Katie Fforde - Wedding Season

‘Well, we've found several styles that would do well,' said Elsa. 'There's one with an overskirt that could look very pretty. The ball gown I've made is rather like it. I can show it to Lily and see if she likes it.'

‘I could try it on,' said Lily excitedly, sending the crisps flying as she leapt up.

‘Well, you could,' said Elsa, 'but…' She paused. 'As I seem to have a bit of time on my hands – until Carrie makes up her mind – I could make you a mock-up in muslin.'

‘Tell me, Elsa,' said Sarah, 'I've never known. How do you pronounce the word for that? Is it "twarl"' or "toil"?’

Elsa looked abashed. 'I always wait for the client to say first then I just say what they do.'

‘Cop out!' said both sisters together, united at last.

Elsa felt surprisingly shaky considering she wasn't about to do anything life-threatening. It would have been better if Laurence hadn't been there, she decided, then she wouldn't have to worry so much about making a fool of herself. As instructed, she'd found a pair of shoes with medium heels that stayed on quite well and was wearing a skirt. She could have worn her favourite black trousers but she felt she should get used to moving with a bit more fabric around her.

‘He's a very well respected teacher. You'll be fine,' said Laurence as they mounted the stone steps to the door. 'There's nothing to be nervous about.'

‘I realise I'm not likely to die,' Elsa said, 'you very rarely die when you go to the dentist, either. It doesn't stop you being nervous.'

‘If it's any consolation to you,' said Laurence. 'I have never died while at the dentist.’

She shot him a look while he pressed the bell. 'Well, nor have I but I'm still terrified!’

Laurence had rung her the evening after Elsa had helped Sarah and Lily with the invitations, offering to give her a dancing lesson. If wretched Carrie had made a single decision about what she or her bridesmaids should wear, she would have had a genuine reason for refusing, but she had no such excuse. If she hadn't had rather more wine than she'd intended and been feeling a bit giggly she might still have said no, but the combination of time on her hands and a fun evening with Sarah and Lily had her saying yes. And it would be nice to see him again. She found herself looking forward to that part at least. It was a pity that he was too busy for them to go out for a drink afterwards, she thought wistfully.

‘What are you frightened of, exactly?’

She made a face. 'Making a fool of myself.’

He laughed. 'Surely it's better to get your embarrassment over in private, rather than on the dance floor with hundreds of others?’

She was about to remind him that she was doing him a favour when the door was opened. Elsa did her best to smile. She didn't want anyone else to know she was terrified. What if there were other people there to watch her? She'd die of embarrassment.

When the door was opened by a man worryingly reminiscent of one of the professionals on Strictly Come Dancing her embarrassment meter, already on high, shot up to the top. Had the teacher been like lovely, kindly Len, the expert of experts, she'd have been fine. This young lion was bound to despise her feeble efforts.

‘Hi!' said the leather-clad stud in question. 'Come on in.’

At second glance Elsa realised that he didn't look anything like any of those television stars, it had just been her nerves that made her think so. But he was very good-looking and moved like a panther. They seemed to be the only ones there. At least no one else but Laurence would see how bad she was – and he already knew.

‘No need to look so worried!' the panther said to her, smiling in a stomach-clenching way. 'I don't bite! I'm Terry,' he added.

‘I'm Laurence Gentle and this is Elsa Ashcombe.’

‘Well, come in both.’

Terry led the way and when he was more or less out of earshot Laurence said, 'He's much younger than I thought he'd be. I hope he'll be all right.’

Elsa didn't have a chance to reply but she did wonder if Laurence had ever watched Strictly Come Dancing. Didn't he know the dancers were young? A little fillip of satisfaction warmed her – he wasn't totally happy about this now, either.

‘Have you got some other shoes, love?' Terry asked Elsa. Elsa held up the bag with her best shoes in it. 'I'm going to be wearing these,' she said.

‘Fine. Come on in to the studio, or do you need to use the facilities?’

It occurred to Elsa that he may have said this because she looked as if she was going to be sick. She really hoped he was wrong and followed the men into the studio.

It was a large, mirrored room with windows at both ends. Elsa felt even more intimidated and crept to the corner to put on her shoes. Her medium-heeled courts that she had had for years suddenly felt loose and sloppy. She probably should have sewn some elastic on them or something.

‘Elsa really just wants to learn to waltz,' Laurence was saying. Although it was true, her nerves made her irritated with him for speaking for her. She told herself to calm down. Laurence was only trying to help.

‘Right, you guys,' said Terry. 'Take hold of each other. You know the hold? You do, Laurence, obviously. Elsa…' He moved Elsa's hands.

‘OK, we'll start without music, just to check we know the basic steps then we'll really start to dance.’

Elsa felt suddenly awkward. She'd been quite happy in his arms at the wedding, when she had hardly met him; now it felt strangely intimate. They made a few unsatisfactory starts, Terry watching them carefully, his head on one side, patiently giving instructions. Elsa caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked as stiff as her dressmaker's dummy. Laurence could dance so it was obviously all her fault. Or was it? They were both getting a little frustrated with each other.

‘You know some people are born to dance?' said Elsa, pulling away from Laurence. 'Well, I think I'm born not to dance.'

‘You do seem to be taking a while to pick it up,' he replied, and Elsa thought she detected a slight note of impatience in his usually mild-mannered voice. Well, she had said she couldn't dance. 'It's quite simple really. Forward side together, back side together.’

Terry looked at Laurence and then at Elsa. 'You know what? I think you're the problem, Laurence. You're making Elsa nervous. Why don't you go off and come back at half past and see how we're getting on?'

‘Oh,' said Laurence, rather nonplussed. 'You don't think I'm helping?'

‘No. You keep giving Elsa advice that isn't the same as mine. You go away and we'll get on fine.’

Laurence gave her an odd look and, as he left, Elsa noticed a rather dejected air about his slumped shoulders.

With Laurence sent to the shops for a paper Terry took Elsa in his arms, having started the music. 'Right now, don't look down, don't think, just move with the music. Back on our right foot – excellent!’

After a faltering start, something fell into place in Elsa's brain. She stopped thinking about her feet, she just listened to the music, felt the pressure of Terry's arm on her back as he gently guided her, and moved about the floor with him, apparently glued to his chest. It was brilliant. She could see the two of them – what a contrast to her and Laurence -moving as one. She didn't look awkward and stiff any more.

‘That was amazing!' she said a little breathlessly, a few minutes later. 'I could really feel myself doing it.'

‘You see, you had the steps in your head and in your feet. You just needed to forget about both for it to all happen.' Terry smiled down at her, obviously pleased with her progress, and to have enabled it.

‘Can we do it again?' she asked eagerly.