Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

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.’

Oh yes, that inspired conversation-opener. One of the all-time greats, along with ‘What about this weather we’ve been having lately?’ and ‘Where did you get that tie?’

But Dulcie, succumbing to the gin, was finally beginning to relax. She tilted her head to one side.

‘Well, to tell you the truth, I’m amazed you’re here. ‘I mean, it is only half past eleven on Christmas Eve. I’d have thought you’d still be in your office, slaving away over your computer, up to your eyes in work ...’

‘I sold the business.’

.. and what about tomorrow? Don’t tell me you’re taking Christmas Day off too. Good grief, Patrick, is this any way to build an empire? Does Bill Gates take time off on Christmas Day?

How can you ... you ... you did what?’

Dulcie’s voice faltered and died as – at long last – his words sank in.

He shrugged.

‘I sold the company.’

‘But ... but when?’

‘Signed the contract yesterday afternoon.’

Aware that she was asking the wrong questions in the wrong order but unable to do a thing about it, Dulcie said inanely – as if she cared – ‘Who to?’

‘An American company: MegaCorps, in Dallas. They made an offer to buy me out ... and ‘I said yes.’ Patrick spoke casually as if the decision had been effortless, the simplest in the world to make. ‘They want me to work for them, do some freelance design stuff—’

‘You’re going to work in America?’ Dulcie felt sick. Within milliseconds her brain conjured up images of Patrick and Claire moving into their new home, a Southfork type of house with a huge pool and lots of cowboys striding about in stetsons, calling Claire ma’am and lassoing anything that mooed.

Dulcie blinked but the mental image wouldn’t go away. Now she saw Patrick and Claire hosting their annual barbecue, joining in the hoedown, cheering on the riders in the rodeo and hoisting excited children up on to their shoulders ... children with Patrick’s good looks, Claire’s saintly temperament and high-pitched Texan accents you could grate ice on .. .