Welcome To Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop Of Dreams (53 page)

‘They
pay
?’ said Rosie. ‘Do we have to pay?’

‘We do
not
have to pay,’ said Moray. ‘We are Lady Lipton’s guests. But you’ll see big tables full of the rotary club and the masons and all sorts.’

‘But why do they want to pay?’ said Rosie, completely confused.

‘To rub shoulders with the toffs of course,’ said Moray, as if talking to a slow child.

‘They pay to do that?’ said Rosie.

‘Could you just get inside, before I take you home? And if you start singing “The Red Flag” you’ll be in serious trouble.’

Inside was a seething mass of people, all hailing one another and looking slightly pink in the face. Many were at the windows, marvelling at the snow. Rosie paused at the huge
door, up the long flight of steps, then hopped over the threshold. The main hall was enormous, panelled, with large animal heads attached to the walls. A huge grandfather clock, just like in Peak House, stood at the end. Teenagers in white shirts and black trousers were taking coats, or scuttling about with drinks.

‘I always wanted to do that job,’ whispered Tina.

‘Why didn’t you?’ said Rosie.

‘Oh, it’s notorious,’ said Tina, as Jake sniggered. ‘They drink all the leftovers and get into
terrible
trouble later on. Getting off with guests, getting off with each other. My father wouldn’t hear of it.’

Jake smiled again.

‘You did it though?’ said Rosie.

‘Oh yes,’ said Jake. Tina grinned.

‘Course ’e did.’

‘And was it as bad as what her dad thinks?’ said Rosie.

‘Well, let’s put it this way,’ said Jake. ‘With the exception of us four, those kids in the black and white are going to have the best time out of anyone at this party tonight.
And
they’re the only ones getting paid.’

Moray smiled nicely at one girl, wearing a black skirt that was obviously her mother’s. She went red, then immediately brought them glasses of champagne.

‘Thanks for what you said when I came in last week,’ she whispered – loud enough for the others to hear – as she brought the drinks.

‘I have absolutely
no
recollection of seeing you professionally,’ said Moray. ‘No one ever believes me, but it’s true. Can you keep us all topped up, sweetie?’

The girl smiled and nodded eagerly.

Looking round, Rosie thought she could see what Jake meant about not everyone having a good time. They moved to the left, where, opening off the great hall, was a ballroom, not panelled but with a parquet floor, pastel-coloured walls and, at the far end, large sets of French windows leading out on to a balcony overlooking a sunken garden. Despite the cold outside, the heat in the room was immense, and the doors were open. People stood just outside, smoking cigarettes.

There were stony-faced women in bejewelled boxy jackets over black dresses, looking disapprovingly at their red-cheeked husbands if they accepted another drink, or guffawed too loudly at a story. There were old chaps half dozing on the little antique chairs that lined the wall, jauntily patterned waistcoats stretched to bursting. Hye Evans was telling a raucous anecdote to a group of men, all of whom were laughing heartily. Next to him was a very skinny woman looking anxious in a tight column dress and lots of gold jewellery, her eyes skittering about the room.

But there were happier groups too: young farmers out for a night of frivolity; fervent horse freaks in their smart red coats huddled in groups discussing fetlocks and farriers and all sorts of technical terms Rosie couldn’t understand as her party threaded themselves through the crowd to have a look round. Tina wanted to see everywhere and everything – even the loos! She was to be disappointed in this, as there was a set of Portaloos – the most lavishly appointed Portaloos Rosie had ever seen, it had to be said, but Portaloos nonetheless – lined up discreetly in the courtyard at the back of the house. Tina scuttled off to explore, Jake close behind her. It made Rosie smile to see it. Good. Tina deserved a good man. Moray was
waylaid immediately they entered the room by dozens of people he knew, and, with his affable manner, fell into conversation with some of them.

Unfussed, Rosie wandered alone out to the balcony beyond the French windows. The cold had driven most people indoors and the hubbub dimmed behind her as she gazed out at the garden, clear beneath the full snow moon. It was almost incandescently beautiful, watching the snow fall on the knot garden beneath the shadow of the house, on the hedges and the neatly trimmed borders; on the raked gravel and tumbling down the ridge of the land below.

She felt, suddenly, as if she were being watched and turned, swiftly. Just inside the doors, in the corner of the ballroom, was a dark area filled with sofas and chairs. She had barely registered that a large group had moved there, but she saw it now, and was just in time to catch Stephen’s eyes on her. He glanced away quickly, as she gave a slightly awkward smile through the open door. He was surrounded. CeeCee was there, looking unbelievable in a cutting-edge metallic silver dress, with fierce studded shoes. On anyone not tall and skinny and stunning it might have looked a bit scary. On CeeCee it looked incredibly scary, but also utterly amazing. There were other girls there, many blonde, or with thick sheets of straight hair that covered their eyes, and dresses in pale nudes or sheer fabrics or plain unadorned black. Suddenly Rosie felt a silly wearing green, like a little girl in her party frock.

And there were other young men, Stephen’s age, obviously his friends, laughing and drinking his mother’s champagne and flirting with the girls and teasing each other. One was wearing the most ludicrous pair of tartan trousers.

Where were they? Rosie found herself thinking. Where were they when he was sitting by himself in the kitchen, pouring whisky down his throat?

She composed herself to give the coolest, most distantly polite hello she knew how – it was, she knew, the only way. She risked another look, but of course his attention was elsewhere. How foolish, she thought, remembering how she’d looked at herself in the mirror. As if she compared to these model girls. But she knew that already. She was not going to be downhearted.

To her delight, Moray came towards her, waving madly.

‘Dinner!’ he said. ‘You have to be quick, these country types enjoy their grub and they don’t hang about.’

‘Excellent,’ she said, proffering her arm. He might be the only gay in the village, but Stephen’s stuck-up chums weren’t to know that.

‘Hello,’ she said to Stephen politely as she passed by.

‘Hi,’ said Stephen shortly. Rosie hoped he remained as rude and as grumpy with CeeCee until the day he died.

‘Hi, CeeCee,’ she said. CeeCee looked up from a conversation and did nothing to disguise the fact that she had not the faintest idea whether she’d ever met Rosie before.

‘Oh yeah, hi,’ she said, then turned back to her friend.

‘That’s CeeCee,’ said Rosie to Moray, loud enough for Stephen to hear. ‘She’s very special.’

Stephen didn’t react.

‘Well, it was nice of your mother to invite your nurse,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m going to find her to say thanks.’

‘I don’t …’ Stephen started but then couldn’t go on.

‘What?’

‘I don’t think of you as my nurse,’ he said.

‘You just call me your nurse.’

‘No. No.’

‘
Lippy!
’ came a loud voice. An enormous pack of rugger buggers was crossing the floor. ‘
You weapon!
’

Stephen looked crestfallen. ‘Oh God.’

‘
Dinner!
’ said Moray.

‘
You utter weapon!
’ shouted the rugby boys.

Rosie waved her hand.

‘I’ll just …’ she stuttered.

Stephen was engulfed, as Moray walked her across the ballroom and in to dinner.

‘Well, well,’ he said.

‘What?’ said Rosie.

‘How long have you had a little soft spot for our lord of the manor?’

‘I do
not
…’ Rosie felt herself turn pink. ‘Never mind. I know everyone fancies him.’

‘Christ, yes,’ said Moray. ‘Oh well.’

‘Is that why you never wanted to look at his leg?’ said Rosie.

‘No, that’s because he’s an irritating arsehole obsessed with the moral high ground,’ said Moray. ‘It was miles easier just to get a pretty girl to do it.’

‘Aw, thanks.’ Rosie slumped.

‘You need more champagne,’ said Moray, though even before he did so his little acolyte had appeared, bearing more glasses.

‘Thanks,’ said Rosie. ‘Oh, sorry. This is lovely. It’s all just silly bollocks, that’s all. I’m like a teenager with a crush.’

They both looked in the young girl’s direction, who blushed bright red when she saw Moray’s eyes on her.

‘Christ,’ said Moray, ‘let’s get into the dining room immediately.’

‘That’s exactly what Stephen thinks about me,’ said Rosie. ‘Bugger it.’

The dining room was more of a dining hall, with round tables set up with autumnal leaf arrangements and bright red poinsettia. Each table had a little pumpkin on it. Most people were already seated, the men smart, even Rosie had to admit, in their bright red hunting jackets, the women wearing all their jewellery, with their hair done and their lipstick bright. It was a nice sight, after all, made even nicer when they found their table was full of other fun young people from the village, the farmers and their wives, who outdid each other with filthy stories and silliness. Rosie could see that they got out so seldom, and their lives were full of such hard work, that they were determined to enjoy their night to the full, and they heckled the speeches and imitated the hunting horns that were blown to announce each course: mulligatawny soup, roast pheasant with autumn vegetables and game chips, and a splendid rhubarb crumble made with rhubarb from the gardens.

‘There is
not
,’ announced Rosie, ‘enough ruching in this dress.’

Tina and Jake were nowhere to be seen. Someone said that they’d spotted them in the orangery – a long, low conservatory running along the south face of the house – and Rosie decided to leave them to it. She couldn’t even see Stephen, and did her best to forget all about him, helped by the tremendous food,
and a story about pig insemination she suspected she wouldn’t be able to forget even if she tried.

The noise in the great rooms grew louder and louder as dinner finally ended and everyone repaired next door. One room was to have disco dancing, the other proper reeling. Rosie wanted to stay in the disco room, but Moray was adamant.

‘No way,’ he said. ‘How many times are you going to come to a thing like this if you piss off back to London?’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come to London with me?’ said Rosie. ‘I think you’d like it.’

Moray gave her a look.

‘I do better here in Lipton than you will ever know, love. These farmers play a good macho game, but …’

Rosie laughed. ‘What is it we say in A&E?’

‘Be safe, darling!’ they trilled together, as she let him lead her back to the ballroom, where a band with a fiddle player, an accordionist and a bodhrán drummer were all ready to go.

‘Good God, what is going on?’ she said, as several men including the one in tartan trews, and one unlikely but rather touching middle-aged couple, he in a kilt, she in a white dress wearing the same tartan as a sash, all took to the floor.

‘It’s easy,’ said Moray. ‘You just fold your arms behind your neck like this.’

‘How is
this
easy?’

‘Now take your partners for the Gay Gordons,’ the leader of the band announced.

‘Oh well, I see why you like it,’ grumbled Rosie. Moray ignored her and lined her up with everyone else, as the band
leader walked them through it. And, sure enough, once she’d done it a few times, she got the hang of it, and found herself enjoying the skirl of the music. They bumped into a few people, but that was all right, everyone else bumped into them too, and Moray was a skilled partner, his hands always there to catch her as she twirled. And the green silk dress twirled beautifully. It was made for it. Made to be danced in, on a dark night in early winter, where the snow whirled in front of the great window panes of the big house.

After the first dance, Rosie found she wanted to dance another, and another, and she found no shortage of partners. Gasping with thirst, she drank plenty of water but plenty of champagne too, then allowed herself to be carried off into a dance that involved two partners, Jake, who had reappeared, and Frankie, one of his farmer friends. Her head spinning, she danced and bowed and shimmied between them, lighter and more graceful, she knew, thanks to the green dress, than she had ever been in her life, and the skulking corner of silver-clad model-type wraiths with pouty mouths and tight half-smiles ceased to bother her at all.

Traversing the room, floating in a huge bubble of champagne and company and the sheer pleasure of being out again; being out with friends and laughing and dancing and having a good time, she barely noticed when Frankie spun her round, then deposited her not two feet from where Stephen was sitting, still perched awkwardly on the sofa, his stick resting in his left hand. She gave an involuntary gasp of surprise to find herself so close to him, especially so flushed; her hair had escaped from the clasp Tina had found for it, and her curls were tumbled round her face, her eyes shining.