Too Beautiful to Dance

by Diana Appleyard

  The driver raised his hand in thanks to Sara, as he squeezed his car past hers, just an inch between their wing mirrors. The rain was so heavy now she had to put her windscreen wipers on double time, and, arriving at the ferry queue she found that she was the only car waiting.

  A song was playing on the radio that she and Matt had loved. She wondered what kind of music he was listening to now. Karina’s choice of music? How odd it must be, she thought, to have nothing culturally in common. To have no births, no deaths, no shared experiences between you.

  A small stream of cars turned the sharp left-hand bend and drove towards her, signalling the arrival of the ferry. Moments later, she drove slowly down the jetty, hearing the familiar clunk, clunk, as her wheels passed over the iron ramp onto the deck. Tim, who took the fares, was today swathed from head to foot in yellow oilskins, and he smiled when he saw Sara’s car. She pressed the button and her window slid down a fraction, and he said, through the gap, ‘Morning, Sara. Bloody awful, isn’t it?’

  ‘I know. I hope it clears up.’

  ‘No young lady with you today?’ He peered hopefully into the car. Sara smiled. He must have been nearly forty, but he blushed a deep red whenever he saw Lottie. Sara teased her that if she failed to find a boyfriend in Europe or at university, there was always Tim.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Not today.’

  ‘Where is she? On holiday?

  ‘That’s right. In Italy at the moment. At least, she was when we last spoke. She’s travelling around, inter-railing.’

  ‘You tell her I was asking about her. She brightens my day, that one does.’

  ‘I will,’ Sara said smiling. He was such a sweetheart. She handed the coins over through the top of the window, and he gave her a little yellow ticket before dropping the money into the leather satchel he wore around his neck. Waves buffeted the ferry and he was standing with his legs far apart, balancing against the swell. Anchored to their buoys, the small sailing boats in the estuary rocked violently from side to side, and, once the ferry had set off, it took twice as long to sail across, the winch having to fight the powerful tide as they drifted towards the sea.

  Sara realized that there would be days in the coming months when the ferry might not run at all. Life would be quite different, she thought, in the winter. When she had moved in the early spring, the villages were just beginning to wake as if after a long winter sleep. Awnings were being unfurled, window frames painted, paths brushed – there was a general air of everyone gearing up for the influx of holidaymakers with their pounds jangling in their pockets. When the tourists left, Fowey would feel like a ghost town once more. A sudden thought occurred to her. Would Ricky leave, once the work slowed down and the stream of visitors to Pip’s became a trickle? Perhaps he might move on this year. She smiled to herself. Why would that matter? It was just, she thought, she’d become so used to him. His visits to the cottage had become a regular occurrence – he jogged past nearly every day and would stop for a glass of water. Sometimes Lottie was there, before she left on holiday, and the two of them had developed an easy, joking relationship. There did not seem to be any sign of romance – Lottie had admitted to her mother she found him a bit too old. He also regularly appeared in the trust’s offices – he and Nick were friends and Ricky would perch on the end of a desk, teasing her, bantering with Nick, until she shooed him out, saying he was getting in the way and they had work to do, even if he didn’t. It was ridiculous, she thought, how much she looked forward to seeing him.

  The ferry hit the concrete jetty with a resounding bang, and Sara switched the engine back on. She’d been looking forward to choosing material for the curtains, and had spent many a happy half-hour browsing through sample books, trying to imagine what the room would look like once it was finished.

  Indicating, she turned into the car park, waiting as an old woman negotiated her way out of a space, her husband sitting glumly in the passenger seat, staring miserably out at the rain. At least Matt and I never had the time to run out of things to say, she thought.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘I’m usually in bed by this time, never mind going out,’ Helen said, as they pushed open the door to Pip’s. The noise inside was deafening, and the heat hit them like a tidal wave. All the tables appeared to be full and there was a crowd of people ten deep at the bar. Ricky, Jake and the two other waiters had to manoeuvre themselves with immense difficulty through the packed tables, plates held high over their heads. When Ricky saw Sara standing by the door all he could do was raise his eyebrows in greeting. Having served his table he fought his way over to them, taking Sara under the elbow.

  ‘I’ve saved you a table in the far corner,’ he said in a muted bellow. ‘Christ, this place is insane tonight. I’ve had to beat people off with sticks to keep this for you,’ he added. ‘See how much I care?’ Sara smiled.

  As they reached the table, he deftly slid their chairs back for them. ‘Now, what can I get you to drink?’ he asked. His hair, slick with sweat, was tucked behind his ears, and his face was dripping with perspiration. It must be boiling in the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sara said, turning to look at Helen. ‘What do you fancy?’

  ‘I can make you a cocktail,’ Ricky suggested, leaning forward and tapping the drinks menu lying on the table between them. ‘We do a brilliant house cocktail. Two of those and you’ll be first on the dance floor.’

  ‘Dancing?’ Helen asked faintly.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you there’s a live band?’ Sara shouted. ‘I thought you knew. That’s why I booked the table for so late. I’m normally in bed by now too!’

  ‘I’m not sure I can last that long,’ Helen replied grinning. ‘Aren’t we a bit old for a live band? It’s going to be very loud.’

  ‘Live a little,’ Sara said, studying the menu. Ricky grinned. ‘I’ve had a frustrating week at work, the weather is awful and tonight I think I may drink too much. Just warning you.’

  ‘Yey,’ Ricky said, smiling at her. ‘I, personally, am looking forward to that a lot. Sara finally lets her hair down.’

  The band was indeed deafening. Having warmed up with various squeaks and yowls, they launched into their first number only ten feet from their table. Sara had forgotten the effect of live rock music. It was years and years since she’d been to a concert. Now she suddenly remembered the way that the bass beat through you, quickening your pulse, making your heart race. Making you feel as if anything might happen.

  Ricky and Jake had moved the vacated tables in the centre of the room away, creating a small clear space.

  Sara peered at herself in the small mirror above the hand basin in the toilet, after they had hurriedly finished their meal. What do you think you are doing? she asked herself sternly. You have drunk very nearly a bottle of white wine and it is quite possible you will drink more. You will regret this, you know you will. No matter how worried you are about Matt, you cannot use that concern as an excuse to blot everything out. Plus the fact you know how bad your hangovers are these days, they seem to last for ever. And you are too old to be out of control, especially in the light of what is happening to Matt. What would the girls think? But she and Helen had decided they were going to have to get a taxi home anyway as they were both over the limit. She stared at herself for a long minute. It won’t do any harm, she told herself. I think you deserve one night to be just a little irresponsible. After all you have been through. Tears started in her eyes. Oh stop it, she said. It’s only the wine. Put on some more lipstick, get out there and smile. In the morning you can be sensible responsible Sara again. She drew a little more liner around her eyes. I do look OK, she thought, noting how deep her tan was, how her eyes sparkled. Even her face seemed slimmer, somehow, less lined, although that could have been the deliberately low light in the toilet.

  ‘Oops. Ow.’ She tipped forward, and hit her hip bone against the basin. She grabbed a tap to steady herself. Goodness, she thought. I haven’t been so drunk for years. Water.
I need to drink a lot of water.

  As she emerged from the loo, people had begun to dance, the wooden floor of the restaurant vibrating under her feet. As she fought her way over to stand next to Helen, she saw Jake appear in front of her, holding out his hand. Smiling, Helen took it, and he pulled her into the sea of bodies. Heavens, Sara thought. I hope she isn’t going to do anything she might regret.

  ‘I said you had to dance with me.’ His lips were very close to her ear.

  ‘I told you,’ she said, turning, their bodies touching. ‘I haven’t danced for years.’

  ‘You don’t forget,’ he said. ‘It’s like riding a bike.’

  ‘I was never a very good dancer anyway. Far too inhibited. The girls say my dancing makes them want to hide under a table.’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘Live a little.’ He stared at her. ‘You look great tonight. Really amazing.’ His hand was warm in hers. She looked down at them, noticing how his fingers twined in and out of hers, like a child.

  ‘OK. Although I warn you – you may say I am too beautiful, tonight. But the illusion will be lost once I start dancing.’

  ‘I’ll risk it,’ he said smiling. ‘If you will.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ‘God, it’s hot.’ Catherine was lying on a sun lounger on her roof terrace, fanning herself with a weary hand. ‘Why am I still in London? Everyone I know is in the South of France or somewhere glamorous. I’m going to book a holiday tomorrow. Only I haven’t got anyone to bloody well go with. Why won’t you come with me?’ She turned angrily to Sara, who was lying next to her with eyes closed.

  ‘You know I can’t,’ she said. It felt far hotter in London than at home, probably because there wasn’t the sea breeze. ‘I’ve got work.’

  ‘Oh work, schmerk,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s not a proper job, is it? It doesn’t matter if you’re there or not. Please, darling, come on. I’ll pay. We can go to St Tropez, or Marbella, anywhere you fancy.’

  Sara suddenly realized she had absolutely no desire to go on holiday. Living in Cornwall was like being on holiday every day. Besides . . .

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ Catherine pushed up her sunglasses to look at her.

  ‘Nothing,’ Sara said. ‘Really, nothing.’

  ‘Matt’s back from Mauritius, you know.’

  Sara’s eyes flew open. ‘Is he? I thought he was coming back at the end of the week.’

  ‘Apparently they had to come home early,’ Catherine said. ‘No idea why. You know, I think that relationship is in injury time. Melissa saw them out two weeks ago and she said . . .’

  Sara held up her hand. ‘Please, Catherine, I do not want to know. The only link I have with Matt now is the children, and his relationship with Karina is of no interest to me.’ Only, she knew, that wasn’t strictly true. She had to speak to him, and now he was back in London, she could. Oh, bugger and blast. The shadows returned, returning at a time when she had this tiny chink of happiness inside her, this possibility of something, well, something quite extraordinary. If. Well, there were far too many if’s. The only way she could see forward was not to think what anyone might say. Especially the girls. Oh, especially the girls. She closed her eyes again.

  ‘Are you planning to see Matt?’

  ‘I didn’t know he was back.’

  ‘Now you know he is.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Mmm? Is that yes, mmm?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘You’re annoying me, Sara Atkinson. Talk properly.’

  Sara sat up and looked at Catherine. ‘I might see him. I haven’t made up my mind. There is something we have to discuss.’

  ‘What?’ Catherine was all ears.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Catherine glared at her. ‘Do you want to go shopping this afternoon?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Out for lunch?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Can I just say that you are being really rather dull? I am trying to entertain you and give you a taste of life, and all you seem to want to do is sit in the sun.’

  ‘I just want to relax,’ Sara said. ‘My house is such a tip it’s bliss to be somewhere tidy, and I had a bit of a heavy night a few nights ago. I’m still recovering.’

  ‘With a man?’ Catherine was agog.

  ‘No,’ Sara said. ‘Not with “a man”. With a friend.’

  ‘Have you met anyone, you sly fox? God, how could you have kept this from me? Me, your oldest friend?’ she added dramatically.

  Sara smiled. ‘Meet someone in Cornwall? Hardly.’

  ‘You’ll have to start looking for a man eventually,’ Catherine said. ‘You can’t moulder away down there like an elderly spinster.’

  ‘Trust me,’ Sara said. ‘I’m not mouldering away.’

  ‘You have met someone.’ Catherine’s eyes were wide. ‘Remember how long I’ve known you. Just like all your life. Don’t hide this from me. Tell me, tell me all.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Sara said firmly.

  The slap, slap of Catherine’s flip-flops woke her from a brief doze. Catherine set a tray holding a bottle of white wine and two glasses between them, before gathering up her chiffon sarong to sit down. Shifting about to get comfortable, she lay back and moved her sunglasses from resting in her hair to cover her eyes.

  ‘I saw Matt and Karina in Knightsbridge together,’ she said conversationally. ‘Last month. He was buying her some jewellery. He went bright red when he saw me,’ she added. Sara opened her eyes and lifted herself up on one elbow. Catherine lay back, her face turned up to the sun. ‘He looked all right from a distance, but when I got closer I thought he looked a bit peaky. I don’t think she’s good for him at all. Pretty, yes, I’ll grant you, but she has a very predatory look about her. Couldn’t be more different from you.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment. Did you chat?’

  ‘I tried to, but she was shooting me evil looks and tugging at his arm. He looked very harassed. Nowhere near as sleek as normal. You know . . .’ She turned her face to Sara. ‘I think he is missing you. He didn’t look cared-for at all.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sara said. ‘I doubt he ever thinks of me.’

  ‘Well he should,’ Catherine said, raising her sunglasses to look more closely at Sara. ‘You look really good, you know. Are you sure you haven’t had anything done? Come on. You can tell me. What is it? Botox? Caci? Liposuction? Don’t forget I am the expert.’

  ‘It’s just clean living and lots of fresh air,’ Sara said smiling.

  ‘I think there is a man.’ Catherine was like a dog with a bone.

  ‘I’d tell you, I promise, if anyone remotely interesting strayed across my path. Look, do you mind if I see someone this afternoon?’ As she said it, her heart was sinking, but she thought, I must. I have to. For them.

  Catherine sighed. ‘Oh, just leave me, I don’t care. It’s not as if I haven’t seen you for ages or planned lots of lovely things to do. Who?’

  Sara thought hastily. She could not tell Catherine she was going to try to see Matt, because she would get the third degree when she came back. She hunted about mentally for a plausible alternative.

  ‘Rachael,’ she said.

  ‘God. No! Not really? Oh, well, go ahead if you want to be bored to death. See if I care that you’d rather spend time with her than me. She’s so menopausal, she positively thrums. Shall I book somewhere for dinner? Come on, darling, let’s have some fun.’

  ‘OK,’ Sara said. ‘I’ll be back by seven.’

  Her heart beat impossibly quickly as she dialled Matt’s Blackberry number. She was standing in a doorway a couple of streets away from his office. He’ll be fine, she told herself, Emily might have been exaggerating, he can’t be so foolish . . . A sudden mental image of Ricky flashed through her mind. The way his eyes had closed as he bent his head to kiss her as they stood by the harbour, the lights of Fowey reflected in the water, the feel of his lips on hers, the way h
er stomach had seemed to disappear as his lips parted hers and she’d had to move away from him, putting her hand over his mouth as he protested, ‘Why? Why not? I want you so much, Sara. What harm can it do?’

  Matt should have been at work as it was three in the afternoon, but for some reason he didn’t seem to be answering. She had nearly given up when she heard him say, abruptly, ‘Yes? Matt de Lall?’

  ‘Matt, it’s me. Sara.’

  ‘Sara! Good God! How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine. How are you?’

  ‘OK. A bit stressed, busy, you know. Where are you?’

  ‘In London.’

  There was a stunned pause. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m staying with Catherine. Just for a night.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Can I see you?’

  ‘Is it something to do with the girls?’ His voice was suddenly wary.

  ‘Kind of. I can’t explain on the phone.’

  ‘OK.’ He paused. ‘Can you meet me in the Starbucks by the office? How far are you away?’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ she said.

  ‘Fine. I’ll see you there.’ His voice changed as he said crossly, away from the phone, ‘It doesn’t have to go off now. Just wait. OK. I’ll see you there,’ he said to Sara.

  Sara watched him walk towards her in the café. His olive skin was tanned a deep mahogany and he was wearing a beautifully-cut dove-grey silk suit, with a pale pink shirt. Contrary to both Emily and Catherine’s reports, he seemed perfectly fit and healthy.

  Sara had bought him a black coffee, and he took a sip as he slid into the seat opposite her. For several moments they sat, looking at each other, in silence.

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘You . . .’

  Sara laughed. ‘You first.’

  ‘You look well. Great, really – really, well, I don’t know. Even better than before. Life there must be suiting you.’

  ‘You look good, too.’

  ‘Thanks. I had a good . . .’

  ‘In Mauritius.’

  ‘Yes. And you?’