Kirsty shrugged, feeling all awkward and embarrassed.
‘I wasn’t talking about the performance,’ Larry said, shaking his head. ‘I was talking about the weather – about the blizzard that’s blowing outside.’
‘What?’ Kirsty said, her voice incredulous. ‘You’re not serious, are you? It can’t be that bad.’
He took his jacket off and put it over her bare shoulders and Kirsty caught the lovely smell of the expensive cologne he wore. He then put his hand out and caught hers.
‘C’mon outside and see for yourself,’ he told her, pulling her to her feet.
As their hands locked, Kirsty felt as though a little electric shock had gone through her body. A little shock that told her she had been kidding herself for the last few weeks. A little shock that told her she still had very strong feelings for Larry Delaney. When they reached the door he dropped her hand, as though he had just realised he was still holding it.
A hefty breeze took Kirsty’s breath away and whipped up her blonde hair when she stepped outside. She looked around her with wide disbelieving eyes. How could things have changed so much in five hours? The hotel garden was now a thick white carpet of drifting snow, and the shrubs and bushes looked like dazzling white sculptures through the lace curtain of snowflakes that were still falling.
‘All the roads outside Lanark are completely blocked,’ Larry informed her. ‘The police called in to tell the manager to ask anybody who was travelling locally to take it easy and anybody travelling further afield to stay where they were until morning. Apparently the forecast is even worse for tomorrow.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Kirsty asked, pulling Larry’s jacket tighter around her shoulders. ‘How will we get home?’ She gave a little nervous giggle, as a feeling of silly girlish excitement started to bubble up inside her at the thought of being stranded. As though it were some kind of adventure – the sort of adventure she used to read about in her Enid Blyton books. The sort of adventure she would have loved to happen to her and her friends when she was a young teenager.
But she wasn’t a young teenager, and she wasn’t with her friends. This could be more like a romantic novel. Being stranded often happened in those. And she was with a handsome older man.
Except that the older handsome man didn’t have the slightest interest in her.
Larry drew his breath in, weighing up the situation. ‘I honestly don’t think we’re going to be able to make it home,’ he told her. ‘It would be really dangerous on those narrow, winding roads. We could end up sliding back downhill and off the road.’ He nodded back towards the building. ‘The manager has said we can stay in the hotel for the night as they’re not too busy. They have a couple of spare rooms.’ He put his arm on her shoulder. ‘We’d better go back inside or we’ll get be soaked through.’ He guided her back into the hotel.
Kirsty felt a small but intense pang of alarm running through her. She’d never stayed in a hotel room before, and she didn’t have a change of underclothes for the morning. What would she do? And, more to the point, what would her mother and father think? They would be worried sick when they got up in the morning and she wasn’t in her bed. ‘It’s too late for me to phone anybody in Rowanhill to let my mother and father know,’ she said anxiously as she walked alongside him, holding on to the lapels of his jacket. ‘I’ll have to wait until the morning. Hopefully they’ll not miss me until then . . .’
‘They’ll understand,’ Larry said, ‘and they’ll be glad you didn’t take the risk of going home in this weather. It’s just a case of getting a message to them as quick as you can in the morning so’s they’re not panicking.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Kirsty said, brightening up. She would have time to think who she could ring. The priest was definitely out after the call Claire had made earlier in the week. ‘I suppose I could always ring the post office,’ she suddenly thought. ‘The people live in the flat up the stairs, so they’ll be in to sort the mail out around eight o’clock as usual. The postman will let them know when he’s passing the house around nine.’
‘Good thinking,’ Larry said, as they walked into the bar. It was half-empty now as most of the people who had attended the dinner dance had left to make their way home through the snow. ‘Don’t be worrying about anything now, relax and enjoy the chance to stay in a nice place.’
‘You’re right,’ Kirsty agreed, ‘there’s no point in getting all worked up about it, when we can’t do anything to change it. Worrying isn’t going to make the snow go away.’
‘It would be a hell of a lot worse,’ Larry reasoned as they sat at a table, ‘if we set out and got stranded in the dark somewhere.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, and I don’t think we’ve really got any option. We’ll have a nice warm room here in the hotel –’ He suddenly halted. ‘A nice room each here in the hotel,’ he said, emphasising the word ‘each’.
Kirsty felt her throat tighten a little. ‘This is an absolute disaster . . . isn’t it?’ She looked up at him, at his white shirt and black bow-tie, and she suddenly remembered she still had his jacket around her shoulders. ‘And you’ve no change of clothes, have you?’ she asked, taking his jacket off and handing it to him. The hotel was lovely and warm and she didn’t need it now anyway.
He nodded thanks and then put the jacket back on. ‘I’ve a zip-up bag in the back of the car with a sweater and a few bits and pieces of toiletries in it.’ He shrugged. ‘In case the car ever broke down . . .’
‘Thank God I’ve at least got my jeans and jumper and my boots,’ Kirsty said, ‘but I’ve no pyjamas or toothbrush or anything like that . . .’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said in a soothing voice. ‘The hotel will probably have some stuff you can borrow.’
‘D’you think so?’ Kirsty said, raising her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Do they have nightclothes and things like that?’
‘I’m sure they have bits and pieces in the lost property . . . things that guests leave behind.’
‘Lost property?’ Kirsty repeated indignantly, her brow wrinkling at the thought. ‘I’m definitely not wearing anythin’ that a stranger has left behind.’
Larry looked at her shocked face and laughed. ‘I’m sure they will have laundered anything they have . . .’
‘I don’t care,’ Kirsty said, trying not to laugh along with him. ‘It’s not a bit funny . . . I’ll be freezin’ in the room with no pyjamas.’
‘They’ll have radiators in all the rooms,’ he told her, ‘and if you’re really stuck, you can wear my shirt or jumper if you like.’
‘Lovely,’ Kirsty said, rolling her eyes and laughing.
‘Right,’ he said, standing up, ‘I’m going to get us a drink now and see if they have anything left for you to eat. I had a meal with the manager when you were on stage, but you must be starving . . .’
Kirsty shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry, I only have a bit of toast when I go home. I’m never really hungry when I’m singing.’
‘I’ll see what they have,’ he said. ‘Now, what are you having to drink?’ He grinned. ‘You can go mad now since you’re not going home!’ The look in his eyes and his tone of voice told her that he was only joking.
Kirsty paused for minute. ‘Anything but Babycham.’ She was terrified to have the bubbly drink again when she was with him, after what had happened the last night she’d drunk a few.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what there is.’
Kirsty looked around at the other groups of people while she was waiting. Most of them were older than her, but there were a few who looked roughly her own age, who gave her curious glances as they passed by. Several people came across to say how much they had enjoyed her singing, and one young girl sat down in the seat next to her to ask her what it was like to be a famous singer and how hard was it to become one. She explained that it was her eighteenth birthday and her parents had brought her and three friends out for the dinner dance, because they’d heard that this
wonderful new singer was on that particular night.
Larry had come back with the drinks, but had gone to the empty table next to them, not wanting to interrupt. He sat drinking his whiskey and listening to the conversation with great interest.
‘Och, I’m not really famous,’ Kirsty told the girl, laughing at the idea. ‘I’m only really starting out.’
‘You’re a brilliant singer,’ the girl said, looking at her with adulation. ‘And it must be really hard learning the words to all those songs. Some of them are really new, so that must mean you’ve to constantly learn new words to keep up to date.’
‘I suppose that’s the bit you do need to work at,’ Kirsty agreed. ‘But it’s just like when you had to learn poetry or tables at school. You just sit down and make yourself learn it, because if you forget the words when you’re on stage it would be a right disaster.’
‘I never thought of that,’ the girl said, biting her lip at the thought.
‘It can be hard work at times,’ Kirsty admitted. ‘but it’s really, really worth it. Especially when nice people like you take the trouble to come up and tell me.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘The rest of it is a bit of luck – being in the right place at the right time.’
‘I think you’re absolutely great,’ the girl said, in a breathless, overwhelmed voice. ‘You’re so modest and down-to-earth when you have such a powerful, fantastic voice . . .’ She halted. ‘And you’ve got such lovely blonde hair and a beautiful figure. That dress is gorgeous on you – it makes you look like a movie star. There’s not many singers around here who look like that.’
‘Oh, thanks!’ Kirsty said, almost embarrassed with the compliment. ‘That’s really nice of you.’
The girl stood up now. ‘I’ll make sure I tell all my friends and their families to come and hear you when you’re back here again.’
After she’d gone, Larry moved across to join her at the table. He carefully slid a tall thin glass over to Kirsty. ‘Compliments of the manager – it’s champagne.’
‘Oh my God!’ Kirsty said, her voice high with excitement. ‘Up until this New Year I’d never had champagne in my life before.’ She looked at the champagne flute now and laughed. ‘You’d think I was a right seasoned drinker – I should have said I’ve hardly had any kind of drink before, never mind champagne.’ She suddenly remembered the wine at Claire’s house. ‘Now I seem to be getting offered it more and more.’
‘Well, enjoy it,’ Larry said, clinking his whiskey glass against hers. ‘You deserve a celebratory drink, and there’s no harm in it as long as you keep it in moderation. We can all fall by the wayside when we’ve had one too many.’
Kirsty looked away from him now, wondering if he was referring to the night she’d been stupid. He’d never given any indication that he’d held it against her, so she hoped that he was just talking generally.
He took a mouthful of his whiskey. ‘That girl was right – your singing was just fantastic tonight. It was the best I’ve heard yet.’ He looked at her and then shook his head. ‘Your voice just gets better and better.’
‘Well, the hotel band is really professional,’ she said, ‘and I think that makes a big difference. I used to think The Hi-Tones were good but you can tell the difference when you’re working with really good musicians who do it for a living.’ Kirsty felt embarrassed now, so she took a sip of the champagne for something to do.
‘There’s only one thing wrong though, Kirsty,’ he said, ‘you’re going to have to stop knocking yourself down when people give you compliments.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Kirsty asked.
‘I mean you should believe what people tell you . . . you are a wonderful singer, and it’s got nothing to do with the band. They’re just good, competent musicians – but you’re in a different league altogether.’
Kirsty looked over at Larry now now, and he was staring at her in a kind of strange way, as if he had just met her and was studying her so he would know her again.
‘Thanks,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘I’m grateful for you telling me that . . . it means a lot.’
‘Good,’ he said, smiling warmly at her now. Back to the old Larry. ‘I’m glad to hear you saying that, because your success up to now has been through your own hard work – don’t be saying that it’s down to luck. Your success is all down to you.’
‘I don’t agree with all of that,’ Kirsty said, sipping at her drink. ‘Because it was good luck that I met you . . . if I hadn’t met you then I wouldn’t be here tonight.’ She waved her hand around the hotel lounge. ‘If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be singing in a lovely place like this, I’d be in a wee fleapit of a freezin’ church hall . . .’ She held up her glass. ‘And I certainly wouldn’t be drinkin’ champagne! I’m just an ordinary girl from an ordinary village, and it’s because of you that I’m gettin’ the chance to better myself.’
The strange look was suddenly back in his dark greenish-brown eyes. ‘It was good luck for both of us, Kirsty. Taking you on my books was one of the best moves I’ve ever made.’ He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘I’ve been meaning to say this to you before now . . . that night we were in the Trocadero . . .’
Kirsty’s stomach lurched. Oh no, she thought, he’s going to remind me of what a fool I made of myself again. He’s going to mention that really embarrassing night . . .
Then, a young waitress in a black dress with a little frilly white apron suddenly appeared at the table with a tray with sandwiches and a silver rack of buttered toast.
‘Lovely!’ Kirsty said, reaching out for a piece of toast. She looked up at the waitress, overwhelmingly grateful at the diversion from Larry’s conversation, and determined to make the most of it. ‘That’s really good of you making me toast. Have you been working all night?’
The girl glanced over towards the bar, and when she saw no sign of the manager, she sunk down into one of the chairs at the table, grateful to steal a few minutes away from her work. ‘Aye,’ she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, ‘and I’m on again first thing in the mornin’. You’re not goin’ to believe it, but I’m goin’ to have to stay the night in the staff quarters of the hotel because of the snow. I usually get a taxi home to Carluke, but they’re all off the road tonight.’
‘It’s terrible, isn’t it?’ Kirsty said, taking a bite of the buttered toast. ‘We’re havin’ to stay the night as well.’ She nodded over at Larry, who was now happily sipping his whiskey, his bow-tie loosened and the top button of his white shirt undone. Then she added rather unnecessarily. ‘Of course we’ve got a single room each.’
They chatted for a few minutes longer, the waitress asking Kirsty about her singing and then Kirsty asking her more questions about her job in the hotel – all light-hearted, ordinary talk that kept Larry safely off the more sensitive subjects.
The manager suddenly appeared behind the bar, and a glance in their direction got the waitress to her feet and scuttling off to attend to the last hour of her duties. He came across to the table with two more flutes and the remainder of the bottle of champagne that he’d opened for Kirsty.
‘Blidey awful night, isn’t it?’ he said, grinning at Larry. ‘I can’t get home either . . . but I suppose we might as well make the best of the night.’ He leaned over and refilled Kirsty’s glass then filled one for himself and Larry, then he held the bottle of champagne up to the light to check how much was left. ‘That was a wee bonus tonight,’ he explained. ‘A big group of solicitors that were at the dinner dance. They told me to put a dozen bottles on ice and they only used eleven.’ He held his glass up to Kirsty. ‘After your sterling performance tonight, I thought you were the one that most deserved to have a wee glass of Moët et Chandon.’ He winked at Larry. ‘Those solicitors are nothin’ but a crowd of robbing gets – we’re far more entitled to drink the champagne than they are.’
Kirsty laughed heartily along with the two men, and then, feeling relaxed for the first time that whole evening, she sat
back in her chair and enjoyed the luxury of the hotel and the expensive champagne.
The bar was empty now and so was the champagne bottle. The manager had gone off to get the keys for the bedrooms leaving Kirsty with the last half-glass from the bottle and a night-cap of a large whiskey for Larry.
Kirsty had been very, very careful with the alcohol. She had drunk it slowly, and found herself constantly checking the effect it was having on her. Apart from feeling nice and relaxed and a little tired, she knew she was still her normal self. And she knew that there was no way she would say or do anything tonight that would cause her to make a fool of herself. She had definitely learned that lesson.
Larry checked his watch; it was quarter past one. ‘Are you OK, Kirsty?’ he asked her in a concerned tone. ‘I know this has been a bit of a shock to you . . . staying out all night when you hadn’t planned it.’
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ Kirsty said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. ‘And I’ve enjoyed myself. The dinner-dance went well and I’ve enjoyed sitting here chatting to everybody. It’s a lovely place and I’d be daft not to enjoy it.’ She halted. ‘I know it’s no big deal to you – you’ve obviously been brought up used to all these nice things – but our family are just ordinary and wouldn’t be used to this kind of thing. Not that I’m ashamed of my up-bringing or where I come from or anythin’,’ she hastily added. ‘My mammy and daddy are really decent hard-working people and I’m actually very proud of them and my sister.’
The hotel manager reappeared, and handed them both a key. Kirsty’s had ten on it and Larry’s nine. ‘You’re across the corridor from each other,’ he told them, ‘on the ground floor. There are toilets at either end of the corridor and breakfast is on until ten, so you can get a long lie-in if you want since it’s Saturday.’
They both thanked him then, when he left, Larry suddenly remembered. ‘You wanted to check about nightclothes, didn’t you?’
Kirsty looked back in the direction the manager had gone and then she shrugged. ‘Och, I’ll be all right . . . it’s a bit late to have him running about looking.’ She laughed. ‘If the rooms are cold, I might just borrow your shirt.’
The Grace Girls Page 40