Harriet was so humiliated, she got all hot and flustered and said sorry each time he tripped over her feet. He never apologized at all. There was Cory dancing again with the beautiful Melanie. Oh God, don’t let him fancy her too much.
The ball became wilder; upstairs the cordoned-off bedrooms were heaving with occupants. After a trip to the ladies, Harriet saw Mrs Willoughby emerge from a side room, patting her hair, with Elizabeth Pemberton’s husband, Michael. During a break between dances, a drunk poured a whole bottle of champagne over his wife, and then, picking up another, started to water the rest of his party. Two men in dinner jackets carried him bellowing out of the ballroom, his legs wriggling like a sheep about to be dipped.
Harriet was well on her way down a second bottle. She felt very above ground now and cannoned into several chairs when Billy asked her to dance.
‘I’ve got you under my skin,’ played the band.
I’ve got you under my lack of chin, thought Harriet and giggled, as Billy pressed her to his chest. Cory was dancing with Melanie yet again, her face pale and dreamy against his scarlet coat. They looked so beautiful together, quite separate from anyone else in the room. Harriet felt the music and longing eating into her soul.
‘He will not always say, what you would have him say, but now and then he’ll say something wonderful,’ played the band.
Harriet and Billy were passing Cory and Melanie now. Harriet looked up, and suddenly her eyes met Cory’s and she found she couldn’t tear them away. On and on they stared at each other, as the colour mounted in her cheeks.
Billy looked down at her, as though he could feel the current.
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘are you still with me?’
‘I’d like a drink,’ muttered Harriet. She felt jolted and uneasy; her heart was thumping. She was just gulping down a second glass, when a soft voice said, ‘Would you spare a dance for an old fogey?’
She turned expectantly. It was Charles Mander, his face flushed, his cheeks veined with red. It was twenty to two, only a few minutes and they’d all be posthorn galloping. Suddenly she wanted to dance so badly with Cory, she nearly wept.
The next minute she was being mauled to bits on the floor. The tempo was very slow now and Charles was breathing down her neck, peering down the front of her dress, one warm hand wandering over her back and neck, the other which was holding her hand, nudging continually at her breast.
How could Noel have ever fancied him, thought Harriet. The music stopped.
‘Not letting you go so easily,’ said Charles.
‘I must get back to my party,’ said Harriet desperately and, wriggling away, went slap into Cory.
‘My turn, I think, Charles,’ he said.
And, joyfully, she melted into his arms. She was conscious of his height and strength, and in spite of being very drunk now, she tried to make herself as light as possible.
‘Have you had a nice time?’ he said.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He’s my boss, she thought, and he loves Noel; but she felt herself curling round him like bindweed, lust leaping in her like a salmon.
Suddenly the contact of his body became unbearable; she lost her step. The music stopped to desultory clapping; several young men were galloping about the floor, kicking up their legs and uttering hunting cries. Across the room she saw Elizabeth Pemberton beckon imperiously to Billy and nod in their direction. Cory, however, held firmly onto her hand; perhaps after all he wanted her to stay. The band started up again. Reprieve, reprieve! Harriet’s self-control went to the winds. She put both her arms round Cory’s neck and smiled up at him.
‘I’ve been wanting to dance with you all evening,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘You’re pissed out of your mind.’
‘Am I really?’ she giggled, nestling against him. ‘I’ve enjoyed myself.’
‘Clinging to Charles Mander like a limpet?’ said Cory.
‘You mustn’t have a hang-up about him,’ said Harriet.
‘I have not,’ said Cory, extremely tartly.
‘He’s attractive, but not a millionth millionth as attractive as you.’
Melanie danced by with Michael Pemberton, trying to catch Cory’s eye with a do-you-need-rescuing expression on her face.
Harriet glanced at her.
‘She’s not the answer for you either,’ she said.
Cory raised his eyebrows.
‘Since when did I give you permission to dictate my sex life?’
‘Only tonight. I could supervise the whole world’s sex life tonight. Sammy says she doesn’t look nearly as hot first thing in the morning, and she’d got awful legs, and she asked Sammy to put a hot water bottle in her bed tonight, so she can’t be expecting to give you her all this evening.’
‘The nanny mafia,’ sighed Cory. ‘You spend far too much time gossiping to Sammy.’
‘Sammy says Melanie’s marriage broke up because she didn’t like sex. Anyway she’s too old for you.’
‘She’s four years younger than me.’
‘I know. But she’s too old inside. You need someone young and silly to stop you looking so sad.’
Her foot caught in her hem, and she stumbled and fell against him. His grip tightened on her; he laid his cheek against her hair.
‘You talk a lot of nonsense,’ he said. ‘And you’re going to feel terrible in the morning.’
‘It’s not morning yet,’ said Harriet dreamily. ‘It was the nightingale and not the lark that pierced the fearful hollows of thine ear.’
Suddenly there was a tantivy of hunting horns and view halloos, the sober fox trot tempo quickened, and broke into D’Ye Ken John Peel.
‘Oh Christ,’ said Cory, as a whooping line came thundering towards them.
What a noise of galloping feet! Harriet could feel the boards heaving as they rushed round the floor, one cavalry charge after another gathering up couples still trying to dance like fish in a net. With Cory protecting her from the scrimmage, Harriet was loving every minute, her cheeks flushed, dark hair flying.
Round and round they went until she was quite breathless. Suddenly they all slithered to a halt, stopped like statues, while the band played God Save the Queen. Just in front of them Charles Mander was patting Mrs Willoughby’s bottom while Mrs Mander snored peacefully in a chair with her mouth open. Harriet found her fingers curling in and out of Cory’s, and looking up saw Elizabeth Pemberton glaring in their direction.
The band stopped. A fat woman executed a pirouette and collapsed on the floor with cackles of laughter.
Harriet watched fascinated.
‘At least I’m not as drunk as her.’
‘Nor are you going to be allowed to be,’ said Cory firmly. Picking up Harriet’s bag which was lying on the table, he extracted the cloakroom ticket and handed it to Mrs Willoughby who was on her way upstairs.
‘Annie, be an angel and get Harriet’s coat while you’re up there. She’s much too slewed to find anything.’
Billy Bentley arrived, braying nervously.
‘We got lorst,’ he said.
‘This child has had far too much to drink,’ said Cory sternly.