The Birthday Party (50 page)

Benedict led Coco onto the dance floor. He was, of course, the most superb dancer. They moved as one, spinning around in each
other’s arms, their eyes locked.

Coco still couldn’t believe how lucky she had been to find this man. This man who had never judged her, who had simply supported
her, and who totally understood what she needed. Her confidence was growing by the day. Offers for other parts were starting
to flood in, but she had decided to extend her contract on
Critical but Stable
for another year, while she found her feet. She owed it to them for the loyalty they had shown her.

Benedict, meanwhile, was revelling in his adoration. After so many years depriving himself of a fulfilling relationship, he
was drinking deep. Coco enthralled him. Everything he did now took on another dimension. He was living life to the full, instead
of just living it for the sake of it. The spectre of Jeanne, the guilt, the self-blame, had faded. He would never forget her
– of course he wouldn’t, for he had Justine – but at last he had allowed himself to move on.

Genevieve was shocked to find her eyes welling up at Violet’s performance. Honestly, she was becoming a soppy thing in her
old age. Yes, she told herself, she really was. She had learned a lot on the set of
Something for the Weekend
, and the accompanying skirmishes with the Rafferty family. She had learned that there was a lot to be said for family, and
companionship. And
although it was too late for her to do anything about the former, she could certainly address the latter.

While she was waiting for the taxi to take her to Delilah’s party, she thought long and hard. She sat in the living room of
her little house in Hampstead, which she had thought so chic and bohemian, but which now seemed rather sterile and spinsterish.
She thought of all the times that Jeremy had begged her to, if not marry him, then move in with him. She had kept him at arm’s
length, not wanting him to ruin her image, or step on her toes. But why? They got on famously, agreed over the right things
and argued over the right things. Why shouldn’t she bloody learn to share, after all this time?

Why, as Violet said, shouldn’t she have the courage to love?

Jeremy was here, now. She was going to ask him back tonight. She never asked a man back to her house, ever. But there was
a first time for everything, even at her age.

Polly was standing out on the terrace.

She wondered if she would be a party pooper if she went home. She was absolutely exhausted. It had been down to her to finalise
all the arrangements for the party, what with everything else that had happened, and she was run off her feet. She was determined
not to get up until at least two o’clock the next day.

Bugger. She couldn’t. She had to come back up here and make sure everything was signed off in the cold light of day. She sighed,
then realised that it would be the last duty she would ever perform for the Raffertys. As of next week, she was a free agent.

‘That was a big sigh.’

She turned. Dickie was behind her, holding out a brandy balloon. She took it – she didn’t really want it, but it was sweet
of him to think of her.

‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve just been thinking. As of Monday, I’ve got to figure out what to do with my life. They keep
trying to persuade me to stay, but if I don’t make a break
then I’ll still be working for the Raffertys when I’m ninety-three. I need to move on. But I don’t know what else to do. I
was thinking about teacher training college, but it’s too late to apply for this year. I can apply for next, but I don’t know
what to do in the meantime.’

Dickie was silent for a moment.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I could do with someone to work for me.’

Polly eyes shone.

‘Really?’

‘The girl that helps me out has just left. And things are getting frantic. Early signs are that
Something for the Weekend
is going to be a real winner. I’ve got another couple of really hot scripts I’m lining up. And although I couldn’t pay nearly
as much …’

‘Don’t worry about the money,’ breathed Polly. ‘I’ve got heaps saved up. I never have time to spend it.’

‘There is just one snag,’ said Dickie, and her face fell. ‘I’m not a great believer in mixing business with pleasure, and
I’d really like to ask you out for dinner.’

The tropical heat in the glasshouse was making Delilah feel woozy. She slipped out through one of the French windows, onto
the terrace and down onto the lawn. The evening air cleared her head. She reached into her evening bag.

She’d had a letter earlier in the week. A letter in a cream vellum envelope, handwritten in thick black ink, with an Irish
postmark. She pulled it out again now, wanting to re-read it.

Dearest Delilah

I was delighted to read that Tyger has now been released from hospital, and is expected to make a full recovery. Please accept
my warmest wishes that it will be a speedy one.

You might be glad to hear that my mother has made a full recovery as well, and is now home from hospital. However, she has
decided in the light of her fall that it is in her best interests to sell Gortnaflor. I wanted to let you know before we put
it on the open market, just in case
you might be interested. My mother is keen for it to go to someone who would give it the love and attention it deserves, and
I know you would certainly do that.

Yours ever,

William

She knew that it had been a difficult letter for him to write, and that there was as much unsaid as there was said. She had
been profoundly moved by his dignity. She had telephoned him straight away.

She looked up from reading the words yet again as a figure slipped across the lawn to join her. It was a man, tall and handsome
in his dinner jacket, his tie now undone. Wordlessly, he slid an arm around her, then Delilah put her hand on his chest, playing
with the black enamel studs on his dress shirt. Her eyes were dancing with something approaching mischief.

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

The man smiled down.

‘Oh yes?’

‘You know you didn’t have time to buy me a birthday present? What with everything that’s been going on. And you said, if there
was something I wanted, just to let you know?’

‘Yes … ?’ The reply was cautious.

‘Well …’ Delilah held out the letter. ‘It would be a longterm project. Something for me to get my teeth into. And it would
be the perfect place for the girls to come and chill out. All of us, in fact. We always talked about getting a holiday home,
but we never have. You will absolutely love it—’

‘Delilah.’ Raf reached and took the letter out of her hands. ‘It’s yours. Happy birthday. Now shut up.’

He bent his head and kissed her. And as they kissed, the letter fluttered to the ground.

THE END