Marcia stopped pacing. “Have you forgotten your little restraining order problem?”
Oh, yeah. “Where’s my wig?”
Marcia glared at me. “Francesca’s sixtieth is hardly the right time to approach her about Ryan.”
I slammed my drawer shut. “There’ll never be a right time, not at this rate. Seeing as Francesca won’t come to Paisley, it’s time for Paisley to go to the manor.”
“If you get caught you’ll be sorry.”
“I won’t get caught.”
I hope, I added mentally. If James saw me it would mean handcuffs, and not the pink fluffy kind. He might have danced and chatted with me at Mr Lemane’s party, but I was under no illusions about what he’d do if he caught me trespassing.
Two hours later I was being ushered through the gates of Matham Manor with the other silver servers, Marcia’s black dress on my frame and a short black pageboy wig covering my hair. We entered through the service door and studied the floor plan so we wouldn’t get lost. The party was being held in the ballroom and the necessary route wove through several corridors.
I volunteered for kitchen duty, arranging the hors d’oeuvres on the plates like a good worker bee. When one of the other waiters commented on the number of people in the ballroom I knew it was time to hit the party. I straightened my dress, checked my wig, consulted the map and picked up a tray of pastry rolls stuffed with crabmeat.
As I walked through the spacious corridors and formal, stilted rooms I couldn’t help picturing James, sitting in the overstuffed armchair I’d passed or looking out at the park through the elegant Georgian windows.
I paused to peek into the dining room. How did James manage to speak to Francesca if they sat at either end of a thirty-foot table? Maybe the butler passed their notes to each other between serving courses. I imagined Ryan relaying messages so they could play Chinese whispers and chuckled.
Blue bloods.#p#分页标题#e#
The ballroom was akin to something out of a Cinderella film. It had a high ceiling with intricate cornices and a shiny parquet floor. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the windows were lavishly draped in midnight-blue silk curtains. The guests wore long gowns and tuxedos, chatting to the subtle sounds of bossa nova, played by a live band.
I hated to admit it but Marcia was right. There were so many people it was hard to find Francesca. My plan was to offer her my canapés and then convince her to slip away somewhere and talk. Failing that I would resort to “fling the food,” a method suggested by Fleur Anise, whereby the contents of my tray would end up on Francesca’s clothing, forcing her to leave the party and clean up.
When I saw James my hands jolted so hard I almost flung the food on the elderly lady who’d accepted a crab roll. Stunning was the word that came to mind. Edible was another. The black tuxedo set off his Mediterranean skin tone, black hair and green eyes to perfection.
James chatted to a middle-aged couple, a glass of red wine in his hand and a smile on his face. A man relaxed and totally at ease. A novel look for him. I forgot my mission entirely, mesmerised by the air of sensuality he exuded.
James turned his head and—Crap! I hid my face, headed straight to a cluster of guests opposite and practically forced my canapés on them. After that I made sure to circulate in the opposite direction, keeping James in my peripheral vision at all times. By the time my tray was empty I hadn’t managed to speak to Francesca, but I told myself not to worry. There was plenty of time to find her.
I’d gone to get another tray and was heading back to the party when I saw Ryan. We were alone in the corridor and he was in SpongeBob SquarePants pyjamas, hiding behind a grandfather clock. He must have been peeking at us silver servers, unobserved, as we passed with our trays. When he saw that I’d spotted him he ran off.
“Wait,” I cried, then clamped a hand over my mouth.
He stopped and looked back at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
<<You can’t catch me.>>
My response was instinctive. <<You wanna bet?>>
His eyes widened and then he giggled and sped off. As for me, well, I was shell—shocked. Seeing my son not five feet away from me after seven years was stupefying, but mental chit-chat? I glanced towards the party, unsure of my next move. I had insinuated myself into James’s workplace, made and kept promises, tried to talk to Francesca, and become a stalker in order to see Ryan. All for nothing.
I should seize my chance and run after my son, but I hesitated because...because...
You’re afraid, my mind supplied.
Ballroom or my son?