Henry held the taxi door open while I climbed in, hoping I didn’t look as tipsy as I felt. I couldn’t imagine how he sounded so sober when he’d had just as much to drink as I had.
After the raffle we’d had tiny dolls’ tea party-sized mince pies served with quenelles of brandy butter. Then they’d brought out the coffee, but by then the band had started up and I’d somehow found myself on the dance floor.
We’d jived, extremely badly in my case, wiggled our hips and had great fun going in, out, in, out and shaking it all about, before ending up in a conga. I’d carried on until a stitch sent me sinking to the nearest chair, clutching my side. Henry, almost as out of breath, had dropped more elegantly into the next one – he looked like he should be in a black and white Madonna video.
‘Your case is at the cottage. Do you want to come back there? The spare room is Marvin-free at the moment, so you’re very welcome to use it.’
Suddenly I really didn’t want to go back to my little studio. I wanted to curl up on Henry’s spare bed with Talisker, just like old times. ‘Yes please.’ I hoped I wasn’t slurring.
Henry held the taxi door open for me. He was very good at this door holding lark. Gay men were so nice, I thought. They had lovely manners and they knew what colours went together. I gave an unladylike yawn.
‘Come on, Beth. Time you went to bed I think.’ Henry led me up the stairs and into the spare room where Talisker was indeed on the bed. It was almost as if he was waiting for me.
A glass of water appeared on the bedside table. It was on a coaster, which made me want to giggle.
‘Goodnight, Beth,’ I heard Henry’s voice say.
‘Nighty-night, Henry,’ I mumbled before unzipping my dress, pulling it off, and getting straight into bed. I closed my eyes. The room didn’t spin so I wasn’t drunk, just a tiny bit squiffy.
He was a lovely man, Henry. Six foot three or four, slender, and he had the most perfect forearms I’d ever seen on a man. And lovely shoes. He looked to me like he should be tap dancing his way through a 1940s musical. I wondered what it would be like to be his leading lady.
Oops, I’d have to be careful, otherwise I might end up being a teeny tiny bit in love with Henry. And that wouldn’t be very good, would it? Especially if we’d got to go on a romantic dinner together. He might be charming and have a very cute bottom when he danced, but there was no point in getting any ideas about him. Henry Halliday wouldn’t be interested in anything on my menu.