‘Of course,’ Amy said, ‘please don’t worry, I shouldn’t have laughed. And what you’re saying makes a lot of sense, I suppose– though I guess finding a suitable partner for someone as short as I am might be difficult at the best of times.’
‘Not at all,’ Walter said gallantly. ‘I could happily partner you myself, if I weren’t tasked with teaching you both.’ This was probably true; he was maybe only about five feet seven or eight, so far closer in height to Amy than Sam at six feet and then some. Walter winked at her and she caught Sam rolling his eyes in frustration.
‘Should we … make a start?’ Amy suggested, tentative. It was abundantly clear to her that, having been the more relaxed of the two of them up to now, Sam was fervently wishing they didn’t have to do this.
‘Yes! Let’s,’ Walter said. ‘I’ll work with you two on your own for a while, and then the troupe will come and join us later so we can make sure you’re clear on how a group of couples navigate their way around the floor during this dance.’
From the leather holdall in his hand, he pulled a Bluetooth speaker and a mobile phone. ‘Amazing to think that we can do this without so much as a plug socket, nowadays,’ he said brightly. ‘Your Georgian counterparts would have required an ensemble of live musicians!’
Sam nodded, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. Walter didn’t notice.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘the first thing to tell you is that we’re going to be learning a Regency waltz. Since the dance showcase is intended to help launch what I understand is averyromantic book, I’ve hit upon this as the appropriate routine. Waltzes were a new fashion from around the 1790s, but were considered controversial for a time; the waltz is a sensual dance that allowed couples to get physically close to one another and maintain eye contact in a way that many others didn’t.’
Amy glanced at Sam again. His focus was fixed firmly on Walter, implying a determination not to meet her eyes. Unease pricked at her skin and she sensed Hugh’s performance this morning had pushed them across some Rubicon, though she was yet to understand exactly what or how.
‘The second thing for me to explain,’ Walter went on, ‘is that you’ll be dancing to a slightly slowed-down version of a famous piece, “Michael Turner’s Waltz”– often used in period films. Reducing the tempo a little will make the steps easier for you to stay on top of. The third and final point to make is that this dance is simple, repetitive and just two minutes long– nothing to be scared of. So! Shall we begin?’
Amy and Sam both nodded and shuffled onto the flat, freshly trimmed lawn. Walter circled them, pushing them into closer proximity and arranging their heads and hands just so. Amy’s heart fluttered in her chest but Sam still refused to look at her.
An experienced teacher, Walter broke the dance routine into digestible chunks that the novices could learn, then thread together. There were sections where they were required to step away from one another and then come back again, and others where they had to raise their hands elegantly until their palms almost touched, only to withdraw them. It was an uncanny reflection of the way things had been between her and Sam since April, Amy thought; that constant push and pull of arguments and attraction.
It was odd and awkward, being so close to him– being expected to operate in such physical harmony with him– with an onlooker present. Amy was grateful that remembering what her hands and feet should be doing prevented her from losing herself in the moment– in the scent that rolled off Sam’s skin when he swayed with her, or the delicate pressure of his fingertips when they held onto hers.
The routine peaked with Amy and Sam’s hands joined, their left arms forming an arc above their heads and their right arms wrapped around one another’s waists. She gazed up at him, willing him to meet her eyes. She sensed a reluctance in him that had been entirely absent at any other time they’d been this near one another: a rigidity and restraint that spoke of extreme unease. It hurt to see how little pleasure he took in touching her.
Walter seemed oblivious to Sam’s disquiet. ‘I take it back,’ he said after an hour or so of instructing them. ‘You two are an excellent pairing– not a classic match, physically, but you have wonderful chemistry. You’ll be a pleasure to watch on the day.’
Amy cringed.
‘Let’s break for some lunch, shall we? Then you can work with the group this afternoon,’ Walter said.
‘That sounds good,’ Sam concurred. ‘I’ve organised some food for you– it’ll be up on the terrace. Please excuse me, though, I have a few things to attend to before we continue with the training.’
His stiff formality made Amy want to scream. She’d always railed against what she called his ‘man of the people’ routine, and had even claimed she’d prefer it if he simply embraced his natural difference from normal people and held himself apart. Now, she discovered, the punctiliousness she’d always assumed was his birthright looked wrong on him– like a bad haircut or an ill-fitting suit. She didn’t like it. It felt like he was wearing a costume, and she longed for him to take it off again.
Over a variety of salads and sandwiches, Amy made polite chit-chat with Walter and silently fretted. Sam didn’t reappear until the rest of the dance group had arrived, explaining that he’d eaten in his office while dealing with some work that couldn’t wait. Amy wondered what had been so vital, then reminded herself thatshewas the one who’d insisted they shouldn’t socialise in any way. If he had lied about being needed elsewhere, it was arguably in deference to her wishes.
The second half of the training session passed more easily for Amy than the first– mainly because she and Sam were no longer the only ones dancing. Other couples now whirled around them, and everyone periodically switched partners in a logical routine that wasn’t complex but required concentration. At the end of the day, Walter announced that he was thrilled with their progress. ‘Once everyone’s in appropriate dress, it’ll look even better,’ he said, smiling at Amy’s skinny jeans, striped vest top and flats. ‘This is going to be a real moment on the day.’
That’s one way of putting it, Amy said to herself.
She hung back as Walter and the dance troupe said goodbye to Sam and made their way back to the RomFest car park– already set up in a field on the far side of the Hall.
The moment they were alone, she said: ‘Sam, I just want to say again how sorry I am about this morning. I can’t even begin to imagine what possessed Hugh– what made him think he had any right to come up here and start mouthing off—’
Sam interrupted her. ‘I think it’s pretty clear what possessed him. You did,’ he said bluntly.
‘Sorry?’
‘You didn’t think the fact that you’d been in a serious relationship with him was worth mentioning to me at any point?’ Sam asked. ‘He’s been a full-on twat in every RomFest meeting he’s attended. He’s gone out of his way to be difficult, especially with me– he’s questioned decisions and insisted on bureaucratic bullshit at every opportunity, and it’s all been aboutyou.’
Amy didn’t appreciate Sam’s accusatory tone. Yes, she’d been economical with the truth– but she wasn’t responsible for Hugh being an arsehole. ‘I think it’s been a little bit about him, too,’ she said defensively.
Sam threw her a withering look. ‘I’m not suggesting that you’ve been directing him from backstage– but I’d say the fact that you jilted him has rather a lot to do with him losing his shit.’
‘Jiltedhim?’ Amy cried, astonished. ‘Is that what he told you?’
‘Yes. He says you led him on, allowed him to shower you with affection and then refused to marry him after strongly implying that you’d welcome a proposal.’
