“Or cause allergies,” added Catriona. “You can’t be too careful with animal by-products.”
“Evie, will you have a drink?” Ingrid appeared at my side and waved Mhairi over with the tray of glasses.
“Ingrid, you look stunning,” I said, and meant it. Sheila had adjusted Violet’s dress so it appeared made for her—a delicate 1930s evening gown in duck-egg blue, with a swooping bias cut and lots of tiny white crystal beads around the bodice like sea spray. It flattered Ingrid’s small frame and made her blue eyes sparkle.
She looked like the Lady of the House. The thirties were her time, from her neat figure to the light curl of her bobbed hair. It was like a jigsaw piece clicking into its setting.
“Oh, candlelight,” she said with a blush. “Here, have a glass of champagne.”
I hesitated. One glass of champagne, and I got quite imaginative; two, and I started to think it was all actually happening. I didn’t want to tip over that line tonight.
“Go on.” Ingrid rolled her eyes and angled her shoulder so Janet couldn’t see. “I haven’t shown you the seating plan for dinner. You might need a glass or two under your belt when you see where Janet’s put you.”
*
Champagne or not, my imagination and reality were well and truly blurred over dinner, and after the first course, I didn’t care. It was magical.
For a start, everyone around me was in the most formal evening dress, but looked easy and relaxed in it, even Duncan, who was wearing the most ludicrous sporran I’d ever seen. It was the size of a dinner plate and had tiny paws of some description dangling off it. The food arrived on silver platters and porcelain Kettlesheer Limoges plates, carried by white-gloved waiters who might have been local school-leavers during the day, but now looked like spectral Victorians in their black jackets.
I glittered under the candlelight, aware of all eyes on my throat. Conversation bubbled along as our crystal glasses were filled with Fraser’s wine, a different one for each course. I’d always imagined myself charming and eloquent when I’d dreamed about dining in some Edwardian romance, but had known deep down that the reality would be tongue-tied panic about which knife to use. Yet tonight, next to Kenneth Graham and Dougie, I found it surprisingly easy. So easy that the time rushed by far too fast.
Too fast, because I wanted to savor each second but also because underneath the chatter was the steady drumbeat of nerves that in two hours, one hour, thirty minutes, I’d have to dance in front of all these people.
Fraser was seated opposite me, and he looked resplendent in the full Scottish rig-out. Alice, I now knew, was out of her tiny mind. Even Douglas and Kirstie had taken on an otherworldly splendor in their evening wear; Kirstie’s sash was held in place by something that looked suspiciously like a diamanté hair clip, but from across the table, it didn’t seem as if her plunging neckline was impeding the flow of dinner-table conversation with either of the men sitting next to her.
I couldn’t see Robert at all. He was right at the other end, and when the coffee came round and the dance cards were distributed on silver platters, I panicked that I wouldn’t reach him in time to bag a dance.
“Might I have the pleasure of Hamilton House?” asked Fraser, his pencil poised above his dance card. The weeny pencil looked incongruous in his big hands.
“Yes, of course.” I was about to write his name in when a waitress appeared behind me with a tray.
“Sorry, we gave you the wrong card,” she said, putting a new card in front of me. “Could you give me that back?”
“Wrong … ?” I started. As she took my card from me, I saw the new one fall open. It already had a dance filled in: The Eightsome Reel; Mr. Robert McAndrew.
My skin shivered at the gallantry. I looked up at Fraser. “Hamilton House. Yes, I’d be delighted.”
Douglas was equally chivalrous and offered me a dance, as did the charming vicar to my left, and my card was practically full up when Duncan banged his gong with unseemly relish.
“Ladies and gentlemen! If I may crave your indulgence for a moment? Lovely! As the time has now marched on to ten minutes to ten o’clock, it’s time for us to make our way to the ballroom for the night’s festivities to commence. If those taking part in the Reel of Luck would step to one side, Janet will be arranging us for our grand entrance!”
I glanced across the table, and saw Fraser waiting to catch my eye. He raised his eyebrows in a Ready? gesture, and when I nodded, he got to his feet and came round to ease my chair out so I could get up.
Oh, the manners. How I would miss the manners when I returned to normality.
The piper, Terry, had now appeared at the door, his bagpipes splayed over his shoulder like a giant tartan spider.
“Errrr we seyt?” he demanded in a very thick Scottish accent.
“Aye, we are, brave Scot!” replied Duncan with a swing of his sporran.
“I have no idea how historically accurate this is,” muttered Fraser, “but Duncan insists on it.”
Janet lined us up bossily. “Catriona and Robert, you’ll be leading us in as the heir and lady, then Ingrid and Duncan as hosts, and Lady Morag and Sir Hamish, if you’d be so kind, and …” She’d reached us. I could tell from the look on her face that it was taking all the self-control she possessed not to shove me out of the line and take my place herself.
“Evie and Fraser,” supplied Fraser helpfully.
“I know who you are, dear. Now, Evie, you’re absolutely sure?”
“I’ve been studying Catriona’s diagrams all night,” I said. “I am a red dot and Fraser is my red cross.”
She gave me a reproachful look. “Don’t try too hard. If in doubt, let the men move you about. And don’t fall over.”
“Wise words for us all there, Janet,” said Fraser.
She studied him for a minute, to check he wasn’t joking, then nodded to the piper, who replied with a blast of warm-up squalling from his pipes.
And then, before I could take in what was happening, he was walking slowly out of the dining room and we were following, very slowly and with ringing ears, as if we were at a wedding and a rock concert simultaneously.
“I may never hear again,” I murmured to Fraser as we stepped onto the first stair.
“What?” He leaned down so I could yell into his ear.
“I may never— Oh, never mind.”
I took a deep breath. Help me out, Violet, I thought. Steer me, Ranald.
Ahead of us, Robert and Catriona made a straight-backed couple, taking the turn in the staircase before we did. I could see his eyes fixed straight ahead of him, her hand laid primly on his arm. They were already as stiffly paired as the spouses in the oils they were walking past.
Fraser kept his gaze dead ahead, but squeezed my hand as we reached the top of the stairs and the open doors of the ballroom.
The piper stopped piping and stepped back. From behind the other three couples I could see the paneled room crammed with people who’d dined elsewhere and arrived in taxis, eyes peering curiously past the door to the stairs. In silence—and in slow motion—we walked forward, and a space appeared on the dance floor like the Red Sea parting.
My heart started banging. Literally banging, like it wanted out. Now.
Catriona guided us all into the right spots with a regal movement of her head; and then, when we were in a neat square, she turned and nodded to the band, who lifted their fiddles, accordions, guitars, whatever mode of aural torture they had to hand.
Ba-duuuuuuuu-dum!
The reel music kicked in, my hands were grabbed by Fraser and Sir Hamish, and we were doing the circle. No sooner had my brain registered that we’d started than the music urged us back, and we were going the other way.
And then Fraser’s strong arm was round my waist and he’d whisked me into the cartwheel, and out again. But he wasn’t doing as much nudging as I’d thought he’d need to; somehow my brain was flashing up the patterns from Catriona’s book. The music seemed to be helping me
along, with fiddle flourishes to indicate when to move into the next step. I stumbled into it, my foot slipping on the newly polished floor.
“And set twice, turn twice!” shouted Fraser, shimmying his knees at me.
“I know!” I said, holding out my arm to be turned.
His eyes followed me round as we turned, and they were laughing—not at me, but with me.
I smiled back. My nerves were still fluttering high up in my chest, but something else was building in me: an odd sense of relief that, so far, it was all going fine. More than fine. Almost … fun?
Catriona stepped gracefully into the middle, and we circled round her as she raised her arms and did some extra-Scottishy dancing she’d been saving for a special occasion. I could hear Dougie whooping in the background. She kept her eyes fixed on Robert throughout, and then began her set and turn to him as if this were her actual wedding reel.
A pinprick of envy stabbed me. I dragged my eyes away from them, and lost myself in Violet’s ballroom. It was different from the still room that Robert and I had danced in, with the glittering chandelier above us, the sparkling mirrors round the walls reflecting the masses of faces until there seemed to be thousands of people around us. It smelled of the past—polish, and old tailcoats, and perfume, and anticipation, just the same as it had been for her, the first time Violet came. I’d never meet Violet, and yet she could have been standing right there by the marble fireplace, watching me.
And then the circle was moving again, and Catriona was setting and turning to Fraser, his warm hand slipping out of mine so he could spin her round with that controled speed I wished I could master.
She was beautiful, I thought, as she moved elegantly into the figure eight. More than that, she fitted in a house like this. Catriona would make it easy for Robert. And wasn’t that the most important thing?
And then we were moving again. As the music carried on, I started to relax—after all, I wasn’t being asked to do anything so far, apart from watch the other women go into the middle, then form their loops with the men opposite. Ingrid followed Catriona; her steps were cautious but neat, her face a mask of concentration. Then Lady Morag went in, and her dowager image was thrown off as she launched into some wild birling that sent her ballgown billowing and the other dancers cheering round us. The noise seemed to lift us like a football match, and I was just thinking how marvelous it all was—being inside this circle—when I realized everyone’s eyes were on me, and Fraser’s hand was firmly directing me into the middle.
I was on.
Twenty-five
I’d never felt more conspicuous in my whole life than I did in the middle of that circle.
The fiddles and drums surged on, and the seven began turning, and I stood frozen to the spot like a dummy. I’d still have been standing there if I hadn’t spotted Sheila standing behind the set, frantically making stirring motions with her finger, one way and then the other.
Was that some kind of extra dance? I peered at her, and she rolled her eyes and spun round, much to the confusion of Kenneth standing next to her.
Oh, God, she was coaching me from the side.
In a panic, I started turning on the spot, in the opposite direction to everyone else. It was a bit lame, but there was a cheer anyway, more so when I got bold and raised a hand over my head. Then Fraser’s strong hand reached out and caught me for the set and turn, and when he spun me, he swung me so precisely in front of Sir Hamish that I didn’t miss a beat.
Sir Hamish smiled encouragingly and turned me with decorous care, and then Fraser and Sir Hamish and I were scuttling round in the figure eight. The lilting music hustled us along, and without warning the tightness started to unwind from my chest. This time, as the circle turned, I spun with one hand on my hip and the other in the air, and when I stepped toward Robert, I was smiling so hard I could feel it on my face.
The reel was making me do it. It was taking over somehow, moving my feet without me having to think. There was something so flirty about the set and turn that I couldn’t help flashing a cheeky wink from under my lashes as Robert and I swung our shoulders, and I could have sworn when he turned me, he trailed his fingers along the inside of my wrist as he steered me toward Duncan.
My feet and my head and my heart were light. It was so simple, yet so satisfying, to move in time with the music, to feel as if the music was helping me, not trying to trip me up. I stepped back and took Fraser’s and Duncan’s hands, and we carried on like clockwork.
My heart hammered, but the nerves and the enjoyment were mingling like the most intoxicating cocktail. And best of all, Robert in the middle meant I was free to stare at him, long-limbed and handsome in his white tie. He could have stepped out of any of the portraits in the house, and in just a few moments he’d be turning to me, and holding out his hand with that invitation in his eyes, and …
My gaze lingered a second too long. Robert turned faster than I expected and caught me looking right at him. A slow smile spread over his face, and a hot, hot flush erupted deep inside me.
That did it. I didn’t think there was any misinterpreting that.
I was so busy trying to cover my confusion that I didn’t really take proper notice of the disturbance behind me until a hand grabbed my upper arm and pulled me out of the circle, and a body slid neatly into my place between Fraser and Duncan, leaving me outside.
Whoever it was, her timing was perfect, because on the next beat the circle closed up again and the eight started going around to the left, with Sir Hamish now in the middle.
I staggered backward, nearly tripping on the person behind me. Who the hell was that? Laura Learmont? Janet Learmont? How far would these Learmonts go to make sure I didn’t mess things up?
My cheeks burned. Had I messed things up? I’d thought I was doing fine.
As the circle turned, a funny ripple effect started on the faces of the other ballgoers. Shocked expressions, confusion, and in some cases amusement flickered up as one by one they got a look at the interloper.
I craned my neck to see who it was, but I was in the wrong place, and painfully conscious that the people who weren’t staring at the new dancer in the reel were now gawping at me. All I could see was the flash of a long yellow dress and long arms.
“Well done, Evie. You did yourself proud.” A hand patted my shoulder. I turned round to see Sheila flanked by her husband, now looking like a ceremonial bald eagle in a kilt.
“Have I just been sent off?” I gasped. “Who is that? Is that Laura?”
Sheila looked surprised. “No. Can you not see who it is?”
I peered as the new girl set and turned Robert. “No,” I began, “I don’t— Oh, my God.”
The long flailing arms should have given it away: as Robert tried to spin her, she gave him a nasty thwack in the chest and turned awkwardly to reveal her face to me.
It was Alice. And for some reason, she was wearing a gigantic diamanté eye patch.
“Alice?” I said out loud.
“Indeed.” Sheila’s voice was dry. “Her ankle seems to be holding up all right. But did she injure her eye at the same time? You never said.”
Robert, Fraser, and Alice lurched round each other in the figure eight. Fraser and Robert, I could tell, were using the move as a chance to get a better look at her bizarre accessory. She actually wasn’t that easy to look at straight-on; their position right underneath the huge crystal chandelier meant that the diamantés were flashing dazzling beams of light right across the room.
“That? Oh, um, it’s her style signature,” I improvised. “She often wears one to big events.”
“Is that a London fashion?” asked Kenneth. He sounded bemused.
“Yes,” I said. “Well, no. Oh, look, Sheila, Fraser’s in the middle.”
That distracted her instantly, and her clan sash lifted with pride as Fraser took his turn in the center, leaping up and down and making wild shapes with his arms (“He’s impersonating a rutting stag”) while the men in the room l
et out weird whooping Yaaarrrrps of approval (“It’s traditional”).
And then he singled out Alice for her set and turn. Mad as I was with my sister, I had to admit that she and Fraser made a really handsome couple.
Alice’s height somehow worked in a ballgown, and she was gazing up into Fraser’s eyes, her face rosy with a sort of shy adoration I’d never really seen on her before. Fraser meanwhile looked as if his rugby team had won on the same day that Scotland qualified for the World Cup and the tax on wine and spirits was abolished. Her ridiculous shenanigans of the last few days were clearly forgotten in his undisguised pleasure to see her.
The music shifted up a gear, and he steered her with old-fashioned courtesy; as she turned, her eyes traveled over her shoulder to stay with him as he moved across the circle to Ingrid.
She really loves him, I thought. And he totally loves her. In that moment, I realized what Alice had meant when she’d said I only ever had crushes on men I couldn’t have. That soul-warming glow I felt when I was near Fraser wasn’t a proper emotion; it was just a reflection of what they had. A breathing, caring relationship.
I didn’t feel jealous of Alice having Fraser. I was glad she had Fraser, and that Fraser had her. I watched them turning their shoulders to pass in the figure eight, eyes following each other greedily.
Then I spotted that Robert was looking at me, and another wave of intense longing rushed through me; it made the crush I’d had on Fraser feel like vanilla ice cream. Melted ice cream, at that.
Sheila nudged me. “Just as well I managed to pick up my mother’s engagement ring from Berwick earlier this week.” She gave me a stagy wink. “I hope Kirstie didn’t get the wrong idea about the box …”
“It could be an expensive night for Janet Learmont,” said Kenneth unexpectedly. He nodded toward the reel, and I saw what he meant: Catriona was holding Robert’s hand with a proprietorial smile, her neck arched as if she knew everyone around her was whispering about the old tradition.
He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was only looking in two directions: at me, or into space.