He began to laugh inwardly once more, but for all that he was tickled by what he saw as Frédérique’s pompousness, in his fancy she remained on her pedestal, aloof from the other girls who were being pressed into his arms by their eager mammas.
As he approached the Witte club where he would join his friends, he could not help thinking again, with secret relish, oh, what a burden it was to be rich!
. .
The dance party at the Verstraetens’ the following evening was very animated. As only friends and relations had been invited, the atmosphere had the relaxed familiarity of a family gathering, notwithstanding the lavish decorations and the formality of the young people’s dress: floaty evening gowns for the ladies and white tie and tails for the men. Most of the guests knew each other quite intimately, and so it was that both young and old indulged in lighthearted chitchat and sparkling repartee.
Paul’s late arrival meant that he was too late for the polonaise and the polka, and when he greeted the bride with a stiff little bow, she responded by berating him.
‘Naughty man, keeping away from my party for so long! I hope you’ll be punished for your sins, you horrid boy!’
He apologised with his laughing eyes and mocking mouth, sniffed her splendid white bouquet in its lace foil, tucked his opera hat under his arm and pulled at the fingers of his pearl-grey gloves. He thought she looked almost ethereal in the white froth of her tulle and orange blossom, with her pale, delicate features and the pouting lips of a spoilt child.
‘I hope every single girl is taken for the next dance, so that you’ll be left all by yourself!’ she said, rising to her feet.
‘Ah, what a severe bride you are! Will you wager with me that I shall not be left by myself, and that I shall be dancing all evening?’ he murmured in her ear, imitating her high voice.
‘No, not a wager! I know you — getting up to mischief as usual! You’d better behave yourself this evening, I warn you!’ she said, wagging her finger at him.
Just then Paul spotted Cateau van der Stoor standing with her back to some azaleas, in conversation with a tall, spindly young man whom he did not know. From across the room he gave her a cheery, indulgent nod, as if she were a small child, to which her only response was a stony look. The little minx! He resolved not to ask her to dance all evening; he might even ignore her entirely, just to teach her a lesson.
He was in the mood for larking about, and his eyes lit on Frédérique and Marie, both in pink tulle.
‘Well I never! A fine best man you make!’ exclaimed Marie. ‘I’m surprised that you even dare to show your face at this late hour. Are you blushing?’
Ignoring Marie’s reprimand, he turned to Freddie. She had promised him several dances, so he reminded her, and he was wondering about the next waltz.
‘Of course!’ said Freddie. ‘I thought you’d forgotten all about me.’
From the conservatory came the opening strains of Invitation à la valse.
‘And we’ll carry on with last night’s philosophical discussion while we dance, shall we, Freddie?’ he asked.
‘Oh no, no more philosophy please! I just want to dance and enjoy myself.’
She sounded happy, elated even, and smiled at him so winsomely that his heart began to beat apace. No cold shoulders now, thank goodness. How lovely she looked this evening, her face aglow with the rosy reflection of her pink toilette, her eyes sparkling with fun! Oh, she was prettier than all the others, to be sure, prettier even than the pale young bride across the room. He felt an urge to enfold her in his arms, but gazed into her eyes instead.
‘You’ve kept the polka before the intermission for me, haven’t you? And the waltz after supper? And the cotillion, too, I hope?’
‘Yes, I’ve kept them all for you,’ she replied, colouring. ‘Not that you deserve it by any means. But I always keep my word. As you can see, all my other dances are already taken.’
She showed him her dance-card. Grinning broadly, he scrawled a large capital P in each of the remaining blanks.
The waltz had already started, and just as he curved his arm around Frédérique’s waist he caught sight of Cateau dancing with the spindly young man. He gave her another patronising nod, noting to his considerable satisfaction that her cheeks were on fire as she glared at him over her lanky cavalier’s shoulder. After that he no longer thought of her, but only of Freddie.
He could not recall ever having enjoyed a waltz as much as now, with Freddie floating in his arms as they glided among the other dancing couples. He could not resist drawing her close, pressing her lightly to his chest, and his laughing eyes slid down her throat to her lovely, firm shoulders. The whirling pink froth of her skirts made him feel quite giddy, and with his head almost leaning on her shoulder, he fastened his gaze on the silken tendrils of hair curled against the nape of her neck. Miss Know-it-all had vanished without trace, so had the little professor; it was only Freddie now, dancing like a dream.
This is the life, he thought to himself, a long, sweet waltz going round and round in a soft, mesmerizing rhythm, on and on, the pretty little head at his shoulder, the graceful creature in his arms, the pink whirlwind of rustling pleats like a flurry of rose petals, the silky tendrils of hair, the gentle curve of her lily-white shoulder, on and on. .
‘Paul, you needn’t hold me so tight, I am not about to run away, you know!’ she whispered, smiling. He gazed into her shining eyes but did not relax his hold, and she resigned herself to his embrace with good grace. They fell silent.
When the music stopped he felt as if he were waking from a wonderful dream.
‘Oh, Freddie, can’t we go on waltzing together for ever and ever, until our dying day?’
She smiled and murmured a reply, which he did not hear, for in his fancy they were off again, dancing the waltz.
. .
For the lancers Paul was on the same side as the bride, Frédérique, Marie, Cateau, Georges, Etienne and young Jan, and each time his hand touched Cateau’s he gave her fingers a little squeeze. He had been teasing her all evening with his mocking glances, and Cateau now looked daggers at him. He could not think why he was feeling so waggish this evening, but he simply could not resist pulling everyone’s leg. He was now playing the dandy, surrounded by a bevy of girls, treating each of them in turn to an impertinent remark which only made them giggle. He pretended to ignore Françoise Oudendijk when she posed some comical questions, then suddenly spun round to gaze into her eyes, his face a grimace of incredulity.
‘I say, Paul, how you’ve changed! You’re so mad nowadays! What’s come over you?’ she said, reaching out to touch the gardenia in his buttonhole.
‘Can’t you guess?’ he retorted in an undertone, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. ‘Can’t you guess?’
‘Me? No, how could I?’
‘May I tell you the reason later? May I?’ he begged.
‘Oh yes, please!’
‘Well then, join me for half a dance-conversation during the Scottish reel,’ he said quickly.
‘What do you mean by half a dance-conversation?’
‘I hereby promote the first Scottish to a dance-conversation with two ladies, but I shan’t be talking first with the one and then with the other, but with both at the same time. My first partner is Léonie Eekhof, so if you will be my second, I promise I’ll tell you the reason for my madness. What do you say?’
She stared at him a moment, unsure whether she should take offence or not.
‘If that’s all you have to offer, then no thank you!’ she rejoined, affecting indignation.