“He says he’s not listening—” I realized how patently untrue this was, and glared at him. He raised his hands in pretend innocence.
“Tell Robert to get his nose out.” Alice didn’t sound amused. “Can you go outside.” It wasn’t a question.
“Okay.” I pointed at the phone and mouthed,
Excuse me.
Robert made a
Go for it
gesture and turned back to the postcards.
“How far outside would you like me to go?” I asked, stepping quickly down the hall toward the front door. “How bad is this news?”
“Two-door bad.”
That was a family code: two doors between our mother’s eagle ears and the phone.
“Right, I’m outside,” I said. “Well, not outside. I’m in the porch. I don’t want to go outside because it’s bloody freezing up here—”
“I don’t have time for a weather forecast,” said Alice. “Listen, I’m not coming.”
“What?” It came out too loud. “What?” I repeated, with less volume but more emphasis.
“I’m not coming to the ball.”
That’s what I’d thought she’d said. It didn’t, however, make any sense.
“What do you mean, you’re not coming?” I demanded. I stared out of the frosty glass around the door. All I could see was white. “Have you had an accident?”
“I’m really,
really
sorry,” said Alice. “But I can’t do it. I’ve left a message on Fraser’s voice mail apologizing, so don’t try to talk me out of it. It’s done. I’m not coming.”
“I don’t understand. You can’t come, or you don’t
want
to come?” I racked my brains for a reason. “Is it work? Are you ill? What’s the problem? Is it Fraser? He seems fine. He’ll forgive you for being rubbish in the reel!”
“No, it’s not that.” Alice went silent for several seconds. “I can’t say. Trust me.”
“If you don’t say, then how do I know whether to worry about you or not?” I demanded.
“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” she said. “But I do need you to do me a favor.”
“And what’s that? Oh,
God
,” I said, suddenly realizing. “I’m stuck here with Duncan and Ingrid and Fraser and Sheila all going ballistic because you’ve ruined their seating plans, their dancing plans, everything! What the hell am I going to say to them?”
“Exactly—that’s the favor. You have to go in my place,” said Alice, as if this were totally reasonable. “You can’t just flake out like you can with cocktail parties. They
need
eight people. And it’s too late to invite someone else now—everyone’ll be busy. It’s Valentine’s weekend. You’re the only person who’ll be free.”
“But I
can’t
just go in your place,” I wailed. “I don’t know how to do the dances! And correct me if I’m wrong, but that does seem to be
quite
an important element of the evening.”
“Learn,” said Alice. “You’ve got enough time.”
I spun round in disbelief, nearly dislodging the ski jackets hanging on the porch wall. “Four days? Get lost! I haven’t got the first clue about Scottish reeling!” I felt a tug and felt the long hood of my cardigan catch on a peg. I had to stop to disentangle myself before I broke the coat hooks, on top of everything else.
“Look, they
can
find someone,” I went on. “Catriona’s sister’s name came up—Laura, is it? I wasn’t going to mention it, but Janet Learmont was very keen to sub her for you in this precious Reel of Luck.”
“No! I don’t want Laura Learmont moving in on Fraser! I know what—” snapped Alice, then softened her tone, a fraction too late. “No, it would be better if you go. Don’t you want to dance with Fraser?” she added artfully.
Of
course
I did. How could I not? “Well, yes,” I said.
“Go on. He’s brilliant—you just have to let him put you in the right place.
And
you’ll get to meet some of his single friends. Like his brother—have you met Dougie yet? You can broaden your horizons, step out of your comfort zone …”
Oh, that was too much. I almost yelped at the cheek of it.
“Alice, I’m already so far out of my
comfort zone
that I’m virtually in orbit around it! Was this part of your plan?” I demanded. “Are you and Mum and Max in this together?”
“Of course not.” Alice had recovered the upper hand. “It’s a wonderful night, and you’ll love it once you get into it. It’s not hard, and you always were quicker at picking things up than me.”
“No, I
wasn’t
.”
“You were.” She sounded almost wistful. “Tap dancing. You got the shuffly thing way before I did.”
“After
three years
, Alice! Three years and a hell of a lot of Gene Kelly DVDs!”
“Please. Do it for me. I’ll owe you one.”
I wavered. Historical Fraser swam back into my head. He was wearing a top hat.
“It’ll be so romantic,” she went on. “Ballgowns and dance cards—everything you’re always banging on about wanting in your life.”
I wavered harder. And Alice hadn’t even seen what I’d seen. Kettlesheer’s woodsmoky, chilly ghosts were creeping into me, and the prospect of the ballroom lit up with lamps and filled with rustling ballgowns was hopelessly alluring. And—I only let the thought flicker around the edges of my mind—I rather wondered what Robert would look like in evening dress. I already knew how Mr. Darcy–tastic Fraser would look. And I’d be the one on his arm. Possibly even in his arms.
It was my absolute dream, actually happening? So what was holding me back?
Fear. Fear of being the one part of the dream that didn’t match up.
“Go on,” Alice urged. “It could be fabulous, and if it’s not, so what? You’ll never see these people again.”
“Okay,” I said. “For you. I’ll do it.”
“Oh, thank God,” breathed Alice.
“But on one condition,” I went on. “You’ve got to tell me why you’re bailing out. Is it this first reel? Because if it is, you shouldn’t be lecturing
me
about stepping out of my comfort zone.”
“No,” said Alice, “it’s not that.”
“Is it Robert?” Whether there’d been a falling-out or a getting-off, I could detect something there. I just couldn’t work out what.
“No.” She sounded firm.
“And it’s definitely not Fraser?”
“No, it’s … I …” She stopped. “I can’t put it into words properly. I’ll tell you after. But it’s a really good reason, and if you love me, don’t ask.”
“Alice! You know how much it winds you up when Mum does this! Sometimes it’s
good
to talk about things,” I protested. “Just because we’re not allowed to talk about the time Dad went to Manchester doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
That was akin to mentioning Lord Voldemort. Nothing ever happened in our family—apart from the time our happily married parents mysteriously split up when I was twelve. Dad went to Manchester for six months, allegedly to oversee some merger, and we were supposed to not talk about Mum dyeing her hair blond and taking up Pilates. He came back, she reverted to a brunette pixie cut, we were supposedly none the wiser. Except from then on, any family holiday was subjected to forensic examination by both of us.
We were both silent. It was one of those moments when I wished Alice didn’t slam down her wall of “We’re not going to talk about that,” and that I didn’t just blurt out the first thing that came into my head. It was only because our family life was so relentlessly
dull
that we got away with it as much as we did.
“Shall we focus on the task at hand?” inquired Alice. As usual, she immediately covered the trails of awkwardness with a list of instructions. “I’ll get my dress couriered up to you—will you stay at Kettlesheer or move down to the Grahams’? I’m sure it’ll be fine with Sheila if you want to move down there—she’s expecting me.”
“That might be a problem. With the dress, I mean.” I polished the pane of glass with my sleeve. My stomach was tightening with suppressing the tension. We got through catering packs of heartburn tablets chez Nicholson.
“Why? We’re more or less the same size. If you breathe in.”
“No, I mean I don’t think the courier will be able to get through. Not for a few days, anyway.”
Alice snorted. “Oh, come on, you’re just outside Berwick, not in the Orkneys!”
“Hello? We’re snowed in. Hasn’t it been on the news yet? Mhairi says it could be days until the roads get cleared. Are you okay?” I added. Her breath had whistled in with a very sharp, possibly sweary noise. “In some respects, I guess you
couldn’t
have got here by Thursday …”
My voice trailed off. A figure was striding up the path toward the lodge. A man. A broad-shouldered, capable-looking man in a flat farmer’s cap. I squinted.
Oh no.
“Alice, Fraser’s coming up the path,” I squeaked. “I bet he’s looking for me! What did you tell him?”
“Nothing! I panicked. I thought
you
could come up with an explanation.”
“What? Are you mad?” I ducked down behind the window. “What am I supposed to say?”
“You’re the one with the insanely overactive imagination! Tell him I’ve broken my leg. Or I’ve got swine flu. Just anything that would stop me dancing at the weekend. But don’t hurt his feelings. Don’t tell him I’ve run off with my assistant or anything that might … upset him.”
There was a wobble in her voice. It sounded as if Alice was close to tears.
“
Fine
, okay,” I said. “But you have to buy all those teddy bears and whatever photograph frames Max still has in the shop tomorrow. I
need
my commission. And you have to make it up to Fraser.”
“Deal,” said Alice as Fraser started to knock on the door. He spotted me crouching by Robert’s coat and changed his knock into a confused wave.
I pocketed my phone, stood up, and opened the door. “Hello, Fraser!”
“Evie!” he said, leaning to kiss me on the cheek. “Just the woman I was looking for.”
I inspected his guileless face for signs of Alice’s phone message. If he was gutted at being stood up by his girlfriend on the eve of the Most Romantic Night of the Year, he wasn’t showing it. Fraser’s manners really were full coverage.
“You were looking for me down here?” I asked, confused.
“No, been up to the house. Mhairi said you’d headed—Ah, Robert! I see you’ve got other people answering your door for you now! Taking the laird thing seriously, are we?”
“Tradesmen round the back, if you’ve come about the wine, Graham,” retorted Robert cheerfully.
It was the casual rudeness that spoke of a long, long British male friendship.
“Kettle’s on,” he continued. “Come in and tell me how I can fill up our entire cellar with your cheapest plonk, so there’s no room for any of my dad’s Kettlesheer Gold.”
“Actually, it was Evie I wanted a word with.” Fraser smiled at me, but now I looked closer, his eyes were worried.
Robert huffed and motioned him in. “That’s all I seem to hear these days. Get in, you’re letting the heat out.”
Somewhat awkwardly, given the narrow hall, the three of us walked in formation back to the kitchen, where Robert seemed to sense that Fraser wanted a private word, and excused himself, padding out of the room in his socks like a panther.
“Um, it’s a bit awkward, Evie, so I’ll come straight out with it,” said Fraser. “I’ve just had a very strange message from Alice about this weekend. She says she can’t come, but that you’ll be taking her place. Is that right? Have I misunderstood?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. I mean, no, you haven’t misunderstood.”
Fraser bit his lip manfully. “I see. That’s marvelous, of course, that you’re coming, lovely to have you and all that, but …” He drew in a breath, let it out, drew it in again, then blurted out, “Is something wrong? Is she ill? Busy? I’ve tried calling her back, but her phone goes straight to voice mail.”
Bloody Alice,
I thought as Fraser looked at me, expecting a satisfactory explanation for Alice’s vagueness. This was beyond out-of-character for someone who kept a GPS chip in her handbag in case of unexpected abduction by a cabdriver.
“I hope it’s nothing
I’ve
done,” he added. “I don’t
think
we’ve fallen out.”
“God, no!” I almost hugged him, he looked so worried. “No, it’s
nothing
to do with you.”
“Have you spoken to her?” He leaped on my apparent knowledge of the situation like a cat onto a doddery mouse. “I mean, if it’s a private matter, then obviously I don’t want to pry, but …”
Pry? About his own girlfriend of over two years? Fraser was really looking forward to seeing her, the mad fool. He deserved a good excuse. The trouble was, my mind had gone blank.
“She’s …”
Ill? Busy?
Fraser looked at me expectantly as I juggled the possibilities. I was making this sound even worse than it was. Fraser’s face was braced for Bad News, and now Robert had wandered back in.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Everything okay?”
“Alice can’t make it, she’s snowed in!” I blurted out.
Robert looked incredulous. “Snowed in? There’s no snow down in London. I’ve just been speaking to—”
“No, I didn’t mean snowed in.
We’re
snowed in. I meant, she’s snowed
under
. Snowed under with work.” My face was heating up.
“Is that all? Oh, Alice always overreacts. It’s only Wednesday,” Fraser pointed out, clearly relieved that she wasn’t sprawled under a bus. Or under another man. “She’ll be finished by tonight. She doesn’t
have
to come tomorrow, we just thought it would be nice to get an extra practice in.” He made little giddyap motions. “Maybe even go for a ride. Alice was saying she’s never been on a horse.”
God. Alice micromanaging a horse. It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Ring her back and tell her to get a later train,” Fraser went on. “I’ll check the times on my phone. We’ll get her back from the station somehow.”
Robert gave me a look so cynical it went straight through my head and out the other side, leaving hot prickles in its wake. “Should I give her a call?” he inquired. “See if there’s anything my assistant can help with?”
It had to be something to do with
him
, I decided. Either he knew something about her and might tell Fraser, or she and Robert had had some dodgy business falling-out, or maybe they’d argued over exactly how nice Fraser was, but there was something grim in Robert’s face right now, and I knew it was to do with Alice.
“No!” My brain lurched into gear without warning and my mouth started moving of its own accord. “I mean, she’s snowed under … because she’s sprained her ankle. Trying to move a packing case in high heels, you know what she’s like, so hands-on if people aren’t chucking things away fast enough …”
“It’s not one of those
cold feet
sprains, is it?” asked Robert.
I glared at him.
“Technical term,” he explained. “You lose all sensation in your toes. It can be a problem for dancers, I hear—”
“She didn’t go into detail,” I interrupted as Fraser’s brow furrowed. “She can’t walk on it. But the good news is that she’s asked me to stand in!” I glanced between the two men. “I mean, not good news as such, but good news that your table plans won’t be wrecked. Alice was very worried about that—she didn’t want to spoil the ball.”
“But you
hate
dancing!” Robert feigned extreme concern, but his eyes had a mischievous gleam, though his face was straight. “What was that you were saying to me on Monday? When you nearly dislocated my shoulder outside the—”