old-fashioned dance music interspersed with one or two modern numbers of the day and a good chunk of eighties disco sounds. I sat tapping my fingers and feet to the gay rhythms, itching to dance. Dancing wasn’t Greg’s ‘thing’. A bit stiff at the best of times, but he could be encouraged to get onto the floor when the opportunity arose. No chance this evening, though, with a broken leg and, by now, a head swimming with alcohol. I was very glad I had insisted on travelling by taxi.
“Megan, do you like dancing, dear?” Hilary called over to me suddenly in a loud voice.
“Yes,” I nodded. “I love dancing.”
“Oh, dear, do you really? That’s a pity. Your poor husband is incapacitated. I’ve never cared for it myself, as Callum will tell you. Oh, someone do ask Megan up to dance!”
She looked around the table at the few men who were sit
ting there and got blank looks back from most of them. I didn’t dare look in Callum’s direction in case he thought I wanted him to ask me to dance. I needn’t have worried. Pamela was commandeering her father-in-law onto the floor for an old-fashioned waltz. I sat there swallowing my jealousy and kept smiling in what I hoped wasn’t too fixed a grimace.
After a minute, I excused myself and went off to the cloakroom to powder my nose and repair my lipstick. It was better than having to watch Callum with his arms around another woman and wishing it was me.
In the cloakroom, I bumped into Lady Constance. We had a short conversation with our reflections in the dressing table mirror. She patted her hair into place while I got out powder and lipstick.
“It’s a perfectly lovely evening, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it’s very nice.”
“Such a pity that Hilary doesn’t dance. It leaves poor Callum open to so many challenges.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You know…other women…” She placed a warm hand on my shoulder and light though it was I felt as if it burned me. “I’m sure you realise that women are attracted to Callum. I must admit to being a little in love with him myself. The thing is, he’s far too nice and honourable a man to be unfaithful to his wife. They’ve been married forever you know and there’s never been anyone else, despite the difference in their ages. Never.”
“Hilary’s a very lucky woman,” I said through a throat as dry as cotton wool.
“Yes, isn’t she? And such a wonderful person. I’d hate to think of anyone trying to hurt her, wouldn’t you, Megan, my dear.”
There was a wealth of hidden meaning behind her words and the meaningful pat she gave my shoulder with that same hand. I simply stared at her reflection and it stared back at me coldly. I said nothing, blotted my lipstick and went back to the table with Lady Constance following in my wake smiling brightly and telling me that I really should join one of her ladies’ groups.
No sooner did I get back to the table, than the Lord Mayor took pity on me and asked me to dance. It was a disco number and he wasn’t on form, but he did his best and I was grateful. Before too long he led me back to the table, red-faced and panting and wiping perspiration from his brow.
“Good Lord, but that’s hard work. Anybody got the time? Is it midnight yet?”
There were still a few minutes to go before the old year turned into the new. I glanced across at Greg and bit my lip. He had slumped forward, his head resting on his arms, and was fast asleep. I prayed that he wouldn’t snore. Callum saw my concern and gave me an encouraging smile and a wink.
“Megan?” Stuart was leaning across his neighbour, a rather portly old man who hadn’t spoken a word all evening. “Care to do this one with me? Pamela doesn’t like the quickstep.”
Pamela’s attention at that moment was back with the young man on her right. He seemed to have revived after a few glasses of wine and was starting to be positively animated.
“All right,” I smiled and nodded, surprised that Stuart even knew how to dance. He didn’t look the sort of man to do anything physical. He was like his mother, and in more ways than one, though he lacked her warmth. Callum and his stepson were not close, that was obvious. The most that could be said was that they tolerated one another. Whereas, there was no doubt that Stuart got on very well with his mother, even better than he got on with his own wife.
As a dancer, Stuart was about in Greg’s league, but in his defence, I must say that the floor was somewhat overcrowded, which made dancing difficult. Excited couples were dancing their way to the midnight chimes and looking forward to the exploding champagne corks and kisses and hugs all around.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Stuart shouted above the noise after apologising for treading on my toes for the second time.
“Thank you,” I shouted back. “It was very nice of your parents to invite us.”
“It was Callum’s idea, apparently. Mum thinks he’s got a crush on you or something, the crazy old fool. He’s going through a mid-life crisis, I expect.”
I gulped back my heart and stumbled, at which point the music faded and the MC was asking people to take their partners for the last dance of the year.
“Your step-father’s not that old,” I told Stuart firmly, surprised that my voice sounded so normal.
“I notice you haven’t denied it.”
“Denied what?”
“That he’s got a crush on you.”
“Don’t be silly. How would I know if he’s got a crush on me or not? This is only the second time I’ve seen him in months. Besides, only children get crushes.”
We were standing there in the middle of the floor blinking at one another. Men and women were hurrying off to find their respective spouses. My cheeks were burning and I turned my head from side to side, trying to locate our table so I could return to it, sit down and try to act natural even though I was feeling decidedly angry and uncomfortable.
“So, there’s nothing going on between you and my step-father?” Stuart persisted, his hand gripping my upper arm, preventing me from moving a step until he had the answer he was searching.
“Of course not.” I denied heatedly.
“Then what the hell’s up with him these days?”
“I don’t know what you mean, but I hardly think it has anything to do with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Stuart was still regarding me suspiciously when I saw Callum approaching from behind. He had Pamela in tow.
“Here we are.” Callum smiled broadly and virtually pushed Pamela into her husband’s arms as the music started up. “It’s the last dance of the year, Stuart. Dance with your wife.”
“And what about you, Dad?”
“Your mother doesn’t dance, as well you know. Anyway, I have her permission to dance with Megan.” He led me off into the centre of the dance floor, away from Stuart and Pamela, whispering in my ear, “I didn’t have the heart to wake up Greg to ask his permission. Shall we take it as granted?”
I gave him a wobbly smile and a nod. “Are you sure Hilary doesn’t mind?” I said in a small voice and had to repeat the question as the music swelled and couples crowded onto the floor. “It’s such a shame that she doesn’t dance. You dance so well.”
“Oh, she’s quite happy sitting there between her two old cronies…that is, Lady Constance and Mrs. ‘Thing’ with a hyphen. They’ve not stopped gossiping all evening. You’d think they never saw one another. Have you enjoyed this evening, Megan? I haven’t had an opportunity to say more than half a dozen words to you.”
“Oh, yes…it’s been…lovely.”
The crush of bodies was getting tighter and tighter as we danced. The orchestra played a waltz, but it very soon became impossible to dance anything other than small, improvised steps in time with the music. I found myself crushed up against Callum in a way that I might have enjoyed more fully had I not been feeling so guilty after my brief encounters with Lady Constance and Stuart Andrews.
“This is ridiculous.” Callum laughed in my ear. I nodded and laughed back, then swallowed hard as his hand pulled me in to him even tighter than before.
“Ohh!” I couldn’t prevent the short, expiration of breathless sound that escaped my lips.
“What’s wrong?” Those dark, penetrating eyes were searching my face.
“Nothing.” I averted my gaze.
“I’ve been watching you all evening, Megan. There’s something bothering you. I can tell. Is it Greg?”
I shook my head.
“It’s nothing.”
“Is it me?”
I felt a shot of electricity pass through me and forced myself to look up at him. “I…I don’t know what you mean, Callum.”
“Neither do I. Forget it.”
The music went on and on and we danced on and on as best we could. I had never been that close to Callum. It was wonderful and frightening at the same time. I wished we could have been like this, but alone, not part of a jolly, laug
hing crowd. I wanted to hear his magical voice without having to strain my ears. I wanted to give myself to him completely and not care about anything or anyone.
The crush was getting worse. Callum stumbled and swore softly as a couple barged into us.
“Come on,” he said and suddenly he was guiding me expertly through the other dancing couples towards the far end of the ballroom. “I can’t stand this any longer.”
Within seconds we had reached a bank of sliding glass doors leading out onto a terrace that overlooked the river and the lights of the city. Callum opened one of the doors and stepped out into the surprisingly mild night air. I followed a moment’s hesitation. He closed the door again, but we could still hear the strains of the orchestra.
“That’s better! Now we can dance properly.” He took me in his arms. I shivered, and he held me closer. “You’re cold. Dammit, I didn’t give a thought to the weather.”
“No! No, I’m fine. It was just…just the first shock of the cool air after all that heat.”
It was dark on the terrace. Too dark for any of the dancers inside to see us out there. I tried to relax, but I was trembling, and it wasn’t the winter temperature that was making me shudder so convulsively.
Suddenly the music faded, and a voice began the countdown to midnight. Callum continued to hold onto me, warming me with his body, his chin resting on the top of my head. I realised for the first time that my heart wasn’t the only one to be beating hard and fast. His chest heaved against me as he took a deep breath, then sighed.
“…three…two…one…ZERO! Happy New Year, everybody!”
The ballroom erupted in one great explosion of cheers and laughter. I licked my dry lips and swallowed hard. Callum’s arms tightened minutely, then he let me go, but held onto my hands.
“Happy New Year, Megan,” he said so softly I could hardly hear him.