Chapter 32 #4
‘Sensible,’ he said, looking at her. ‘I’m not sure about sensible. All shirt-waisters and flat shoes. There must be a happy medium.’
She took a sip of her champagne.
‘Do you think the family would ever consider doing an exhibition?’ he asked eventually.
‘You mean of these? I don’t know.’ She raked her eyes over them all again. It was an impressive collection.
‘Everyone knows his war art, and, of course, there’s London Lives …’ He looked at her again, then frowned. ‘Was that you? The girl with the red hair?’
It was a long time since she’d been recognised.
She laughed. ‘It was. I was furious with him.’
‘I always wanted to be the man in the poster. He captured it so perfectly – that overwhelming need to be near someone that you get when you first meet …’
‘Yes,’ she said, remembering.
Their eyes were locked, and eventually she looked away.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I think it would be wonderful for people to see these. Get a feel for the real Edwin, and what his life was like. But of course, it would be a big decision. They might not want the intrusion.’
‘I could ask them.’
‘Oh God, that’s not what I was getting at.’ He looked horrified. ‘Please don’t think that. I can write to them. Don’t say anything.’
They stood side by side, looking at the paintings again. The silver teapot flanked by bone china cups. A silk shawl left on the back of a wicker chair. A tennis racket leaned up against a wall. And her own favourite: a painting in a round frame of a tiny mouse peering out of a hole.
The minutiae of English country life.
Stella could see the exhibition in her mind’s eye. It would be the talk of London. The reviews would be ecstatic. It would make every other painting soar in value.
It was not her decision to make.
From the drawing room, the triumphant tootle of a trumpet ripped through the air, followed by a drum roll and the clash of cymbals. The band had begun.
‘Would you like to dance?’ asked Ben, giving her that wonky smile.
She hesitated. She hadn’t danced since that last night. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to dance with someone she wanted to dance with so much.
‘Perhaps later. I must go and find Mr C. Excuse me.’
Her heart was pounding as she melted away from him. She could feel Ben’s gaze on her back as she left the hall, leaving ripples on her skin.
Half an hour later, Clementine made her way into the drawing room where the nine-piece band were blasting out an up-tempo version of ‘Takes Two to Tango’.
The dance floor was crammed with guests, old and young, letting their hair down to the infectious beat as the trumpeter threw his golden notes up to the ceiling.
She stood watching for a moment, admiring the costumes, the men universally handsome in their white tie and tails, the women swathed in silk and velvet, the air filled with perfume and cigar smoke. The Snow Ball was in full swing.
There were Diana and Rory, jiggling away together, Diana surprisingly nimble, Rory a flat-footed farmer who had more enthusiasm than rhythm.
They danced a few feet apart, though occasionally he would reach out a hand to take hers and twirl her around and she would end up in his arms, laughing.
Something had shifted in Diana. There was a newfound confidence in her.
A lightness too. The wariness in her eyes had lifted.
And there were Elizabeth and Michael. They reigned over the dance floor, indisputably the King and Queen of Foxwood, her hand on his shoulder, his hand on her waist, moving in perfect time.
On the edge of the crowd, Clementine saw Jasper and Alexandra.
An unlikely pairing, but it seemed that the usual animosity between them had evaporated.
They looked good together, she thought, both of them flamboyant in their dress.
They were both attention seekers. They would, she thought, have made a much better couple than Jasper and Elizabeth.
Much more of a match for each other, although there was no chemistry between them. They were just having fun.
Elizabeth had told her earlier that Jasper was going to live in Paris. He was better off out of reach.
As the band struck up a new tune and the crowds shifted, she saw another couple.
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief and delight.
Of course! There they were, unable to take their eyes off each other, talking and laughing while they moved to the beat.
Stella and Ben. How absolutely perfect. She’d been longing for the right girl to come along for him for ages, someone who would love him for his ebullience and his firefly mind, but keep him on his toes.
She’d known it would have to be someone special, for Ben was easily bored.
He seemed spellbound by Stella, and she smiled.
He might be a handful, but underneath he was deeply caring and loyal, and Stella had enough grit to be able to manage him. She didn’t put up with nonsense.
‘A new beginning, perhaps?’ said a voice at her elbow, and she turned to find Monsieur Corbières, a glass in one hand and a cigar in the other.
‘Perhaps,’ she said.
It suddenly occurred to her that she had played no small part in all these outcomes, and she felt a rush of pleasure. Clementine was never self-important, nor did she seek approval or praise, but she gave herself a pat on the back. Although she hadn’t manipulated anyone. Just … encouraged.
The band slowed down to a more leisurely time signature, gliding into ‘Hold Me, Kiss Me, Thrill Me’.
Clementine turned to find Alfie behind her, holding out his arms. She walked into them as he led her onto the dance floor, and she laid her head on his shoulder and moved with him as everyone else faded into the background.
It hadn’t even been a year since the night she’d first met him, and a few weeks later he had invited her to Foxwood. An invitation she couldn’t refuse.
‘When you know, you know,’ Alfie murmured in her ear, and she looked up at him, smiling.
At midnight, Stella fled to her bedroom, like Cinderella.
She wondered if perhaps she’d had too much champagne, because that could give you feelings you shouldn’t have, if you weren’t careful, and make you say things you didn’t mean.
Or did it simply reveal the truth? Either way, she had felt tiny bubbles inside her as she danced with Ben – she hadn’t been able to say no, when he asked her again – and that ping of electricity when you touched someone for the first time, and she felt afraid.
So she’d murmured her excuses – thank goodness for Ted; she was able to say she was putting him to bed – and she ran up the stairs to gather her thoughts.
Now Ted was firmly tucked up, fast asleep under his blankets with Paddy on top of him.
Not usually allowed, but all the rules were being broken tonight.
And she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.
Should she go back down for kedgeree and simply keep out of Ben’s way?
She was over-excited, that was all. This was the first ball she’d ever been to, and there had been such a build-up, so much anticipation and excitement, so it was probably a natural reaction to her being in close proximity to an attractive man for so long.
But it wasn’t just that he was attractive – in his inimitable, slightly bohemian way.
He seemed to understand everything, how she felt about things.
She heard a tap on the door. Her heart leapt.
‘Come in!’
It was Clementine. ‘I came to see if you are all right. You’ve been gone a while.’
‘Sorry. I felt a bit woozy.’
‘Are you going to come back down? Alfie’s making Snowballs for everyone. And there’s kedgeree.’
It would be rude not to reappear, she thought. Everyone had probably noticed. And it was unkind to Ben. He’d done nothing to deserve being abandoned. They had danced. Nothing more. And maybe she’d imagined it all. Now the champagne was wearing off, she felt less fizzy.
‘Give me five minutes.’
Clementine looked at her. She seemed about to say something, then thought better of it.
‘What is it?’ asked Stella.
Clementine hesitated. ‘It is all right, to love someone else, you know,’ she blurted out. ‘No one will mind. And I can vouch for him. I’ve known him all my life.’
Stella was flustered, and had no idea what to say. ‘Is it so obvious?’
Clementine smiled. ‘It’s adorable,’ she said. ‘Everyone is longing for something to happen.’
Stella patted her cheeks. ‘Oh God. How embarrassing.’
Clementine made her way back across the room. ‘Don’t keep yourself on ice for the rest of your life,’ she said, and the door closed behind her.
Stella could hardly breathe. Everyone had noticed.
It must be real. She hadn’t imagined it.
She wasn’t sure she had the nerve, to go back down when everyone would be scrutinising her – their – every move.
And did Ben really feel the same way she did?
She thought so, because there had been a certain wonder in his eyes, a smile on his lips …
She touched up her lipstick, rearranged her hair, took in a deep breath and headed for the door.
As she came down the steps, she saw him. He had on an overcoat, and was obviously about to leave.
‘Ben.’
He looked up and saw her, halfway down the stairs, her hand on the banister. He put his hand to his heart, as if it was about to stop.
‘Don’t leave,’ she said. ‘Not yet.’
He walked to the bottom of the staircase as she came down. She stood on the last step, and put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the soft warmth of his coat beneath her fingers.
‘It’s been lovely to talk to you tonight.’
He blinked. Swallowed. Smiled. Nodded. Shut his eyes.
He was overwhelmed, with no idea what to say.
She stepped down onto the floor, so they were level.
He opened his eyes and looked deep into hers.
She put her arms around his neck and had just enough time to see the surprise in his eyes before she kissed him.
His kiss felt very different. It didn’t feel like kissing Edwin at all. Ben was more urgent. More intense. It felt like setting off on a wild adventure. He was trembling under her fingertips, and after a few moments, she felt his hot tears on her own cheeks.
‘You’re crying.’ She kissed his face, brushing away the tears with her lips.
He couldn’t speak. He held her head in his hands, burrowing his fingers into her hair, pressed his forehead to hers, gazed into her eyes. He bent to kiss her collarbone, ran his hot mouth over her bare skin. She gasped, feeling Catherine wheels spinning inside her, pushed herself closer to him.
Eventually they broke apart, breathless, laughing, wide-eyed. She put up her hands and he laced his fingers in between hers.
‘I hope you weren’t going anywhere,’ she whispered.
He shook his head. ‘Absolutely not.’
Behind them, Harriet and Monsieur Corbières appeared in the doorway, wrapped up ready for the cold air.
‘Oh,’ squeaked Harriet. ‘Sorry. I think our taxi might be here. Quarter past midnight, it was coming.’
Stella and Ben disentangled themselves, and for the next few minutes, busied themselves helping Mr C out to the taxi with Harriet two paces behind.
‘It’s been wonderful, Stella. Thank you so much for asking me. And I’ll look forward to hearing from you in the New Year. You’re going to be a star, I just know it. She’s going to be a star,’ she said to Ben, as if he might not believe it.
‘I know,’ he said.
Soon the two of them were installed safely, the doors were shut, and Ben and Stella watched as the taxi headed off down the drive.
They turned back towards the house, and Stella looked at Foxwood, at the bright lights glowing behind its windows, at the silhouettes of the guests inside.
The sound of ‘Ain’t Misbehavin’’ floated in the air, mischievous, irresistible.
‘Let’s go and dance.’
She felt Ben’s fingers wrap themselves around hers, and as they walked up the steps, the stars shone a little brighter above and the very first snowflakes began to fall, like kisses on the ground.