She blinked, let him wait a while before she took his hand and, mimicking the overly open vowels of the majority of the people around them, drawled, ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
It took less than a minute for Becky to appreciate Charlie’s dance skills. He had helped Phoebe practise her steps for years and, comparing him to Virgil, Becky couldn’t help but notice the difference this made. He steered them in the right direction and in time to the music. The hold was also comfortable: he wasn’t a lazy partner who dropped the weight of his raised arm into her hand. His other hand was in the middle of her back, resting below the bow at the top of the corset lacing.
After their first complete circuit, she relaxed her shoulders and stopped anticipating collisions. She hummed along to the music, and let her eyes wander beyond their immediate surroundings in time to see Virgil leading Rachel out of the room. She smiled, and this drew Charlie’s attention back to her face.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Hmn? Oh nothing. Something Virgil said.’
‘You two are getting on well.’
She looked up at him. His lips had all but disappeared. ‘What’s bothering you, Charlie?’
‘Is it true you agreed to go out with him to get the Coulson for the show?’
Ah. Another cat was out of the bag; something for which Becky guessed she had to thank Rachel. Again.
She ran her tongue over her teeth and glanced up the ceiling while planning her response. ‘Yes, that’s true. But …’ She raised a finger off his shoulder to stop his eyebrow climbing over the top of his head. ‘That makes it sound a lot creepier than it was. I agreed to dinner and I got to choose where and when. I planned to leave it so long he would forget about it, but then I got to know him and it turns out he’s one of the good guys.’
Charlie’s lips were starting to reappear and his eyebrow was settling.
‘But I’m not his type and he’s not mine. Like I told you before: I’m immune to good-looking cads.’
‘You said “scoundrels”.’
‘Well those too.’
She bit the inside of her lip. Why was she always having to defend herself? She didn’t see anyone else using the dance floor as an alternative to the interrogation chamber.
As the song finished, Lloyd and Barbara completed a dramatic spin and then left the floor arm-in-arm, muttering to each other in a broken, private shorthand. ‘I think Barbara’s surprising everyone tonight.’
‘Barbara,’ thought Becky, as she observed Charlie watching the departing couple. On first-name terms with the mother-in-law already.
He snapped his gaze back and caught her staring at him. ‘What?’
She flinched. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re giving me that look.’
‘What look?’
‘The “I wonder if I should tell Charlie what I’m thinking” look.’
Oh crap. That was a look?
The band’s trumpet player scraped his chair back and ambled to the front of the stage. He swaggered in the spotlight and Becky half expected him to spin the horn on his finger and blow imaginary smoke away from the top of it. Instead, he signalled to the double bass and flautists to begin. Soon the pianist joined them to complete the familiar introduction. Becky beamed as the trumpet player grabbed his solo with both lungs. She put her left hand back in its place on Charlie’s shoulder and let him lead her into the dance.
The music swelled in volume and, without breaking their smooth swaying motion, Charlie dropped his mouth closer to Becky’s ear. ‘So are you going to tell me what you were thinking?’
Lost in “La Vie en Rose”, Becky blinked her eyes open. ‘Oh, all right.’ She examined the ceiling, searching for a good place to begin. It was harder than usual. She was distracted by the music. And by how comfortably her right hand lay in Charlie’s left. A perfect fit.
‘Becky? It’s not highly confidential, is it?’
She lowered her gaze to meet his. The bottom half of Charlie’s face was as grave as usual, but she could swear the top half was mocking her. He had nothing less than a twinkle in his eye. A damn twinkle! And what was worse, it suited him.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘No, it’s not.’
‘Highly classified, then? For your eyes only? Burn after reading?’
A society ball was not the place to elbow your dancing partner in the ribs so she squeezed his hand instead. ‘Shut up or I won’t tell you.’
‘I’m sorry.’ His tone was serious but the bloody twinkle was still laughing at her. He lowered his lips to her ear again. ‘Please carry on. But don’t self-destruct after ten seconds.’
To make her reluctance to indulge him clear, she huffed and took a deep breath before beginning. ‘The story goes that after many years in an unhappy marriage, Barbara Stone fell in love with a good-looking scoundrel.’ She paused to raise an eyebrow and make sure he’d picked up on her purposely irritating choice of words. ‘Unfortunately when he disappointed her, her heart turned to solid rock. And she stayed thoroughly miserable until her equally miserable husband had the good grace to die and cheer her up.’
‘She’s certainly cheerful tonight.’
‘Ah. That’s because a reunion between her and the old flame appears to be on the cards. And the latest is—’
Charlie twirled her under his arm and the rest of her sentence disappeared into a gasp just as the trumpet soloist stepped aside for the singer to take their place at the microphone. While it wasn’t a particularly fast spin, she hadn’t seen it coming and she was a little giddy as he pulled her back into hold in time to negotiate a tricky corner. During the manoeuvre, Charlie readjusted his right arm to encircle more of Becky’s lower back. They were so close Becky could feel the rise and fall of his chest. If she moved her head slightly, they would be dancing cheek to cheek.
Still feeling light-headed and having forgotten all about local gossip, she closed her eyes. Charlie’s breath was slow and steady, a solid rhythm beneath the tickling melody which drifted from the piano keys. She inhaled the lingering hint of his best aftershave and imagined how his closely shaven cheek would be soft and warm …
She snapped her eyes open and her head upright. Fortunately Charlie was looking over her shoulder and didn’t seem to have noticed her slip. In an attempt to fight the urge to let her head dip towards his, she started to sing the final lines of the song quietly to herself. She was surprised when Charlie joined in, confirming his vocal talents extended beyond rock versions of Bonnie Tyler’s greatest hits.
As the last note faded they joined the rest of the dancers in giving a well-deserved round of applause to the trumpet player who thrilled Becky by spinning the instrument round his finger twice and blowing imaginary smoke away from it.
A few dances later the band skipped off the stage for their break and the auctioneer’s rostrum was placed in the centre of the platform. It was nearly time for Charlie’s big moment, so he and Becky withdrew to the backstage area where he could practise his speech.
In the dim, narrow space behind the red curtains hanging from the lighting gantry, Charlie marched up and down running through his lines. After a couple of minutes, Becky stepped in before he made either of them dizzy. ‘Charlie, Charlie. Stop. It’s fine.’ She laid a hand on his chest. ‘But remember to put your glasses on at some point.’