The dance floor was, if such a thing were possible, even fuller than it had been before, and hotter. Della disappeared onto it within seconds, on the arm of a sergeant-major, and Maddy, glimpsing her father and his polka dots at the bar – remembering how down-hearted he’d looked before – made a beeline for him, dragging him onto the sweaty floor in just the same way as he’d tried to drag her mother earlier, assuring him that of course he wouldn’t be cramping her style. ‘Well, perhaps we could do without the hat … ’
He wasn’t a particularly adept dancer, certainly not what you’d call smooth, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in gusto, swinging them both around the floor. As they dodged other couples, narrowly missed a collision with the banana and mango Christmas tree (‘We’ll try harder next time,’ he said), Maddy laughed up into his smiling face and almost managed not to notice her mother on the periphery of the floor, observing them both, her expression unreadable. Baking as Maddy was, she didn’t hesitate when Richard asked her to dance again.
From then on, she didn’t leave the floor. Men at the party outnumbered the women two to one (as was always the case in India), and a song barely ended before someone else came forward, asking her to do the charitable thing and go again. She danced with Richard’s secretary (‘Will you risk it, Maddy?’), then more of his staff, and the sunburnt naval captain again. Della’s card was just as full, and Maddy stopped trying to keep track of all her partners. The band played on, and more and more people moved in from the terrace, packing the glowing room until it felt as though there was no space left for anyone else, no steamy air left to breathe. Maddy’s skin ran slick; her hair, loose of its pins, fell in damp waves on her neck – as chaotic, she was sure, as Della’s own brown curls had become.
It was at just before midnight that she finally stepped back from the floor, clutched a stitch in her waist, and thought she might just expire if she didn’t cool down before risking anything with anyone again. Since Della was still merrily pegging it across the boards, she didn’t waste time telling her where she was going, but headed back outside alone.
It was blissfully quiet on the terrace, all the previously full tables deserted. Some of the lanterns had burned themselves out, making it even darker than before. Leaving the music behind her, Maddy walked on, towards the sea, and leant against the wall, feeling the pressure of the stone through her skirts. She smiled, seeing that the children were still down below, playing. Further out on the still water, hundreds more boats bobbed; the voices of the people on them lilted across the waves, the scent of food grilling on charcoals too. Maddy drew a long breath, soaking it all in. She wondered if she had time for a cigarette, decided she did, then cursed, remembering her dropped matches.
Returning to where she’d left them, she crouched on the cobbles, skimming the black stones with her hands. Finding nothing, she knelt properly, bending down to see. But no, they really weren’t there.
‘How bizarre,’ she said, and as her voice broke through the night, conspicuously loud in the silence, she realised that the music inside had stopped.
She looked back towards the club’s illuminated doors, the silhouettes of the crowd within. Everyone appeared to be facing the clock. She could almost feel the press of bodies, the sweaty anticipation and, tempted as she was to stay outside, she told herself that it really would be too sad to see the New Year in alone, and that she’d better hurry if she wasn’t to miss midnight. She gave the floor one last, hopeless scour, and, with a sigh of exasperation, stood and recrossed the shadowy terrace.
She could never say, afterwards, what made her pause in her tracks, step sideways and go by the table Peter had been at. Or why she reached out and touched the back of the chair his friend, the stranger, had sat in, remembering him all over again.
But, as her fingers closed around the wooden frame, she jumped, shocked by a surge of explosions – out at sea, along on the nearby beach, behind her in the city. She looked up, around, eyes on the fireworks everywhere, filling the air with smoke, the sky with cracking flashes of colour.
Oh dear, she thought, midnight, then laughed anyway. Because it didn’t feel sad to be outside, alone, not at all. It was far, far too beautiful for that.
From inside the club, cheers carried; the opening chords of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ quickly followed. She didn’t rush to leave though, to join in. She didn’t go anywhere. The fireworks kept coming: her own private show.
Had she noticed him already? Was that part of what made her stay?
She often wondered that, in the weeks ahead.
She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure when she first became aware of the outline of him there, a hundred or so yards away on the promenade, face towards her, hands in his pockets, linen jacket moving in the breeze.
But with the fireworks still exploding above, she felt her attention move towards him. Slowly, she brought her gaze down, tilted her chin over her bare shoulder.
Her eyes met his through the blackness, and this time she knew he smiled.
He raised his hand in a wave.
Not stopping to think, she raised hers.
It was a space of moments.
But nothing was ever the same again, after that.
Chapter Two
Maddy waited for him to come back to the club’s terrace, close the distance between them, let her see his face. Hello. She thought, from his wave, the slow way he dropped his hand, that he wanted to do that. She almost set off towards him. She even took a step, felt her muscles tense in anticipation of … something.
But then noise flooded the silence behind her, voices and laughter. She jolted, disorientated by the interruption. She’d all but forgotten that the party was even happening. Within a breath, she was surrounded by everyone spilling from the ballroom, their eyes to the igniting sky: no longer her own private anything.
‘Maddy,’ her father called from the terrace doors. ‘There you are. Hurry over here and wish your old papa a happy new year. I’ve missed the last fifteen.’
She didn’t hurry anywhere. Distracted as she was, she barely managed a nod, a quick smile in her father’s direction, before returning her attention to the promenade, just in time to see the stranger turn from her, walk away towards the city.
He was going?
Gone?
‘Maddy,’ Richard called again. ‘What are you doing?’
She stared after the stranger a second longer, sure, even now, that he’d change his mind, turn around.
But he kept walking, into the darkness. Her brow creased.
‘Maddy?’
Forcing herself, she dragged her gaze from the promenade, and went to join her father, back into the thick of the hot crowd.
She couldn’t help but steal a final, curious glance in the stranger’s direction though. He’d already disappeared. She imagined him, just beyond her vision, pausing in his tracks, looking towards her. She really felt like he might be.
Why did he go?
She couldn’t think. Or why it should matter to her so much. She only knew that it did. She didn’t attempt to understand it.
It was simply the way it was.
She struggled to get back into the swing of things in the hour that followed. She’d barely been aware of the stranger’s presence and yet, now that he was gone, she felt it. She couldn’t even find Peter. She went in search of him – just as soon as she’d wished her father a Happy New Year – impatient to find out whatever he could tell her about his friend (who he was, for instance), but all she could discover was that Peter had left too, off to another party.