‘Really?’ he’d asked, convinced the old bird was pulling his leg.
Apparently not, if her pursed lips and frosty glare were anything to go by.
So, dinner suit and black tie it was, and he reached into the far corner of his wardrobe to pull out the one and only suit he owned. Good job it was black.
However, once dressed and assessing his appearance in the full-length mirror, he was rather pleased with the finished article. He took in the smooth, fitted contours of his strong physique. The trousers hugged his muscular thighs and the jacket his wide shoulders. The crisp, white shirt complimented his tanned skin and dark hair.
‘Not too shabby, Spencer,’ he said out loud to his reflection. Then he wondered if Jasmine would be impressed with his look. Would she appreciate him as an attractive, hot-blooded male, or a smartly dressed friend simply making an effort? And, depending which category he fell into, would she let him know? Would he get any inclination as to how she felt about him? Once or twice he had suspected there could be something, some tiny spark in the way she’d looked at him. His mind flashed back to the morning they’d swum in the bay, her eyes had definitely clocked what good shape he was in, and he’d been pleased when her gaze had rested on his bare chest a touch too long. Then, the other day he’d sensed she had been staring at him from the kitchen doorway.
Even if this was so, was Jasmine in the right frame of mind? Robin sighed. He’d actually been looking forward to this evening, but now on reflection he wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. Yes, it had been Jasmine’s idea to cook for Bunty, but would she have suggested it had she known about Bunty’s intent? What would Jasmine really think if she was fully aware of Bunty’s agenda? Laugh at an old lady playing cupid, or be mortally offended by her meddling? To make matters worse – or better, again depending on which category he fell into – Robin had fallen into Bunty’s trap. He was playing the exact role Bunty had cast him in. He’d fallen for Jasmine. The question was, which role was Jasmine going to take? And more significantly, was she ready to play at all?
‘Now, darling, I think the gold, strappy number, or… maybe this?’ Bunty held out an elegant indigo blue silk gown.
‘Oh Bunty, I couldn’t possibly wear that!’ exclaimed Jasmine in awe. It was one of the most stylish dresses she’d ever seen.
‘Of course you can,’ replied Bunty waving her refusal away. ‘It certainly won’t fit me anymore,’ she chuckled.
Jasmine imagined a much younger Bunty, just like in those photographs, wearing this exquisite gown. What a beauty she must have looked. Had the elusive Perry seen her in it? Most probably. She faced Bunty who was looking affectionately at her. The old dear was enjoying this, like a child playing at dressing up, she thought endearingly. Then another thought struck her. What company did Bunty have? She was almost stranded out here, in this grand house, living alone, in a pretty secluded spot. God forbid, but what if she had an accident, came unstuck in some way, who’d be here to help?
‘What are you thinking?’ Bunty’s eyes narrowed.
Not wanting to put a dampener on the evening, Jasmine shrugged then smiled. ‘What will you wear?’
‘Ah, now my outfit is shrouded in mystery,’ she said, eyes twinkling.
Jasmine giggled with anticipation, realising how much she enjoyed this lady’s company. Bunty was a real mixture. She was strong, forthright, compassionate and most of allfun.
Robin was prompt, not daring to be late. As Bunty welcomed him into the hall, he was greeted with 1930s dance band music. It really set the tone.
‘We thought of playing daddy’s old records on the gramophone,’ explained Bunty as she led him through the hall.
We?thought Robin. It seemed Bunty and Jasmine had been hitting it off well.
‘I must say, Robin, you cut quite a dashing figure in that dinner suit,’ Bunty called over her shoulder as she entered the dining room.
‘Why thank you, Bunty. And might I say how spectacular you look too?’ He raised a playful eyebrow.
‘You may.’ She grinned. ‘This was my mother’s dress, made for her thirtieth birthday party. The house was alive with music, dance and high spirits. She had a passion for the art deco era, as did my grandmother, hence her love of this place.’
Bunty did indeed look spectacular in the cocktail dress with glittering gold beading and swinging black fringe. She wore a silver headpiece with a draped crystal head chain.
Robin pictured the scene of the birthday party like something from an Agatha Christie drama, with chic clad ladies puffing smoke into the air from long cigarette holders, gentlemen in smart tuxedo formal wear, hair slicked back and flamboyant moustaches, band music gently playing from the gramophone, just like tonight.
Then, in came Jasmine, and Robin’s jaw literally dropped, bringing a smirk to Bunty’s face. The long, blue gown had a cowl neckline, spaghetti straps and an alluring side leg split, revealing a smooth, tanned thigh. Robin’s pulse started to race.
‘So, let’s eat, darlings!’ trilled Bunty, pleased with Robin’s reaction.
Together Jasmine and Bunty had prepared the starter course of garlic mushrooms. They were ready and waiting on the hostess trolley which Bunty wheeled in. As they sat down, Robin dutifully filled their champagne flutes, whilst struggling to keep a straight face. It really was like a scene from a whodunnit. Would the murderer be Bunty, with the candlestick, in the library? He tittered inwardly.
‘Everything all right, Robin?’ enquired Bunty with a slight edge to her voice. She’d noticed his lips twitching. Was the boy humouring her?
‘Of course, Bunty, and thanks, really, for going to so much trouble.’ He gave her a winning smile. That seemed to appease her.
‘No trouble, Robin, thank Jasmine, she’s the one who cooked the meal.’
Robin turned to Jasmine and they exchanged a knowing smile. He could tell this charade of a dinner party wasn’t lost on her either.
‘Thanks, Jasmine,’ he said, holding her gaze.
