‘Hey,’ said Ross, one finger gently swiping away the tear.
She swallowed hard and looked up into his concerned blue eyes. ‘It’s fine. It’s just a bit of a pisser being dumped before you’ve even been on a date with someone.’
‘His loss,’ said Ross, his mouth narrowing with fierce disapproval. He slid an arm across her shoulder, his fingers caressing the bare skin at the nape of her neck, his lips brushing across the side of her forehead as he pulled her in for a hug. ‘The man’s an idiot. Come on, put your drink down. We’re going to dance.’ He took the glass from her and took her hand, leading her straight towards John who was making his way to the bar.
‘Of course, being an award-winning dancer, you’ll be wanting to dance with the best,’ said Ross in a suddenly conversational tone, apropos of absolutely nothing. He tightened his hold on her hand as their paths crossed with the other couple and he gave John and the woman with him a friendly nod. ‘Evening,’ he said, and carried on, chatting away to Izzy as if nothing untoward had happened but quite clearly staking his claim. Izzy could have kissed him right then and there.
John’s eyes had widened at the sight of her and Izzy was rather pleased that she was able to give him a blithe smile and turn her face up to Ross as if she were hanging on his every word.
Before she could say anything, they were on the dance floor and the caller was explaining the next dance. Ross’s fingers interlaced with hers and those blue eyes never left her face as they marked the steps. She couldn’t look away. There was something mesmerising about his gaze and she wondered what he was thinking.
When the music started, they danced the first refrain together and she smiled up at him, his face softening as he smiled back. Then, to her disappointment, they were separated. Her new partner took her in his knuckle-crunching grip, his stride much bigger than hers, and she had to try hard to concentrate. Then she was with a new partner, and then another, as the women moved one way around the circle and the men the other. Halfway round she glanced over at Ross to find that he was looking at her. He nodded, his face set in an expression that gave little away. A second later she looked over at him again to find he was still watching her. A small smile tugged at his lips. She couldn’t look away and neither, it seemed, could he.
At last they were facing each other. ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ he murmured in a low voice that thrummed through her as they stepped forward to meet each other.
‘Fancy that,’ she whispered back.
Once again their eyes were drawn to each other and neither of them looked away as they danced together. When they had to move on again, Izzy turned her head to look back over her shoulder at the same time Ross looked back. They both gave each other a wistful smile.
‘Izzy, isn’t this fun?’ said Xanthe, grabbing her arm as she walked past a little later in the evening. Before she could respond, her mother whirled away calling, ‘I’m having such a good time. Oh look, there’s Fraser.’ And away she disappeared into the throng of people.
For a while Izzy watched her mother throwing herself quite literally into the dance. Her unfettered enthusiasm had proved popular with men and women alike and she was quickly surrounded. In contrast, Izzy felt a bit like a wallflower. She tried hard not to watch Ross, his kilt flaring as he danced, his head nodding as he talked to his partner, but it was impossible. She didn’t seem to be able to help herself. Thankfully the dance soon came to an end and he came to stand beside her.
‘Xanthe’s a hit,’ he said.
‘So are you,’ said Izzy, hoping she didn’t sound bothered by it.
‘I’m a novelty, that’s all. And you’ve not exactly been short of dance partners.’
She grinned at him. ‘New blood, that’s all.’
‘I think it’s a bit more than that. The stocky chap seems quite enamoured.’
‘He’s a carpet fitter. I’m potentially a very good customer.’
‘You keep thinking that, sweetheart,’ said Ross with a teasing smile.
Izzy was about to say something when she noticed the crowd around her mother dispersing slightly.
A man in a black and yellow kilt with a bald head, a perfect pot belly and a bushy white moustache had dropped to his knees in front of Xanthe, reaching for her hand. In a loud plummy and very English accent he said, ‘Fair lady, please take pity on a poor miserable wretch and lend me your hand for a dance.’
Xanthe’s eyes glittered with delight and she smiled regally down at him.
‘Oh dear God,’ muttered Ross. ‘Why do people insist on making such spectacles? Don’t they know they’re making an utter fool of themselves and embarrassing everyone around them? And poor Xanthe can hardly say no now, can she? It’s so bloody manipulative.’
Izzy shot a quick glance at Ross’s face, which had tightened with disapproval.
‘I loathe grand gestures like that,’ he added.
‘Sometimes, it’s nice,’ said Izzy, although she had to admit this was a bit much.
‘I can’t think of a single circumstance where I’d want to make a complete prat of myself in front of scores of people.’
‘He’s making a point so she’s not left with any doubt that a dance with her is what he wants. I think it’s quite sweet.’
‘You don’t think it’s slightly coercive? Being forced into it.’
Izzy shook her head. ‘She can always say no.’
