Sally turned to Logan. ‘Do you recognise the beat?’
He managed a grin. ‘How could I miss the old one-two-three, one-two-three?’ To her surprise, he reached for her hand. ‘Come for a whirl out there,’ he said. ‘I need a warm-up while there’s a crowd and no one’s watching.’
‘Good idea,’ she whispered and, next minute, she was in Logan’s arms again, waltzing.
It should have been fun. They’d done this so many times together, but everything was different tonight. The glittering lights overhead, the big band sound of the music, the superfine wool of Logan’s dinner jacket beneath Sally’s hand. His aftershave. His tanned throat above his crisp white collar.
Logan. So gorgeous. And Sally so deeply and hopelessly in love with him.
Don’t think about that now. Concentrate on the dancing.
He smiled at her. ‘Am I gliding?’
‘Like an ice-skater,’ she said.
Carissa, twirling past with Geoff, beamed at them over her husband’s shoulder and sent them the thumbs-up sign.
The dance bracket finished. One hurdle over. Logan thanked Sally sincerely, escorted her off the floor and found her a drink. She’d taken two sips before one of Logan’s friends asked her to dance.
And that became the pattern of the next hour. Sally was amazed by the number of men who wanted to dance with her. Most of them were curious, of course. They wanted to know how she and Logan had met, and why they’d never run into her before. But while Sally found their sincere interest and praise flattering, she also found that the time dragged.
She was super-aware that Logan didn’t dance. He remained among the bystanders, nursing a glass of red wine, chatting and watching from the sidelines. Waiting till his ordeal was over.
At last the music stopped and Diana Devenish, who must have been sequestered away in a corner, appeared on the edge of the dance floor beneath a spotlight.
Sally felt that same panicky dread she’d felt during exams when the teacher had said, ‘You may commence reading your test paper…now.’
Logan, as the most generous donor, was to have the honour of dancing first. Any minute now, his name would be called out. Heart hammering, Sally made her way to his side. ‘Just remember—’ she began, but her throat was strangely parched and the rest of her sentence dried on her lips.
He smiled into her eyes. ‘I’ll remember. I’m a coat hanger. And I mustn’t look down at my feet.’
She nodded and her throat was tight and sore. Logan’s name was announced and she felt cold all over, sick with ridiculous nerves. He dipped his head, dropping a swift, warm kiss on her cool cheek.
‘Break a leg,’ she whispered.
‘There’s every chance,’ came his dry reply and then he squared his shoulders and marched across the ballroom.
A subdued hush fell over the crowd as he approached Diana Devenish and Sally felt a cool hand clasp hers—Carissa was looking as nervous and sick as Sally felt.
‘When he was a boy at school, he hated performing. Always got terrible stage fright,’ Carissa whispered.
It was rather too late to be remembering that now, Sally wanted to tell her. ‘He’ll be fine,’ she said, but her stomach felt hollow and there was a scratchy soreness in her throat.
The attention of everyone in the room was focused on Diana Devenish and Logan.
‘Mr Logan Black is the Managing Director of Blackcorp Mining Consultancies,’ the MC told them. ‘And he has chosen to dance the waltz with Ms Devenish.’
The lights in the ballroom dimmed and fine hairs lifted on Sally’s arms as Logan entered the spotlight’s circle with his shoulders back and his head proudly erect, as determined and brave as a gladiator entering the Colosseum.
Television cameras edged closer, zooming in as Diana Devenish greeted Logan with a kiss. Rising on tiptoe, she whispered something in his ear, smiled coyly and he nodded.
Then the band began to play a very lush and beautiful theme from a movie—a popular piece that everyone knew and loved. Logan took Diana’s right hand in his and supported her back with his hand beneath her shoulder blade, just as Sally had taught him. Think bra line. Diana placed her left hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him, encouraging him to take the lead.
Logan didn’t.
He didn’t move. In fact, he looked as if his knees had locked and his feet were glued to the floor.
The music played on and Sally’s throat squeezed tight. ‘Just start counting,’ she whispered, willing him to remember.
She knew that if Logan didn’t move soon, Diana Devenish almost certainly would. Diana would probably drag him around the dance floor if she had to. But he would be mortified, would hate to admit defeat.