Damage (19 page)

Holly and her father followed the young man across to one side of the marquee, where a panel had been raised and people gathered, waiting to get in.

Inside, there was a sudden air of excitement, a chatter of voices and laughter. Before she knew it, Holly was led through to a screened-off area where clothes rails were hung with gowns in pastel tones and bright jewel colors. People she recognized from the village were rummaging through the railings. Immediately, a young woman approached Holly and said, “Ms Colcroft, if you would follow me?”

She followed the woman through to a private dressing area where a selection of ball gowns hung from a rail.

“These will all fit,” said the woman.

Holly stepped forward, in a dream. The first dress was full-length, shoulderless, with a plunge front, a vibrant purple with a delicate, faded flower print. The next was bright crimson, tailored, with an asymmetrical top narrowing to a strap over one shoulder. A maxi dress in dove gray with a scattering of sparkle across the front. A simple calf-length black dress, similar in style to the one she already wore but now she could see that you really can tell the difference between an off-the-peg high street number and something like this.

“I don’t even know where to begin...”

The woman smiled. “Allow me,” she said, and reached towards the railing.

She helped Holly into the dress and turned a full-length mirror towards her. Holly just stared. All the times she’d looked on at her glamorous sister with that mix of admiration and envy and now...

The dress was sleeveless and tightly tailored, clinging to her body in ways that no item of clothing had ever done before. Tight on the body, like a second skin down to just above the knee, it then flared like a fishtail. The silky fabric was cream with rich scarlet tapework detailing highlighted with sequins; a lace-covered keyhole front revealed the first swell of cleavage, while a broader keyhole at the back stretched down to the base of her spine. It was breathtaking.

A soft throat-clearing interrupted her reverie. The woman who had helped her dress was now holding a pair of point-toed, high-heeled pumps with the same cream and crimson tapework design.

A short time later, Holly stepped out of the front of the marquee. Instead of sinking into soft ground, wooden panels had been placed over the grass to form an area of decking, solid and smooth as a dance floor.

Her father was waiting, resplendent in black tuxedo, dress shirt, cummerbund and bow tie. He was smiling and there was a spark in his eye; he looked twenty years younger.

He offered her his arm again. “Shall we?”

For an uncanny moment, she felt like a bride about to be walked down the aisle.

She swallowed, nodded, and took his arm.

Around them, she sensed people being held back, and then as they stepped forward a dusting of pin-prick lights lit up in the floorboards by their feet.

Then...

“Oh my goodness!”

In perfect synchrony, the shutters that had been over the windows of the Hall sprang open and light flooded out.

You need to open up those shutters.

That’s what she’d told him.

Just as she was catching her breath, her father said, “Eh? What’s that?”

There was a fluttering on the breeze, and for a moment she thought it had started to rain. Then she held her hands up and brought them together, back down to her face. Her hands were full of red rose petals, as yet more came fluttering down around them.

The excited chatter had fallen silent when the shutters clapped open, but now it started up again, a murmur, a buzz, then a laugh, a shout, more laughter.

She turned on the spot, round and round, rose petals drifting down, and then she took her father’s arm and they walked across to the Hall, up the steps and in through the open doors.

A waiter with a silver tray offered them champagne, and a waitress hovered nearby with a tray loaded with dainty little canapés.

Lots of guests were already here, but unlike the last time Holly had been at the Hall for one of Blunt’s parties, this time she recognized people.

Ella, another of Karen’s team of cleaners, was standing nearby with her boyfriend, making toasts with their champagne and laughing at how the crystal flutes sparkled. Ella was in a flowing silver dress that hung from her slim form like a layer of mist, almost indecent the way it clung to her breasts like that. Her boyfriend was in a black tux, his long hair slicked back.

Donald Dwyer and his wife Katherine stood by a table of pastry delicacies, looking like small children in a sweet shop. Both were almost unrecognizable in their borrowed finery. She spotted Robert from The Bull, looking awkward in his tux, Magda standing with him and laughing – at his discomfort, Holly thought, from the look on Magda’s face and the way Robert kept waving his hands at her as if to shoo her away.

Everyone... It really was as if the whole village had stepped into a Disney fairytale. As if someone had waved a wand and a glitter of stardust had cast its spell.

“You like?”

How had he crept up behind her like that, his voice so soft in her ear?

“It’s magical. I–”

A hand on her shoulder turned her and suddenly she was in Blunt’s arms. His face was alive, a twinkle in those pale eyes.

With perfect synchrony, the music struck up again, a waltz, and Blunt swept her sideways and then back in an extravagant turn. Three steps and turn on the third. She felt the fishtail hem of her dress spreading and swirling as he spun her, felt her whole body melting against his as they moved as one.

“You look sensational,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

They completed a full circuit around the wide lobby area and then Holly found herself back by her father and Blunt had paused, and released her so that he only held her softly by one hand. He dipped his head and kissed the top of her wrist with soft lips, then straightened and nodded to her father.

“Mr Colcroft,” he said. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Holly’s father was grinning. He looked as if he was struggling not to chuckle. It was the old him, the one that had been so absent of late.

When she turned back to Blunt he was backing away. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I have guests to greet. Neighbors, friends, people from Blunt Instruments who I haven’t seen for ages.”

Holly couldn’t help but laugh. This was a new man, a Blunt transformed. A Blunt doing exactly what she’d said he should do. He didn’t have to be the beast from the Hall, an easy figure for people to resent. He could be the perfect host, a good neighbor, a friend.

“You’re good at this,” she said. She waved a hand wide. “All of this.”

§

The evening passed in a whirl. So many old friends and familiar faces. So many strangers who introduced themselves and chatted, revealing themselves to be colleagues of Blunt, or old friends of his.

Every so often he would reappear, that mischievous look in his eye. Surprising her, sweeping her away for another dance, making her marvel that he could move so smoothly when his limp was so pronounced at other times. The music seemed to take him over, in such a beautiful, transforming way.

She found Karen at one point, chatting with Ella.

“Well don’t you scrub up well?” Holly said, as she approached them. Karen was in a black and white abstract print halter neck dress that split high up one thigh.

“Don’t we all?” said Karen. “So how did he do it? Lay all this on at such short notice?”

“He’s good,” said Holly. “And he hires good people.”

“And you?” said Karen. “How are you? I saw the two of you earlier.”

“What?” said Holly, trying to look innocent and surprised at the same time.

She glanced past Karen then, and saw Tommy heading for the door, leaving already, it seemed.

Almost anyone would look good in a tux, but Tommy just looked uncomfortable. The collar was too tight, the bow tie loose, he looked exposed and awkward, so far out of his natural setting.

He looked across at that moment, caught her eye. She smiled, but he turned away. He seemed upset, disoriented, and he was holding one arm awkwardly, clutching his hand to his chest. She hoped he hadn’t done something stupid, got into a drunken fight or something.

The other day, when he’d stopped her in the village, she’d thought things were okay between them, but now she wasn’t so sure. When would he ever just get over it all? At least he had come here, along with the rest of the village. That had to be a good thing, even if he looked like trouble on legs right now.

Suddenly, she just had to be with Blunt.

Forget all the being a perfect host thing. He’d done all that. He’d proved himself. Right now she needed to find him, fall into his arms, tell him that whatever this thing was she wanted it, wanted it more than anything.

Last time she’d seen him he’d been in the lobby, so she made her excuses to Karen and Ella and headed out there now.

She looked around but couldn’t see him, so she moved to the stairs, went a few steps up and looked again across the sea of heads. Still no sign.

Was he out in the marquee? Or somewhere through in the back, making sure everything was running smoothly?

She glanced up, just in case he was up there leaning on the balustrade to survey the party, as she’d seen him before, but no. She was just about to head back down and look outside when a loud siren cut through the gathering.

She flinched, put her hands to her ears, looked around and saw that everyone had reacted similarly.

It was an alarm. A fire alarm.

Someone must have set it off as a prank, but the staff were taking it seriously. Serving staff stood by the doorways, guiding people through and out into the night.

Holly peered around from her vantage point on the stairs. She was still convinced that this was some kind of practical joke, but she needed to know where her father was. He could get confused so easily. She’d feel awful if he got hurt in the crush.

Then she caught herself, a sudden realization striking.

Tommy.

Why had he been acting so strangely, rushing out of the door, holding his hand like that? How had he hurt himself? What had he
done?

She looked all around again, but there was no indication that this was anything other than a false alarm.

She spotted her father, standing in the flow of people like a rock in a stream.

She ran down the steps and barged through the crowd until she was at his side, hanging onto his arm.

“It’s okay, Dad. Just the fire alarm – a prank, I’m sure. Let’s just get outside, okay?”

They joined the press of bodies, and finally came to stand outside on that temporary wooden decking by the marquee.

It was okay. They were clear. Blunt would be here somewhere. Everyone would. They’d all be okay.

§

She saw Tommy first. Milling about in the crowd, looking lost.

She went to him, struck him on both shoulders with the flats of her hands so that he stumbled backwards.

“What have you done, Tommy Lefevre?” she demanded. “Just tell me what you’ve done!”

His look said it all. A sideways glance towards the Hall.

Holly followed his look and that’s when she saw that things were worse than she’d imagined. So much worse.

The light at the windows, upstairs, towards the east side of the building... the light there had taken on a different nature. Not the constant harsh glare of electrical lighting, but a warmer, more orange glow, a light that flickered and flared.

The Hall was on fire.

“Tommy... What have you
done?
”

Then: “Where is he? Where’s Nicholas?”

She stepped forward and struck Tommy on the shoulders again.

“Where
is
he?”

Another step forward, and she struck him again.

“Tell me.”

Tommy nodded, towards the Hall, towards the eastern wing where Blunt had his private apartment.

“He was up there,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just wanted to scare him.”

She pushed again and he went sprawling back into the darkness.

She barged through the crowd, trying to get to the door, but a cordon of serving staff were holding people away.

“I need to get through,” she screeched. “He’s in there. Mr Blunt is still inside!”

They wouldn’t give. A man’s voice said, “The fire service are on their way. You can’t go in.”

She spun away, consumed with angry frustration.

That was when she saw him. A dark shape in a window, along at the far end of the Hall. The living room of his apartment, with its view out over the Deer Park.

“Nicholas!”

She ran along to the graveled area beneath the window.

“Nicholas, you have to get out of there!”

A small group of people had followed her and now they stood helplessly beneath the window.

In a film someone would do something. They’d have a big sheet to catch him if he jumped. They’d find a ladder, or a fire engine would turn up with a cherry picker that would reach up to the window.

But in reality...

There was only a bunch of people in ball gowns and tuxedos wondering what to do.

He had the window open now, but he was only a silhouette against a backdrop of flickering brightness.

She was about to call when she saw the reason for his hesitation: the big, hairy mass clutched in his arms.

He was holding Alfie, somehow hugging the big dog to his chest, shielding him from the flames.

“Nicholas!” she called, and he saw her. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He had frozen.

He couldn’t leave Alfie, so what could he do?

“Nicholas. You have to get out of there. You and Alfie. You have to do something. You always have to try.”

And all the time she was aware of the awful parallels with that night the year before. Sarah Blunt trapped in a wrecked car that might go up in flames at any moment, and Nicholas had to do something, he had to try, even if rescuing her might do more harm than good.

You always had to try.

He moved, staggered, and the dog wriggled wildly in his arms so that Holly thought he was going to break free.