“I’m interested in everyone, darling. But in a purely hypothetical way. I’m too much of a gadabout to settle down anytime soon.” Paige reached into Maggie’s bun and took out the tortoiseshell clip securing it. Maggie’s red hair tumbled free over her shoulders. “Much, much better. Oh, let’s just forget it for tonight and dance. David’s a terrific dancer, you know,” she said, linking her arm through Maggie’s as they made their way back to the table.
A tall and elegant brunette had joined the group and was seated at the velvet banquette. “Sarah!” Paige squealed, leaning down and kissing her on both cheeks. “Where have you been? We’ve missed you desperately.”
“Hello, Sarah,” Maggie said.
“Hello, kittens.” Sarah slouched back and stretched out her long, slender legs as she took a drag on her clove cigarette. “And I’ve been in the studio, of course. If we’re going to have a season this year—and in my opinion, the show must go on—there’s a lot of work to be done. But I tell you, if I have to do Giselle one more time, just take me out into an alley and shoot me.” She was as beautiful as any fairy-tale princess, but her voice was disconcertingly low and raspy, almost froggy.
“Sarah,” Paige said as she and Maggie took their seats, “did the boys do a proper introduction? This is Simon Paul, an old school chum of David and John’s. Simon,” Paige continued, “meet Sarah Sanderson. Sarah’s a ballerina with the Sadler’s Wells Ballet.”
Sarah and Simon looked at each other, locked eyes, then looked away. “We’ve met,” Sarah said curtly.
“The Sadler’s Wells Ballet?” Maggie asked, sensing Sarah’s discomfort and trying to change the subject.
“The Vic-Wells Ballet until just recently. We perform at the Old Vic and the Sadler’s Wells,” Sarah said, taking another long drag. “Lots of scurrying back and forth with our dance bags.”
Nigel and Chuck returned from the dance floor to the banquette, flushed and breathing heavily. “Oh, it’s wonderful,” Chuck said. “What are you all doing sitting here, just waiting for bombs to drop? Dance, damn you!”
“Speaking of dancing,” Simon interjected, looking to Paige. “Maybe you’d do me the honor?” The band switched into a rousing version of Glenn Miller’s “Stairway to the Stars.”
Paige graced him with her most radiant smile. “Why, I’d love to!”
“David?” Maggie asked. “Take a spin?”
David looked surprised but pleased to be asked nonetheless. “Of course, m’lady,” he said, standing and offering a hand. “After you.”
On the scuffed wooden dance floor, David held Maggie lightly, guiding her gracefully through intricate maneuvers. “So why didn’t you ask John?” he asked finally.
“He’s a bit of an ass,” Maggie said over the trumpets.
“What?” David said above the din.
“Ass!” Maggie practically shouted.
David seemed amused. “Ha!” he said, spinning her farther into the crowd. His hands were a bit sweaty, but he was a fantastic dancer.
As the orchestra beat out four, the lead singer segued into “Blue Orchids.” The clarinet player licked his lips and launched into his part as the drummer switched to wire brushes.
“May I cut in?” Maggie looked up, startled, at John.
Good Lord, Maggie thought. What’s he doing here? Did he overhear?
“Good luck, you two.” David smiled as he turned and left.
As they moved around the floor, the color rose in her cheeks and at her throat. She noticed, under his chin, a tiny sliver of unshaven hair that his razor must have missed. She found herself worrying about the possibility that her nose was getting shiny and that John might notice. Oh, stop it, she thought. You’ve had too much champagne.
Maggie closed her eyes and relaxed into John’s arms as they moved around the floor. It was a mistake—the room started to spin.
“Do you mind if we take a break now?” she asked.
“Of course,” John replied. He had a strange look on his face that Maggie couldn’t quite place.
They broke apart and headed back to the table. As John and Maggie sat down, Sarah looked up expectantly. Men were in short supply, after all. “My turn?” she said to John.
John sighed. “What is it with women and dancing?”
“Oh, Johnny, don’t be such a prat and come on,” Sarah insisted, offering her hand. She rose to her feet, the sharp points of her hip bones jutting out through the silk of her dress. “Mind the toes.”