After completing two sweeps of the room, his eye was drawn to a shape in the corner. He squinted. The colour of the clothing was wrong, but he doubted anyone else was checking her phone so obsessively. He fumbled in his breast pocket for his glasses and, as Becky came into focus, he relaxed into his first genuine smile of the evening. Glancing at Rachel and the pots of money she was trying to crack, he struggled to think of a polite excuse to abandon them.
His thoughts were alternating between escape and Becky’s choice of dress, when Virgil shimmered into view. The handsome young man, wearing his tuxedo like a second skin, extended a skinny wrist and presented Becky with a drink. Charlie frowned. What was going on? They weren’t together, were they?
The dinner gong sounded and guests filed into the grand saloon, passing through the double doors under the staircase. Charlie didn’t take his eyes off Becky, who was wrapping her arm around Virgil’s, ready to go and find their table.
‘John!’ Charlie jumped as Rachel barked in his ear and dug her satin-covered nails into his arm. She was also watching Becky and Virgil, pursing her lips and wrinkling her nose as if she had been offended by a nasty smell. ‘John, dear, we should go into dinner. And remember,’ she said as she reached up and pulled his glasses off, ‘no glasses. You should have worn contacts like I said.’
As Rachel returned his glasses to his pocket, Virgil and Becky passed by. Her dress was so different and the lacing at the back was … extraordinary. She must have needed help doing that up. She would probably need help unlacing it too.
Virgil and Becky paused in front of the seating plan by the entrance to the saloon and shared a joke. Charlie clenched his fists. If she did need help out of the dress, it looked like bloody Virgil Locke was first in line to volunteer.
At his side, Rachel sniffed. ‘I must speak to my mother about this year’s guest list.’ She tugged at her gloves, grasped Charlie’s arm and steered him into the saloon.
Chapter 46
The guests were divided between sixteen circular tables, much to Becky’s relief. With twelve of them spaced around the generous circumference, it was unlikely she would be able to hear Charlie and Rachel’s conversation, let alone be drawn into it.
The meal passed without incident. Becky enjoyed the food immensely and Virgil was at his witty best, amusing her with more of his outlandish tales. She almost forgot Charlie and Rachel were sitting on the opposite side of the table and the few times she did glance in their direction they were in conversation with the guests within their earshot. By the time dessert arrived, she was already full, but prepared to find space for her mini chocolate cheesecake.
She checked everyone at the table had a plate before picking up her fork. The biscuit base was buttery heaven, and the chocolate was smooth, sweet and beyond divine. She savoured the next bite, closing her eyes and focusing on the flavour. Smiling, she sighed with pleasure.
When she opened her eyes it was a jolt to find Charlie staring at her. It was his penetrating artist’s stare; a look both hot and cold. Warm fingers of embarrassment tickled her neck. She dropped her gaze to the table and, when she dared glance up again, Charlie was absorbed in conversation with a couple sitting to his left.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Virgil. ‘Those aren’t tears, are they? I know my jokes this evening aren’t my best material, but they’re not that dire, surely?’
‘It’s these damn contacts,’ said Becky, raising a finger to her lower eyelid and rubbing gently. ‘I don’t blink enough, my eyes dry out, they hurt, I blink too much to compensate …’
‘Here.’ He offered her a handkerchief. ‘You should see to it or people will begin to think I’ve upset you.’
Virgil returned to chatting up the blonde sitting the other side of him while Becky dabbed at the corners of her eyes. Turning the cloth over to make sure she hadn’t marked it with mascara, she saw three neatly stitched initials: KVL. That made sense. Virgil didn’t strike her as a handkerchief kind of guy: it must have been his father’s.
Tear ducts back under control, Becky decided this would be a good time to find Ronnie and then call her parents. She polished off the rest of her dessert and murmured an excuse in Virgil’s direction as she picked up her bag and slipped out of her seat.
Heads turned to follow her as she tried to sneak out of the room. Becky regretted not choosing the first dress and regretted it more when she saw her best friend dressed in comfortable, forgiving black.
Ronnie was standing in the middle of the great hall, hovering protectively next to the cake: a four-tier cappuccino tower, strewn with golden sugar paste roses and banded in matching silk ribbon. It was installed on its chariot, ready to be wheeled into the saloon. The plan was its grand entrance would grab everyone’s attention for the announcement of tea and coffee to be served out in the great hall. Once the guests were out of the saloon, the staff would be able to pack away two-thirds of the tables, leaving space for the dance floor. The stage would also be readied for the band and auction.
Ronnie looked up as Becky approached. ‘Wow! You don’t even look like yourself!’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘You know what I mean. Do a twirl.’
Becky did as she was told. ‘Is Mike here?’
‘On standby inside to take pictures of the cake. Then he has the pleasure of circulating for the rest of the evening and of course he has to take pictures during the auction.’ Two waiters melted away from one of the side tables and appeared beside the trolley. ‘Sorry,’ said Ronnie, ‘but it’s time to go.’ She looked over Becky’s shoulder and smiled. ‘Anyway, there’s someone else here to see you.’
Charlie had emerged from the saloon. He stood aside as one of the waiters opened the door to let Ronnie and the cake through. Ronnie nodded at Charlie as she flounced past, head held high.
The door swung shut behind her and they were left alone. Although he hadn’t relished the prospect of having to wear one, Becky had to admit Charlie could certainly rock a tuxedo. ‘Hello.’
He shuffled towards her. ‘Hi.’
Becky fiddled with the clasp of her bag. ‘I should go and call my parents.’
Charlie stopped two floor tiles away from her, leaving him standing on white, her on black. ‘Dylan’s fine. You should try to enjoy the party. Given it’s one you’re not working.’
She nodded, opening and closing her bag. Why hadn’t she just told him she was coming as a guest? Though she was sure there had been good reasons, under the weight of Charlie’s stare, none of them came to mind.
Charlie noted Becky’s discomfort and added it to the list of things that night which were not going as he had imagined. The food had been wonderful, but Rachel insisted on knocking back wine as if it were water and became more boring and spiteful with every sip. She and her friends harped on about a number of subjects Charlie had no interest in, including the other guests and their various social and sartorial faux pas. As Becky had left the table Rachel had made another crack about how staff could now get onto the guest list for one of Compton’s most exclusive events. As a few others at the table had joined her in bemoaning this decline in standards he had got to his feet without bothering to excuse himself and made for the exit.