Patricia and Malise Read Free Page B

animated.
    His kilt rippled as he kept impeccable time, paying particular attention to his reversing skills. The girl with the blue sash did well too and, when the reels were over, they sat together and sipped fruit cup and ate more of the vol-au-vents – ignoring all others.
    The girl, not more than fifteen years old, wriggled and squirmed as they talked of local spots. Her lips parted and her bosom heaved as she lost her being in the aura of the handsomest boy she had ever seen – even in advertisements.
    Reels were over and the gardener’s son, much enjoying himself, plopped dance tunes, a Viennese Waltz or two included, into the machine. Shy and agonised teenagers moved again towards the patch of floor from which the carpet had been rolled up. Several girls were left without partners (the hostess’s daughter and one of the visiting nieces among them) and talked frenziedly to each other as they stuffed more and more vol-au-vents between their discreetly painted lips.
    Malise signalled to the girl by his side. ‘Shall we tread a gay measure?’
    He decided that he was not the sort of partner who cared to talk while dancing but wished to fit himself to a correct style with a flourish at the turns. They danced and Malise held the girl, whose name was Dawn, around her waist. She began to writhe, to heave and to quiver all over. Steamed and all but exploded as Malise realized that he was having trouble beneath his kilt. Noticing no others, the pair sweated and became ecstatic. They danced and danced – Dawn in a state of bewildered blindness;|Malise not bewildered exactly – but blind to surroundings. This went on until Mrs Ruggles announced ‘Now. Dancing over.’
    She had spotted the writhing but showed no outward sign of anguish other than to send a message via one of her daughters to Mr Ruggles who hid in his study. His presence was needed immediately.
    A sheepish and diminutive Mr Ruggles, at the side of his wife, spoke hesitantly. ‘Dancing over and now a bit more to eat before your parents join us all for a nightcap and then take you all home.’
    Malise gave Dawn a vague look – as to bestow a promise. He forced his eyes to water as they gazed into hers.
    â€˜Here come the parent-birds’ Mrs Ruggles shouted as the front door opened and middle aged couples – Alyson among them – arrived, bringing with them an icy draught.
    Alyson had no idea why Mrs Ruggles was less friendly than before but did not query Malise’s social skills.
    After fruit salad and meringues, the fathers were offered a glass of whisky each by the unwilling and desiccated Mr Ruggles.
    Alyson, her double chin wobbling, wanted to hear more about the evening as they sat beside each other in the car but Malise was still uncomfortable in his kilt and offered little in the way of answer.
    â€˜Did you join in the reels dear?’
    â€˜Yes. Yes. I did.’
    â€˜One or two of the girls were pretty weren’t they?’
    â€˜Yes. Yes. They were.’
    â€˜I expect you enjoyed the music and getting to know some neighbours.’
    â€˜Yes. Yes. I did.’
    Small reward for all the ferrying she had done.
    After he had folded his clothes in the bathroom, Malise placed the sporran beside the kilt and noticed a scrap of paper peeping from it. It gave the name ‘Dawn Willis’ as well as an address. She did, he realised, live not unreasonably far away.
    When he had cleaned his teeth he called out to Alyson who was in the passage wearing a pink bath cap, ‘Did you say there was to be another ‘hop’ before Christmas?’
    â€˜Yes dear. I’m pleased you enjoyed it. The next one won’t be quite as splendid as the Ruggleses but it will do you good to mingle with the young again. It’s a lovely neighbourhood.’
    Christian pretended to be asleep when Malise switched on the overhead light. Although Alyson had always done her best to mother the boys