Virtually Perfect (38 page)

He paused.  Her hands rested on his shoulders, not pushing exactly, just letting him know: that was it.  That was close enough.

Eve tried to think when she'd last danced with a guy (a non-relative that is - cousins and uncles don't count).  It couldn't have been for years - it certainly wasn't Dan's cup of tea. 
Dancing's for poofs
  he liked to say.  You couldn't really get any less cultured; any less refined than Dan.  If he was representative of the average
bloke
, it's a wonder we ever made it out of the caves.

Here was a man who sang, who liked opera; a man her father approved of, and now a man who'd asked her to dance.  Handsome, accomplished, talented, smart.  Eve gazed dolefully up to his pretty blue eyes.  It broke her heart that he was so full of shit. 

He could feel her through the flimsy silk: the arch of her back, the sway of her hips, the warmth of her skin.  He edged an inch closer - as far as he dared - breathing in her scent. 

She wore Guerlain.  He'd seen the almost finished bottle on the dressing table at
The Four Seasons
.  It retailed at a couple of hundred quid.   She didn't wear it all the time - only special occasions.  She'd worn it on their first date.  He'd never smelt it before he met her.  It was like a walk through the woods in April, after the showers: fresh, green and floral.  He'd never forget it as long as he lived.

He was dancing with his chin down, his eyes closed.  Eve felt his arms tightening around her.  Her arms tensed, keeping him back.  His eyes opened.  He looked sad. 

She hesitated for a second - a second too long - just enough for him to pull her in.  His warm, muscular chest pressed against her; his jaw glanced her temple.  Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck. 

Eve's eyes fluttered shut.  She could smell his cologne.  Her pulse quickened.  She could smell him again.  Ecstasy and misery.  Hope and dread.  Her body ached to hold him tighter.  Her brain ached to wriggle free from his arms.

She wasn't sure how long they were there.  It was one dance, but it wasn't one song.  An acoustic version of Foo Fighters'
Evergreen
.  She felt him stroking her back. 
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother. 
Ben pulled away, smiling.  Eve followed his nod.  Curtis and Damien were dancing flamboyantly, cheek-to-cheek.  Eve joined all the others and laughed.

Adele -
Make You Feel My Love
- that was the killer.  The words were like knives for them both.  They barely moved, swaying gently from one foot to the other, both of them closing their eyes.

Eve remembered when he kissed her in front of Da Vinci's cartoon, the wave of happiness rushing over her.  Ben remembered kissing her on Brighton beach; the exhilaration, the thrill.  He couldn't find it in her eyes anymore - the anger, the fear, the batshit crazy.  They rolled down to his hand, gently cupping her chin, then flicked back to him.  Gleaming, timid; a little bit lost.  He looked down at her ruby red lips.  His heart lurched.  He saw them part, ever so slightly.  Ben leant forward hesitantly, jerkily, and paused.  If she shot him down,
finito
, game over.  He closed his eyes in frustration, his mouth hovering an inch from hers.  He sighed, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. 

His heart plummeted as he felt her hands fall away from his neck.  His eyes blinked open.  He felt her arms around his waist.  His heart leapt as he saw her go up on tiptoe.  This time around, it was Eve kissing him.

'I'll give you till this time next year.'

'...For what?' Eve said mistrustfully.

'Till you've got a ring on your finger, silly!'

Eve's gaze flicked up to the wide, drunken grin.  She really,
really
wished she hadn't asked.

'...Fucking hell, Curtis.  That's the fastest transition from bachelor to smug married bastard I think I've ever seen.'

Eve sipped her Pinot Grigio.  Ben laughed.  Eve's eyes rolled up to him.

She hadn't wanted to kiss him.  Truth be told, he'd practically forced her.  Dragging her up there in front of all those people - what choice did she have?  She'd didn't want to make a scene.  She was kicking herself for it now, watching him knocking back his JD and coke, all cock sure of himself.  Well, he could have his little moment.  He sure as shit wouldn't be going home with her.

'I can't believe our Eve isn't married yet... can you?' Curtis banged on. 

She winced.  Was that meant to make it better?

'No,' said Ben, watching her, rattling the ice in his drink.  'I can't.'

'So?' said Curtis, goadingly.  'What are you going to do about it?'

Subtlety never had been Curtis's strong point.  He slung a flaccid arm over Eve's shoulders.  She could smell the fumes on him.  Eve frowned down at the ground.  She wanted it to swallow her up.

'I don't think she'd have me,' Ben admitted.  'I don't think I've proved myself.  Yet.'

Eve gave him a black look.

Oh, don't be so sure...

'Well I like you,' Curtis confessed.  'More importantly, Roger likes you too.  He says you're the nicest bloke she's ever been out with—'

'Curtis, will you shut up!' Eve snapped, like an exasperated teacher to a troublesome kid.  'We met a couple of weeks ago.  We've only been out a few of times.'

'Four,' interjected Ben quietly, with an inclination of a smile.  'We met four weeks ago.'

'Well, whatever.  It's nothing serious.  Will you please stop going on about weddings.'

Ben stared at the floor. 

'Behebak,' he muttered.

Eve's brow crinkled.

'Pardon?'

'When you say it in Arabic,' Ben explained.  'It's behe
bak
to a man...  Behe
bik
is for a woman.'

She stared at him.  He shrugged. 

'Just thought you might like to know.'

'Seems I got a few things wrong.' she muttered.  'Where's Alice?' she asked, turning to Curtis.

He sighed.

'I'm not sure,' he said, draining his scotch.  'I've only been married for a few hours and she's already given me the slip.'

Eve stared up at him, a smile playing on her lips.

'...Once more, for old time's sake?'

Ben watched Curtis grin back;  saw the mischievous twinkle in their eyes. 

Ben felt uneasy, on his way to annoyed. 

On his way to fucking fuming, actually.

'Ben, would you mind very much if I danced with Eve.'

Oh...

'Don't be silly, Curtis.  Of course he doesn't.'

Actually, he did, a little bit.  Ben smiled and shook his head.

'Right,' said Eve, draining her glass.  'I just need to pop to the ladies.  You get the music sorted out.'

Eve felt nervous.  She hadn't done it in years - she wasn't even sure she could in those shoes.  She found Curtis conferring with the DJ; messing around with his iPhone.
Don't Stop Me Now
was fading away. 

'Ladies and gentlemen, could we please clear the stage,' boomed the MC over the mic.  He had one of those cheesy DJ voices, like you find at the fairground trying to lure kids to the
superfast ride
.  Eve timidly approached them, depositing her handbag by the decks.  She and Curtis whispered for a moment.  Curtis took Eve's hand, lifting it up to shoulder height. 

He'd gone for
Bamboleo
by the Gypsy Kings.  Despite the upbeat tempo, it's a song about abandonment; about heartbreak.  They'd danced to it a hundred times before.  That was, what, ten years ago now?  Curtis looked nervous.  Eve was terrified.

Ben wandered down to the dancefloor in a daze. 
What's she up to now?
  He spotted Roger, beckoning him.  He sat with him to one side of the floor, watching the dancers disperse.  Ben took a sip from a fresh drink, alcohol free this time.  Roger stared at the dancefloor expectantly, eyes gleaming, beaming from ear to ear. 

Ben knew she was putting on a show.  He knew it was for his benefit, he knew she was still pissed at him.  It was the hundredth time that day he'd been left wondering why.  Ben stifled a yawn.  He was getting tired.

He spotted Curtis and Eve at the top of the steps.  Ben straightened his back.  Curtis was holding her hand.  He'd dispensed with his jacket, revealing a black satin cumberband.  He'd taken off his bowtie, his shirt was undone. 

Eve's legs were bare.  She wasn't wearing her stockings.  They smiled for the crowd as they skipped down the steps.  Ben thumbed his chin, watching Eve lean into Curtis, whispering.

'Don't let them see my knickers!'

They both started to laugh.

A Spanish guitar kicked in.  They started to move.  Ben sat forward, smoothing with his hair.  Eve's hand was draped in the crook of Curtis's arm, their hips swaying from side to side in unison. 

A rolling rhythm set in motion.  Their feet started moving, in perfect synchronicity, nimble sidesteps and kicks as they moved towards the front of the stage.  First to the right,
then to the left.  They extended their arms.  Their limbs were poker straight, their hands draped gracefully, their movements so perfectly timed. 

He heard singing.  Ben didn't do Spanish, he couldn't work it out.  Eve span away, the midnight blue skirt twirling up, revealing her supple white thighs.  Ben swallowed, watching her spin back towards Curtis, coiling their arms together, weaving around the stage.  They were smiling.  They were coming towards him.  She looked his way with those sparkling eyes.

The music was getting louder, their feet moving impossibly fast to keep up with the Latin tempo.  Curtis's arm slid around Eve's waist, her bare knee rising up to his hip.  Ben rubbed the back of his head.  She took her weight on one pointed toe as he was spinning her around.  She was virtually bent double, her head in line with Curtis's thighs, her fingertips nearly touching the floor.  The arch of her neck, pearl choker tight around her throat, dent of her cleavage, beaming white smile.  He flipped her back up, their foreheads resting together.  They took each other's hands, started twisting and shimmying on their toes.  Twirling, strutting, weaving so fast, they used up the whole of the stage.  He grasped her hand, threw her away from him, yanked her back; she span into his arms.  They raised their hands, panting, grinning.  Clapping erupted all around them.

It was her.  It was the girl in the profile pic - the one he'd been fascinated with for months - the one with the dazzling smile.  Ben felt like such a dick.  He wasn't a dancer.  He could never do that.  He was too tall for starters.  It would be like a giraffe trying to tango with a gazelle.

Eve saw him in the crowd, clapping with her father.  She smiled at him; saw him smiling back.  It wasn't real though - her face dropped - he looked hurt.  Eve ran to the DJ's booth and grabbed her bag. 

'How do you fancy a nice Cuban?' Roger asked Ben.

Once Eve pushed her way back through the crowd, her heart sank.  The seats where they'd been sitting were empty.

'You know, Curtis is as sharp as a tack,' Roger told Ben, hoisting his trousers up by the knees as he sat down. He’d led Ben through the gardens, to the same spot where he’d been sitting with Eve.

Ben sat down on the cold stone bench, taking the fat cigar from Roger, placing it between his lips. He sucked hard as Roger held out the flame of his Zippo.

'Thank you.'

Ben hated cigars. He’d never had the balls to tell Roger that, of course.  He didn’t want to look like a pleb. They’d once spent a whole afternoon drinking single malt and smoking them at
The Groucho
. Ben didn’t like scotch either.  It was a wonder he didn't throw up.

'When an eighteen year old boy takes up ballroom dancing,' Roger continued. 'you have to wonder whether he bats for the other team.  But when you stop and think about it, it makes perfect sense!  What better way to meet pretty girls? There’s always a shortage of men. Sheer genius, isn’t it?'

Ben just smiled and nodded, cigar in one hand, the other smoothing his hair.

'Curtis and Eve were dance partners for years. They brought home a cabinet full of trophies.'

Roger met Ben’s pensive stare with raised eyebrows. He smiled.

'I saw the look on your face when they were dancing. I can assure you, there’s never been anything you need concern yourself with there.'

They both faced forward, toking their cigars in unison.

'What’s going on with you two?' Roger asked.

Oh God…

It was the moment Ben had been dreading. 
What are your intentions towards my daughter?

'Well…' said Ben.

'I know she’s giving you the needle,' Roger told him, smiling wryly, taking another puff. 'She’s been at it all night. It’s probably my fault for bringing up Antoine… Sorry to hear that, by the way. I know you and Lydia were together for a long time—'

'Thanks,' Ben said quietly.  He just shrugged and looked away.