return his worshipping gaze.
When the dance was over, Macy trailed after
Delores and stood beside her in an alcove near the dais, where the
orchestra continued to play.
“You’re a hard person to get alone,” Macy
said.
“We’re hardly alone, Horace. There’s a
hundred other people in the room,” Delores said lightly.
“Alone enough for me to say what I have to
say.”
Delores looked coy. “And what weighty words
have you for me?”
“I didn’t like the way you were dancing with
Lionel Trueman.”
“But Lionel and I are merely good
friends.”
“It looked more than that to me.”
“You worry too much, darling.”
“You know I’m mad about you.”
“I have become aware of that, yes.” She
smiled and batted her long lashes at him.
“You don’t take me seriously.”
“How could I not?”
“I want you for my wife, you know that.”
“You mustn’t think of marriage so soon after
your wife’s death.”
“But it’s been a year and a half.”
“That long?”
“You must marry me.”
“But I told you right from the start that one
marriage was enough for me. I’m no longer the marrying kind.”
“Then why do you lead me on?” A pathetic,
pleading tone had crept into Macy’s voice. The orchestra beside
them struck up a fresh tune.
“I like your company, and you enjoy mine. Why
can’t we leave it at that?”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not a
man.”
“Thank God for that,” Delores said, laughing.
“Now I really must see to my duties as hostess. You’ve monopolized
enough of my time.”
“You’ll dance with me later?”
“We’ll see,” she said, and waltzed away.
***
Beth and Louis returned from their dance.
“You cut a fine figure,” Marc said to
Louis.
“I danced a lot in my youth,” Louis said.
Before all our troubles began.”
“One should always make time for dancin’,”
Beth said. She turned to Gilles Gagnon. “Do you dance, Gilles?”
“A very little, I’m afraid,” Gagnon said.
“My word,” Robert said. “Here comes our
hostess.”
Delores Cardiff-Jones was moving with
deliberate steps across the ballroom towards them.
“Messieurs Gagnon and LaFontaine,” she said,
coming right up to them, “a very cordial welcome to our little
fête.” She spoke in flawless French. “I was delighted to see you
dancing, Monsieur LaFontaine. Would you consider it bold of me if I
were to ask Monsieur Gagnon here to take a turn with me on the
floor? I would be so honoured.”
Gagnon actually blushed. “How could I refuse
such a gracious hostess,” he said in a vain attempt to disguise his
doubts. He reached out and took her hand. They moved into a set
that was preparing for a reel.
“This may be a first,” Louis said. “Gilles
Gagnon dancing.”
“Our hostess is a very persuasive woman,”
Marc said.
Marc, Beth and Robert watched with bemused
detachment as Delores and Gagnon stepped into the reel.
“Well, it is a French-Canadian tune,”
Louis said.
“I do hope you’re beginning to feel somewhat
at home here,” Robert said to Louis.
“People have been most kind,” Louis said,
“considering all that’s happened between our two peoples.”
“They’ll be less kind once the election
campaign begins, I’m afraid,” Marc said.
“I’m anxious for it to begin,” Louis
said.
“My, look at Gilles go!” Beth said.
They turned their attention to the reel where
Delores and Gagnon were spinning about, arms enlinked, a sheen of
sweat on their cheeks, their eyes alive with the thrill of the
dance.
“Gilles has found himself a partner,” Marc
observed.
“It’s good for him,” Louis said. “He’s been
stuck too close to me for too long.”
The dance ended. Gagnon bowed deeply to
Delores. Their eyes met, and locked. Gagnon led her back to her
father, who was presiding at the head of the room. They exchanged
words, then went over to the drinks table. Marc noticed Lionel
Trueman nearby, stiff and trembling with some