Becky nudged Charlie and tilted her head in the direction of the pair. ‘Has Rachel introduced you to her mother?’
Charlie blanched. ‘No, not yet.’
As he muttered his reply, Rachel turned away from her mother and began her own survey of the room. While Becky used only her eyes, Rachel used her whole body, standing on tiptoes and swivelling like an owl on hot sand. When she found Charlie she tapped her mother on the arm and gestured in his direction.
Becky took a step back into the shadows as Rachel approached. ‘Well, I think you’re going to be given the honour right now. Good luck.’
‘There you are!’ Rachel grabbed Charlie’s hand. ‘There’s someone who wants to meet you. Come along.’
Dragging his feet after Rachel, Charlie threw a glance at Becky over his shoulder and parted his lips, looking for all the world as if he were about to ask the way to the lifeboats. Then another sharp pull and bark from Rachel made him snap his head forward.
Left alone in the privacy of the darkness, Becky sighed and prepared to watch Rachel and Charlie’s progress without distractions.
But she should have known she wasn’t the only one at home in unseen places.
‘Becky,’ boomed a voice behind her. ‘Another fine day’s work.’
‘Thank you, Lloyd. Bride or groom?’
‘Groom. I did a few favours for his father a while back and he hasn’t forgotten me.’ He swirled his drink, making the ice cubes rattle around the glass. ‘Unlike others.’
‘And are you enjoying the party?’
‘It’s wonderful.’ His praise seemed sincere, although resting on the unstable foundation of rocks covered in slippery Scotch. His cheeks were flushed, showing up a web of red spider veins, but his hair and clothes were as impeccably coiffed and brushed as ever.
‘I’ve been chatting to Barbara. She’s excited about the ball.’
Becky nodded but didn’t take her eyes off the area by the tea table where Charlie was taking Barbara Stone’s hand. When offered it, he had almost bowed.
‘That little meeting is going well, wouldn’t you say?’ said Lloyd.
He was right. Barbara Stone was laughing at things Charlie said. In the right places.
‘Between you, me and the gatepost,’ he said, ‘Mr Handren is precisely the type of man Barbara would have dreamt up for Rachel. And if the auction and new show are a success then I imagine she’ll be bullying her daughter into setting a date.’
Becky clenched and unclenched her fists, mirroring the movements in her stomach.
‘Although I’m not convinced the young lady’s heart is set on him. What do you think?’
Not wanting to shock Lloyd with her thoughts concerning Rachel, she shrugged and started another scan of the room.
‘My dear, I hope you won’t mind this question, but are you and Mr Handren romantically involved?’
Bloody hell! Why did everyone think she was sleeping with Charlie? She answered through gritted teeth. ‘No.’
He nodded. ‘As I thought. I didn’t think you would do anything so unprofessional. And that is wonderful news for Kevin, my nephew. He’s here somewhere. I must see if I can find him and introduce you two.’
Just what she needed. Another reason to get out of here as quickly as possible.
She was struggling to come up with a polite response, when Lloyd noticed his glass was empty. Crunching an ice cube, he said, ‘I’ll let you get back to concentrating on the job in hand. We’ll talk soon.’
Lloyd sashayed over to the bar and, rather than relax, Becky braced herself. She remembered the seating chart and knew visitations were guaranteed to come in threes.
Slinking into the still-warm space left by Lloyd, the third apparition didn’t keep her waiting.
‘Watching you in action again has been terrific. Old Al’s speech was inspired. Everyone’s buzzing about his hidden poetic talents. God, even he’s starting to believe he wrote the thing.’
Virgil had also been taking advantage of the free bar. His customary swagger was a gunslinger strut. He made large hand gestures to accompany his statements and she worried he would give away her position if he didn’t quit the amateur semaphore.
‘And why shouldn’t he?’ he said. ‘I’m sure you could have written better, but it had to be ropey enough we’d believe Alan could have written it, eh?’ He dazzled her with one of his best Hollywood grins. ‘I’ve had a chat with the groom and he is overjoyed. You, my dear, are an artist. It’s such a shame your talents are wasted on people who don’t truly appreciate them.’
Amen to that, she thought, but said, ‘I get paid.’
‘You deserve to be worshipped.’ This pearl was wrapped in a cloud of gin-laced vapour which made her blink and lean away from him.
‘Don’t let me stop you.’
‘I am not worthy.’ He waved his hands up and down in a show of mock reverence.
Trotting out his best banter seemed to have left Virgil thirsty. He took a long sip of his drink and let his eyes wander away from Becky. The second time he lifted the glass to his lips it froze in mid-swing, his gaze locked on Rachel, Charlie and Barbara. He lowered his drink slowly and was absorbed in observing the group for a while before he noticed Becky was watching him.
He coughed and tried to act casual. ‘What did you think of the first dance choice?’
‘Mistake. But one many people make.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. If you pay attention to the lyrics it’s a miserable song and the tune is a repetitive dirge.’
‘It’s not the worst choice.’
‘It has to be.’
As if Virgil’s disbelief was a signal, the overhead lights went out. Lit by a few table lamps and the banks of multicoloured bulbs either side of the DJ booth, the band shuffled off the stage. The thunder and lightning of the bride’s first choice—‘It’s Raining Men’—covered their exit.
Virgil stared, open-mouthed, as scores of women materialised to occupy the dance floor, the jiggling mass made up of a series of formidable Amazonian groups.
With the decibel-ripping music providing plenty of cover, Becky decided now was as good a time as any to talk about the elephant in the room. Although in this case the elephant was a petite brunette in high heels with red soles.
‘You know, I’m a terrible poet, but I do have an idea for a novel.’
‘Oh? Do tell.’
Avoiding looking him in the eye, she brought her lips closer to his ear. ‘Working his way up through the family firm, a young Englishman moves to New York where he falls for an older woman.’
Virgil didn’t move, but his breathing hitched.
‘Our hero follows her to Berlin and then London, where they become more than friends. At first, things are rosy, and she confides in him that while she masquerades as a gallery manager, she is actually a princess, heir to a kingdom of art.’
Virgil snorted. She ignored him and bowled on with the melodrama.
‘Our heroine is crushed when her mother, the wicked queen, refuses to abdicate in her favour. Desperate to console her, the hero buys a gallery in the kingdom for her to reign over. She is delighted and their happiness is restored. But one day he comes home to find suitcases in the hall. He is now her boss and their romance is no longer appropriate. If any of the queen’s cronies were to find out how she got her new position she would be a laughing stock. And so their love cannot be, but she hopes they can stay friends and excellent colleagues.’