Patrick pretended not to notice and carried on watching Dulcie, who was now affectionately stroking her partner’s beard. Since she had always loathed beards, this was less than promising.

She certainly seemed fond of this one.

Patrick, tight-lipped with disappointment, wondered if coming here tonight had, after all, been a huge mistake.

‘Hi!’ The girl who had just brushed past him was back, making eye contact for all she was worth and waving a menthol cigarette. ‘Got a light?’

Dulcie was being twirled rather over-ambitiously around in circles when she thought she saw Patrick.

At first she thought she might be imagining it, maybe suffering a lack of oxygen to the brain as a result of all that centrifugal force. She dug her heels in and stopped twirling. Caught off-guard, Rufus almost fell over.

‘Sorry, was ‘I going too fast?’

‘Just felt a bit dizzy,’ murmured Dulcie. It was true. Her heart was racing too. She craned her neck, searching the sea of faces around the dance floor, seeking out the only one that mattered.

Then she saw him again and her heart did a tremendous swallow dive. It hadn’t been a hallucination after all. ‘Had enough?’ panted Rufus.

‘Um ... sorry?’

Rufus saw her staring at someone in the crowd. The expression on her face was unmistakable.

His face fell.

‘Have you seen someone you like?’

‘What?’ Dulcie shook her head and forced herself to concentrate. Then she smiled at Rufus.

‘Well, you could put it like that.’

Chapter 55

‘Hello, you,’ said Dulcie.

‘Hello,’ said Patrick, dry-mouthed.

‘You’re here.’ Oh help ... inane, inane. ‘I mean, ‘I thought you were going to the Alfords’ party.’

Patrick, who had never had any intention of going to the Alfords’ party — chiefly because they weren’t having one — shook his head slightly.

‘Decided against it. Too far to drive.’

So where’s Saint Claire? Dulcie longed to blurt out. Why isn’t she with you?

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, didn’t dare. It might break the spell.

Instead she nodded, quite unable to remember where Roger and Abby Alford lived.

‘Oh definitely, much too far to drive. Much easier to come here. Er ... how’s ... how’s work?’

Good grief, thought Dulcie, am ‘I a contender for Sparkling Conversationalist of the Year or what?

Her only consolation was that at least this was her husband she was making a fool of herself in front of. At least Patrick knew her, knew she could do better than this. If he’d been a total stranger he’d be off like a shot.

‘Excuse me, sorry to bother you again, but ‘I just wondered if you had the time?’

Dulcie turned and looked at the young girl gazing besottedly up at Patrick. She recognised the expression on Patrick’s face too; he looked trapped and faintly uncomfortable.

He’d always been hopeless at being chatted up.

‘It’s ten past eleven,’ said Dulcie, reaching over and consulting Patrick’s watch on his behalf.

She gave the girl a brief smile. ‘Time you picked on someone your own age.’

‘This is my wife,’ Patrick cut in hurriedly as the blonde girl, looking indignant, opened her mouth to reply. ‘She bought me this watch last Christmas ...’

‘Oops,’ Dulcie announced cheerfully when the girl had flounced off. ‘Don’t say I upset her.’

‘Sorry about the wife bit.’ Patrick sounded embarrassed. ‘It was just to get rid of her.’ He hesitated, wondering what his next move should be. ‘Do you need a drink?’

Dulcie was easing off one of her shoes, seeing if she could still wriggle her trampled-on toes.

‘I need crutches. Rufus isn’t much of a dancer.’

Patrick wondered where Rufus had got to. He forced himself to sound casual.

‘Who is he, new boyfriend?’

‘God, no!’ Dulcie shook her head so hard her earrings rattled. ‘New boyfriend? Definitely not!

And yes, Id love a drink.’

When Patrick had been served, they moved away from the bar to a less crowded area by the entrance to the ballroom. Still dying to know where Claire was, Dulcie was about to open her mouth when Patrick said, ‘Sorry, you asked me how work was going.’

Oh yes, that inspired conversation-opener. One of the all-time greats, along with ‘What about this weather we’ve been having lately?’ and ‘Where did you get that tie?’

But Dulcie, succumbing to the gin, was finally beginning to relax. She tilted her head to one side.

‘Well, to tell you the truth, I’m amazed you’re here. ‘I mean, it is only half past eleven on Christmas Eve. I’d have thought you’d still be in your office, slaving away over your computer, up to your eyes in work ...’

‘I sold the business.’

.. and what about tomorrow? Don’t tell me you’re taking Christmas Day off too. Good grief, Patrick, is this any way to build an empire? Does Bill Gates take time off on Christmas Day?

How can you ... you ... you did what?’

Dulcie’s voice faltered and died as – at long last – his words sank in.

He shrugged.

‘I sold the company.’

‘But ... but when?’

‘Signed the contract yesterday afternoon.’

Aware that she was asking the wrong questions in the wrong order but unable to do a thing about it, Dulcie said inanely – as if she cared – ‘Who to?’

‘An American company: MegaCorps, in Dallas. They made an offer to buy me out ... and ‘I said yes.’ Patrick spoke casually as if the decision had been effortless, the simplest in the world to make. ‘They want me to work for them, do some freelance design stuff—’

‘You’re going to work in America?’ Dulcie felt sick. Within milliseconds her brain conjured up images of Patrick and Claire moving into their new home, a Southfork type of house with a huge pool and lots of cowboys striding about in stetsons, calling Claire ma’am and lassoing anything that mooed.

Dulcie blinked but the mental image wouldn’t go away. Now she saw Patrick and Claire hosting their annual barbecue, joining in the hoedown, cheering on the riders in the rodeo and hoisting excited children up on to their shoulders ... children with Patrick’s good looks, Claire’s saintly temperament and high-pitched Texan accents you could grate ice on .. .

‘No.’ Patrick’s voice dragged her back to earth. ‘God, ‘I wouldn’t live in Dallas if you paid me.’

Firmly, he shook his head. ‘I’m staying here.’

Just as well, thought Dulcie, light-headed with relief. He’d be useless at hoeing-down.

‘But why?’ she finally managed to say. ‘What made youdecide to sell the company after you worked so hard to build it up?’

Patrick shrugged again.

‘I just thought it was time to take a break. Work isn’t the be-all and end-all; there are more important things in life. So that’s it, from now on I’m going to keep the hours down, take things easy and enjoy myself.’

Dulcie stared at him, white-faced, wondering if she could possibly be hearing these words issuing forth from this mouth. She wanted to hit him.

‘What?’ said Patrick. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Dulcie spoke through gritted teeth.

‘That’s what ‘I spent the last five years telling you to do. How many times did I say you shouldn’t be working so hard? But did you take a blind bit of notice? Like hell you did. You ignored me—’

‘I know, ‘I know,’ Patrick cut in. He held up his hand. ‘I made a mistake. You were right and I was wrong. There, does that make you happy?’

Was he serious?

Oh yes, great, thought Dulcie wildly, I spend five years telling you not to work so bloody hard, you take no notice at all, our marriage goes down the tubes, then you meet the girl of your dreams and decide you needn’t work so hard after all ... and you seriously expect me to be happy?

The urge to slap was overtaken by the urge to grab Patrick by the lapels, shake him until his teeth rattled, scream hysterically and call him a lot of names, stupid, selfish bastard being the least of them.

Either that or change the subject.

‘Oh yes, ecstatic,’ said Dulcie, tight-lipped. ‘So where’s Claire tonight?’

Off ministering to the poor, probably. Visiting orphans and sick children, something saintly like that. Well, the world needed another Princess Di.

‘Bali.’

Dulcie nodded. Of course, he’d had to stay behind to sign the contract. Bored already with the subject of Saint Claire, she said dully, ‘When are you flying out, tomorrow?’

Patrick shook his head.

‘I’m not going.’

‘Oh.’ Dulcie felt her heart begin to accelerate. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s over. We aren’t seeing each other any more.’

‘Oh!’ By this time her heart was in serious overdrive. In a ridiculous high-pitched voice, she heard herself saying again, like a parrot, ‘Wh-why not?’

Patrick shrugged, avoiding her gaze. His dark eyes were absolutely expressionless.

‘It didn’t feel right, I suppose. She didn’t do anything wrong, ‘I just knew we weren’t going anywhere. Claire’s a lovely girl, but in the end ‘I suppose I realised she just isn’t my type.’

Dulcie was glad she was leaning against the wall. She was in serious danger of keeling over.

‘But ... why not?’ She stared up at Patrick, desperately searching his face for clues. He still wasn’t looking at her. He was, Dulcie realised, concentrating on a particularly riveting patch of wallpaper instead.

‘It’s hard to explain.’ He combed his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

Oh God, Dulcie thought helplessly, ‘I love your eyebrows so much.

‘Try.’

‘Well,’ Patrick sounded reluctant, ‘she’s always in a good mood. Always cheerful.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Always happy to go along with anything anyone suggests. God, this is ridiculous ... what am I saying?’

Unable to stop herself, Dulcie suggested, ‘That Princess Perfect leaves you cold?’

Heavens, he actually smiled!

‘I suppose so. When someone’s always the same, there are never any surprises.’ Patrick cleared his throat. ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is, it just felt ... well, predictable.’

Dulcie bit her lip. Oh, hooray for predictable!

‘So how did Claire take it when you told her it was over?’ As if ‘I care! ‘No – hang on, don’t tell me – she took it wonderfully well. Like a trouper, like a real star.’

‘She did, actually.’ Patrick looked as if he was trying not to laugh. As Dulcie turned and began heading in the direction of the entrance hall he called out, ‘Where are you going now?’

‘Follow me and find out.’

Outside the main doors, at the top of the stone steps, he caught up with her. It was an icy night.

The grounds glistened with frost and when Dulcie spoke, clouds of condensation hung in the still night air.

‘Hang on to this.’

‘Hang on to what?’ Patrick wondered why her hands were behind her back. The next moment he heard the hiss of a zip being undone, and Dulcie’s jade-green satin dress landed in a shimmering pool at her feet.

‘Dulcie—’

‘Sshh!’

Patrick stood and stared as she skipped down the flight of steps, made for the fountain in the middle of the circular gravel drive, kicked off her shoes and jumped in.

The fountain was still flowing, but only just. Icicles had formed from the spouting stone statues and a thin film of ice on the surface of the water crackled and broke up as Dulcie danced in the pale moonlight.

By the time Patrick reached her she was soaked and shivering but her eyes were as bright as stars.

‘P-p-predictable enough for you?’ said Dulcie, through teeth that chattered like castanets.

Heavens, she hadn’t expected ice-cold water to be quite this ice-cold. Even her eyelashes were going numb .. .

She almost fainted with relief when Patrick scooped her out of the fountain, threw his suit jacket around her shoulders, lifted her into his arms and began to carry her back up the steps.

‘You are completely mad.’

‘I love it when you’re m-masterful,’ Dulcie murmured. ‘You Tarzan, me Jane.’

‘Mad.’

She grinned. ‘Better than boring. No – sorry, what was the word you used? The polite way of putting it? Ah yes .. . predictable.’

‘Frostbite, that’s what’s predictable.’ Patrick pushed through the doors. ‘Which way’s the sauna?’

Chapter 56

Once they were inside the sauna, Dulcie – still in his arms – watched him turn the dial up to maximum.

‘I s-suppose I ought to get out of these w-wet things.’ Her teeth were still chattering dramatically.

Patrick glanced down at her wet, brown, goose-pimply body and sodden peacock-blue bra and knickers.

‘Don’t they have any towels in here?’