‘And Eddie and ‘I will be up in Manchester with his family over the New Year,’ said Pm. ‘I mean, I’m looking forward to it, but it won’t be the same. We’ll miss our usual get-together.’

She looked worried. ‘I feel awful, as if we’re abandoning you. What will you do this year, made any plans yet?’

‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,’ Dulcie said firmly. ‘If she isn’t off playing doctors and nurses, I’ll go out with Imelda. Or if ‘I really want to have fun,’ she added with forced cheerfulness, ‘I can work a double shift in the pub.’

Eddie came up to them, grinning and waving a fax. He kissed Dulcie and give the fax to Pru to read.

‘How are you, darling? Oh dear, I know I shouldn’t laugh, but this just came through from Zermatt.’

‘What is it?’ asked Dulcie curiously as Pru began to giggle. ‘It really isn’t funny.’ Eddie tried hard to sound severe. ‘Poor Liam—’

‘What is it?’ demanded Dulcie, making a grab for the sheet of paper.

‘He sent it from his hospital bed. He’s in traction,’ said Pru. ‘Apparently he fell off a ski lift and broke both his legs.’

‘I told him skiing was dangerous,’ said Eddie, ‘but he assured me he was an expert. He said only people who were unfit had accidents.’ He shook his head, brushing away tears of laughter. ‘I told him only idiots slide down mountains on skis. Lazing around on a hot beach – now that’s my idea of a holiday.’

Until that moment, Dulcie had cheered up. Now she experienced a pang of misery.

‘That’s what Patrick’s doing right now. He’s in Bali,’ she struggled to sound normal, ‘with Claire.’

Pru frowned.

‘I don’t think he is.’

‘Well, somewhere like that. Bali ... Barbados ... somewhere hot and exotic. Not Skegness,’

Dulcie added bitterly, ‘that’s for sure.’

‘No, I mean ‘I don’t think he’s away. He phoned me this morning. Asked me if you were going to Roger and Abby Alford’s party tonight.’

‘Roger and Abby Alford?’ Bewildered, Dulcie said, ‘I haven’t seen them for years!’

‘Well,’ Pru shrugged, ‘I said no, anyway. ‘I told him you were coming here.’

Imelda was still on the dance floor, all but undressing her dishy doctor. Dulcie bought herself another drink and found a wall to lean against; she picked abstractedly at the polish on one of her thumb nails and tried without much success to ignore the horrid lurching sensation in her stomach.

It had come as a shock, discovering that Patrick had actually reached the stage where he wanted to avoid her. Pretty obviously, he was only prepared to go to the Alfords’ party if he knew for sure that she wouldn’t be there.

I’ve really lost him now, thought Dulcie miserably. He doesn’t even want to be friends any more.

‘Cheer up, it might never happen.’

‘Oh fuck off.’ Dulcie didn’t even bother to look up. She was studying her thumb nail, with its unattractive picked-off burgundy polish. Really, tonight was turning into one disaster after another.

‘Dulcie!’ exclaimed the voice, half-amused, half-shocked, and this time she recognised it.

She gave Rufus a hug. He was looking somewhat out ofplace in his blue woolly sweater and a pair of worn-at-theknee fawn corduroy trousers, but his eyes were bright and he was evidently delighted to see her.

‘I’m sorry, I thought ‘I was about to be chatted up by a prat.’ Dulcie smiled and touched his bristly cheek. ‘You’re growing your beard back! What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I know, hardly my scene. Some friends dragged me along.’ He sounded abashed. ‘And now I look an idiot. I must say, I didn’t realise it was going to be quite so smart.’ He indicated Dulcie’s jade-green satin dress and added admiringly, ‘Not like you, of course. You look fantastic. I’d ask you to dance, but I’d only show you up.’

He was right. Over his woolly shoulder, Dulcie saw a group of Brunton Manor regulars — a particularly snotty group — nudging each other and smirking. She took Rufus’s hand and led him past them, saying loudly as they went ‘... darling, that’s the whole point of being a multi-millionaire, you can get away with wearing anything you like.’

They danced to George Michael’s ‘Last Christmas’.

‘Oh Lord, was that your foot? Sorry ... oops, done it again ... sorry!’

But it was so nice to see him again, Dulcie didn’t even mind her toes being broken.

She grinned at Rufus. ‘Ever thought of taking up wine-making? You’d be brilliant at trampling grapes.’

He looked anxious. ‘Would you rather sit down?’

‘No, you might get the hang of it in a minute. Anyway, you’ve cheered me up. Tell me what’s been happening in the café. Tell me what you’re doing for Christmas.’

Tell me anything to stop me thinking about Patrick...

Aargh!’ yelped Dulcie as Rufus whirled her round, managing to step on both feet at once and —

astonishingly — trying to pull the front of his baggy sweater over her head. Half suffocating beneath the scratchy wool she screeched, ‘What’s going on?’

‘Shh, stay there, don’t let her see you,’ he hissed urgently.

‘That blonde over there – she’s the one you splattered from head to foot with ratatouille ...’

Standing slightly away from the dance floor, surrounded by noisy revellers setting off party poppers, Patrick watched Dulcie. She was laughing and chattering away, clearly enjoying herself and not in the least bothered by the fact that the object of her attentions appeared to have at least three left feet.

A pretty young girl not long out of her teens brushed past, making deliberate contact. She smiled mock-apologetically up at Patrick, giving him his cue to say something in return.

Patrick pretended not to notice and carried on watching Dulcie, who was now affectionately stroking her partner’s beard. Since she had always loathed beards, this was less than promising.

She certainly seemed fond of this one.

Patrick, tight-lipped with disappointment, wondered if coming here tonight had, after all, been a huge mistake.

‘Hi!’ The girl who had just brushed past him was back, making eye contact for all she was worth and waving a menthol cigarette. ‘Got a light?’

Dulcie was being twirled rather over-ambitiously around in circles when she thought she saw Patrick.

At first she thought she might be imagining it, maybe suffering a lack of oxygen to the brain as a result of all that centrifugal force. She dug her heels in and stopped twirling. Caught off-guard, Rufus almost fell over.

‘Sorry, was ‘I going too fast?’

‘Just felt a bit dizzy,’ murmured Dulcie. It was true. Her heart was racing too. She craned her neck, searching the sea of faces around the dance floor, seeking out the only one that mattered.

Then she saw him again and her heart did a tremendous swallow dive. It hadn’t been a hallucination after all. ‘Had enough?’ panted Rufus.

‘Um ... sorry?’

Rufus saw her staring at someone in the crowd. The expression on her face was unmistakable.

His face fell.

‘Have you seen someone you like?’

‘What?’ Dulcie shook her head and forced herself to concentrate. Then she smiled at Rufus.

‘Well, you could put it like that.’

Chapter 55

‘Hello, you,’ said Dulcie.

‘Hello,’ said Patrick, dry-mouthed.

‘You’re here.’ Oh help ... inane, inane. ‘I mean, ‘I thought you were going to the Alfords’ party.’

Patrick, who had never had any intention of going to the Alfords’ party — chiefly because they weren’t having one — shook his head slightly.

‘Decided against it. Too far to drive.’

So where’s Saint Claire? Dulcie longed to blurt out. Why isn’t she with you?

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, didn’t dare. It might break the spell.

Instead she nodded, quite unable to remember where Roger and Abby Alford lived.

‘Oh definitely, much too far to drive. Much easier to come here. Er ... how’s ... how’s work?’

Good grief, thought Dulcie, am ‘I a contender for Sparkling Conversationalist of the Year or what?

Her only consolation was that at least this was her husband she was making a fool of herself in front of. At least Patrick knew her, knew she could do better than this. If he’d been a total stranger he’d be off like a shot.

‘Excuse me, sorry to bother you again, but ‘I just wondered if you had the time?’

Dulcie turned and looked at the young girl gazing besottedly up at Patrick. She recognised the expression on Patrick’s face too; he looked trapped and faintly uncomfortable.

He’d always been hopeless at being chatted up.

‘It’s ten past eleven,’ said Dulcie, reaching over and consulting Patrick’s watch on his behalf.

She gave the girl a brief smile. ‘Time you picked on someone your own age.’

‘This is my wife,’ Patrick cut in hurriedly as the blonde girl, looking indignant, opened her mouth to reply. ‘She bought me this watch last Christmas ...’

‘Oops,’ Dulcie announced cheerfully when the girl had flounced off. ‘Don’t say I upset her.’

‘Sorry about the wife bit.’ Patrick sounded embarrassed. ‘It was just to get rid of her.’ He hesitated, wondering what his next move should be. ‘Do you need a drink?’

Dulcie was easing off one of her shoes, seeing if she could still wriggle her trampled-on toes.

‘I need crutches. Rufus isn’t much of a dancer.’

Patrick wondered where Rufus had got to. He forced himself to sound casual.

‘Who is he, new boyfriend?’

‘God, no!’ Dulcie shook her head so hard her earrings rattled. ‘New boyfriend? Definitely not!

And yes, Id love a drink.’

When Patrick had been served, they moved away from the bar to a less crowded area by the entrance to the ballroom. Still dying to know where Claire was, Dulcie was about to open her mouth when Patrick said, ‘Sorry, you asked me how work was going.’