2 May 1936
Arthur had never seen anything like it. At least not in real life.
York Mansion House was alive with light: candelabras, candlesticks, mirrors. And diamonds too. Every woman seemed to be wearing them. The whole place sparkled.
They were up in the ballroom, a grand first-floor room with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. It was the end-of-season gala, an annual affair in which city celebrated club. The team was lined up at one end, smiling politely through speech after speech while the invited dignitaries looked on. The Lord Mayor was saying something about York’s finest and then there was some applause and then a joke and then Mr Barrett, the manager, was shaking the mayor’s hand. More jokes. More clapping. When would it all end? Then, from nowhere, Arthur heard his own name and felt a slap on his back from a teammate. He blushed, looked down at the floor and then out across the scrum of clapping hands and smiling faces.
And that’s when he saw her, standing near the door, talking to friends and laughing. She was the tallest woman in the room, dressed in an elegant navy-blue gown that made her look like a film star. When the applause stopped and the speeches resumed, she glanced over her shoulder and caught him staring at her. She half-smiled, arched an eyebrow, and then turned back to her friends.
He spent the rest of the night trying to watch her without making it too obvious. Once or twice, he even managed to manoeuvre himself close enough to see her eyes, dark and shining, he thought, like newly polished leather.
And then, just like that, there she was. Standing next to him, smiling. As bold as brass.
‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me to dance, then?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said aren’t you going to ask me to dance. It seems only right given that you’ve been staring at me all evening.’
She held out her hand.
‘I’m Diana.’