Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [88]
But he already knew the answer to that one.
Basically, depressingly - like Everest, only skinnier - because they were there.
`Hi,' said Leila, coiling her body on to the wooden arm of the bench next to Fenn. `Can we go now?'
Chloe had finished her chicken. Fenn took the empty plate from her.
`I was just about to fetch Chloe a piece of raspberry gateau. Shall I get you one too?'
Leila's eyelids flickered briefly, acknowledging the so-called humour of this suggestion.
`No thanks. The wedding thing's over, isn't it? Why can't we go?'
`We're celebrating.'
`I don't know anyone here.'
`You know Miranda,' said Fenn. `Go and dance in the fountain with her.' Please, he thought, silently willing her to laugh and kick off her shoes. I'd love it if you did that.
Chloe saw the blank expression on Leila's sculpted face. 'Why?'
`You might enjoy it.'
Leila looked at him as if he'd gone mad.
`I'd get wet.'
The Salinger Hotel was famous for its Sunday-afternoon tea dances. Inside, the orchestra played sedate numbers from the twenties and thirties, and elegantly dressed couples moved decorously around the polished dance floor. Outside, in the garden, Miranda danced - rather less elegantly - with Tom Barrett.
`We're raising a few eyebrows,' he told her, glancing up at the windows. `Monocles are popping out as we speak.'
`That's because I look like a tart, and you're dressed as a vicar.'
`My dear, I'm the envy of every man in that ballroom.'
Waltzing for all she was worth, Miranda said, `Oh Tom, aren't you lovely? Why can't I meet someone as nice as you, only forty years younger?'
Tom shouted with laughter.
`God, I'm sorry,' mumbled Miranda. `I suppose I just answered my own question. A walking disaster, that's me.' Stepping backwards instead of forwards, she pulled a face. `Not to mention a waltzing one.'
`That's no way to speak,' Tom chided. `You're not a disaster.'`I am.'
`Refreshingly honest, maybe.' Amused, Tom glanced over at Florence. `Can't think where you get it from.'
`Poor Florence. I feel guilty, twirling away while she's stuck in her chair.'
`I wouldn't give much for your chances if she heard you calling her poor Florence.' Tom's smile was fond. `Good old Flo, she was quite something in her day.'
`She still is,' said Miranda. `And I wouldn't give much for your chances if she heard you calling her old.' He looked thoughtful.
`Can she stand at all?'
`Oh yes, with support.'
They grinned at each other.
`Dare you,' said Miranda.
`Done.'
Florence looked up in alarm as Tom, his vicar's robes billowing and his manner purposeful, approached her. `You're not leaving already?'
`I am not. I've come to ask for the pleasure of the
next dance.'
Astonished, Florence said, `With who?'
`You, you daft woman. And it's with whom.'
'Pah! You're the daft one, Tom Barrett,' Florence snorted, `if you think I'd let you fling me round in this chair like a child let loose with a supermarket trolley. Ridiculous, that's how we'd look-'
`Not in the chair.' Tom shook his head. `You can stand, I checked with Miranda. And if I can haul a set of clubs round eighteen holes,' he held out his arms, `I'm sure I can manage you.'
`Lovely turn of phrase you have there,' grumbled Florence. `Makes me sound like a sack of turnips.'
Tom smiled.
`Turnips are quieter. Turnips don't argue.'
`Go and dance with a turnip then.'
Evocative music drifted through the open French windows as, inside the ballroom, the orchestra struck up the next tune. Irritatingly, it was one of Florence's all-time favourites.
`I'd rather dance with you,' Tom said calmly. `Much rather.'
`I don't do the tarantella any more.' Florence's tone was truculent. `I can't twirl.'
Sensing weakness, Tom raised an enquiring eyebrow. `Can you shuffle?'
`Oh, I can shuffle.'
He nodded with satisfaction, reaching down and clasping his arms firmly around Florence's waist.
`That'll do.'
`Fancy a bop?' said Buzz.
`Why not?' Chloe shook back her hair and stood up. `But if you try and undo my bra, I shall have to kill you.' He grinned. Chloe was all right.