Page 22 of A Sky Painted Gold

“He’s quite handsome,” I admit in a small voice.

“Oh, Charlie’s nice enough, if you like that sort of thing, I suppose.” Caitlin wrinkles her nose. “Not my type.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. “Why not? What’s wrong with him?”

Caitlin looks at me uncertainly for a second, before reaching out her hands to grab a couple of drinks from a passing waiter and handing one to me.

“Oh, nothing, darling, nothing,” she says lightly, draining her glass in one long gulp. “He’s terribly sweet … but a beautiful ninny, that’s for sure.”

I snort at this. Although it’s mean, I have to admit this has been my own conclusion. I sigh. “A very beautiful one, though,” I say with a little smile.

Caitlin laughs, throwing her head back as she does so. Her laugh is nice, sort of scattered and lilting, it has an untidiness that is at odds with her polished appearance. “Kick off those shoes,” she demands now. “You did promise. Let’s dance!”

I need no further invitation. The band that was here a few nights ago is back, and they are playing the most wonderful jazz. My feet are already itching to dance, and their music is like a call to arms. Six black musicians are squeezed on the stage, along with an upright piano, a double bass, drums and horns, and they are playing as though their lives depend on it.

The man playing the piano is singing, and his voice is so much better than anything that’s ever come out of our record player at home. He’s fire and ice, his voice smooth and sensual one moment, then explosive, burning the next. The crowd is going mad. Caitlin is turned towards him, her eyes closed as she sways to the music, a faraway look on her face.

“He’s wonderful,” I murmur.

Caitlin opens her eyes, as if startled to find me standing there. “He’s … quite good,” she says nonchalantly, and I think she is trying to hide a smile, obviously pleased that she’s pulled off such a splendid party.

Not wanting to be rude, I take a long gulp from my glass, not even sure what I am drinking. To my relief, it’s sweet and fruity, almost like juice. I do as she says and kick off the white slippers, feeling a pang at leaving them that is slightly eased by the feeling of warm grass under my toes. Caitlin does the same, and I notice that her toes are painted with red nail varnish. We make our way to the dance floor, which is already full of hot, vibrant bodies swaying and spinning to the beat.

The Charleston is an exhilarating dance, a dance full of joy – the joy of being alive, the joy of being right here in this very moment. It is a dance that says that we are modern and unafraid. With a tremendous feeling of relief, I throw my hands in the air and give myself over to the feeling of it. I remember learning the dance with Alice, giggling in the front room as we bashed into each other while Freya critiqued us mercilessly. I feel a pang as I think about that time with Alice. It was before she got engaged, when I had no thought of anything ever changing between us.

Caitlin dances next to me, her hips shaking, her feet flying across the ground. Her red lips curve into an enormous grin as her eyes meet mine. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back, giving myself over to the music and laughing as I turn my face up to the night sky.

A hand appears on my arm. I swing around and find myself laughing up into the handsome face of Charlie Miller.

“I have to dance with the prettiest girl here,” he yells above the music, and despite the practised chivalry in his words I can feel a goofy smile sliding across my face, at this scene unfolding like a dream, like something I would have made up for my book. Charlie is like a cut-out version of Prince Charming, with his straightforward good looks and his easy smile. The music is too loud, too fevered for conversation, and I allow myself to simply enjoy the fantasy. This, I realize, is what I had hoped tonight would be like. A world away from my own life, where I can be someone else, where I can step straight into the pages of my well-thumbed magazines.

The music changes and couples sweep into an energetic foxtrot. Charlie is a good dancer, and I lean against him, more than happy to be led around the dance floor in his arms. What an excellent invention dancing is, I think dreamily. What a wonderful excuse to press up against a handsome man.

When the music ends we switch partners and Charlie asks Caitlin to dance. I find myself staring up at that terrible drip Simon, but make my excuses.

“I think I need a drink, if you don’t mind!” I exclaim, fanning my warm face with my hand.

Simon doesn’t even have the good manners to look disappointed, he just shrugs and grabs hold of the next girl along. Perhaps I’m not completely irresistible after all, I think ruefully. I catch Caitlin’s eye and gesture that I am going to find a drink. She nods, and her lips form the words “Come back soon.” I make my way off the dance floor, squeezing through the heaving crowd.

Away from the dance floor the air is a lot cooler, and I take several deep, steadying gulps. The buzz from dancing still rushes through my limbs, leaving me restless, and I go off in search of a glass of water.

Almost immediately, I bump into Robert. Well, more accurately, I trip over his feet. As I’m heading, stumbling, towards an inevitable collision with the floor, one of his arms shoots out, and his hand wraps around the top of my own arm. With a sharp tug he pulls me upright before I can fall.

“Oof.” A noise comes out of me and I rock back on the balls of my feet, flustered.

“Hello.” He looks down at my flushed face and removes his fingers from my arm, although the warmth of his touch remains.

“Hello,” I reply, and I rub at the spot where he caught me, as if I can rub the tingling feeling away. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Not a problem,” he says. “Clearly, you’re more nimble when it comes to tree climbing than you are on solid ground.”

“It was actually your big feet that tripped me up,” I point out, because something about the way he says it stirs the combative spirit in me. “And I bet you’re awful at climbing trees.”

“I used to be quite good, actually,” he admits, with one of those rare, eye-crinkling smiles. “It was the only way to get away from Caitlin, when she was following me around all day, wanting to play at tea parties.”

I laugh at this, enjoying the image.

“Are you having a good time?” he asks.