Someone has left a large wooden bar stool tucked in the corner of the ballroom, behind a screen of potted plants. Ariana Stone leaned back against it, thankful for a chance to rest. Although it was cool June night, she was perspiring. And for the first time that night she admitted to herself that it might work. She had already had four dances, and none of the men seemed disappointed or over-curious with her dancing.
To tell the truth, moving out to the floor crowded with people had made her nervous at first. Crowds had not been her thing since she had returned to Korean alone, a forlorn sixteen years old. Her volunteer typing work for the Red Cross, her work as an aide at the paediatric clinic, all kept her in contact with people, but only in a small groups. And there were hardly any men involved.
Sweet twenty-one, she chuckled to herself. And on my first dance date . For just a second she thought back in time, and almost regretted the years she had spent in the Rose garden.
She smoothed down the bodice of her long pink dress. It fitted like a sheath over a full figure no woman need have been ashamed of. But it was her first ballroom dress , and she had to fight off the urge to pin it up, to cover the décolletage that displayed altogether too much of her unfettered breasts. Or did it? She had no answer. Her mom had died with her father in that terrible tragedy that had left Ariana an orphan. The dress would have to do. She ran a hand through her cap of tight bronze curls and twirled in her hidden corner.
There were two orchestra playing alternetely at opposite ends of the huge 1890s ballroom. One band played rock and disco. The other was a polka band, which had just swung into a waltz, of all things. Aria shook with silent laughter, her whole body quaking. Dancing lessons gad been de rigueur for the only daughter of two medical doctors. She curtsied to the potted plant and extended her hand, only to find it trapped firmly in a large male palm!
While she was still considering , he swung her gracefully out of her corner and on to the dance floor, without missing a beat of the music. She felt herself swept up in the song and the night, and picked up the rhythm quickly and surely. For the first few steps he held her at a distance, but soon as he found her matching him he pulled her close, burying her head under his chin, her face pushed up against the soft brocade of his waistcoat.
Warm and cuddly, Aria told herself. And so much bigger than me! She leaned back to get a good look at his face. Lean, like a hunter . Deep blue eyes, sandly hair, broad shoulders. He reminded her of her Dad, of course! Not in looks. He was nothing like her shaggy bear of her dad except for that aura of commend which exuded from his every pore. He leaned down to speak to her, but the noise in the ballroom obliterated the words. He e bent closer, his lips at her ear . The soft, warm moisture of his breath sent a little shiver down Aria's spine. Is that what it means? Her jittery mind demanded of her. Is he turning me on? Just like that? Wow! I'm Henry Clark, your host, he said. And who the devil are you?
It seemed important to tell him, but the noises roared in her ears, and for some reason her pulse was racing, her face flushed. She leaned back again so he could see her lips .
Aria? She mouthed, over exaggerating the pronunciation.
Aria? He repeated in her ear Ariana, she missed a beat in their whirling travel, came down flatfooo, and shrugged her shoulder at him. He laughed, and picked up the step again. Ariana. How nice . You don't talk much, do you? In fact, you're the first girl I've danced with all evening who didn't want me to feature her in one of my books. Cat got your tongue?
She laughed back at him, shook her head, and stuck out her tongue as evidence. The shake of her head activated her bronze curls and set them dancing, reflecting. The hairpin that held the roll at her forehead took that moment to desert, letting the bunched curls drop down over her face. He laughed at her discomfort.
A tiny spurt of anger rose in her, and then dispersed, as he pulled her close again and ran a finger through the curls.
Leave it, Aria, he said. It makes you look younger different. Leave it that way. His smile was comforting, and in itself surprised her. She was famous for deep compassion, a happy go Lucky attitude and a monumental temper!
The music ended while she debated, but he twirled her around one more time before bringing her to a breathless halt. She still had both hands resting on his forearms, staring at him, when he bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips. She stood still, hands clasped behind her back now, savouring the bliss, her eyes closed.
Nothing else happened. When she opened her eyes he was gone. There were a moment of sorrow, but then her innate good cheer came to the fore. Dr Larry's argument this morning, as he tried to talk to her. Aria,in spite of your problem, you've got more guts and common sense than any girl within a five hundred mile radius. She laughed at herself again. Common sense,of course, she thought. There's not a very big market for that these days. But then, if Henry Clark is the host to this mad charity crowd, he must have a hundred girls that need rescuing here tonight. Go get yourself a drink and some fresh air,
Ariana Stone!
She wandered over to the trestle top bar, picked up an already poured paper cup of orange juice, and handed over a five dollar bill. The seller smile and return one dollar. Aria shook her head and grinned as she walked away, sipping her juice. But it's all for charity, she consoled herself as she made her way out of the coolness of the veranda.
There were a few scattered wooden seats on the veranda. She walked to the end of the platform and settle down on one of them. The moon was dodging in and out of the clouds. Wearily she slipped out of her pumps and wiggled her toes. The garden stretched out in front of her, bigger by far than her rose garden, but almost uncared for. A profusion of bushes cut off large corners of it from the house, and weeds proliferated.
She smiled as she recognized within her the eternal nitpicking of an amateur gardener. And how about the night? So far, almost perfect. Her little gold wrist watch flashed eleven o'clock at her. There was one small problem. Dr Hinson, fifty, grey,had invited her to come with him. Insisted she come with him. Demanded that Ariana Stone should not spend her twenty first birthday at home, alone. Especially since his wife Belinda was down with a sudden attack of the flu. And so he had bundled Aria off to the town's first charity ball. He had dance with her once, and then had been called out on an emergency. All that more than an hour ago, and apparently he would not be back before the ball ended. Oh, well, she thought, looking disgustedly at her ballroom slippers, it only two miles to home, and Cinderella can walk! With that minor problem set aside, she considered her major one.
Him. Henry Clark!
She called back to mind every tiny bit of his appearance. She weighed every word he had said, knowing certainly that she could not forget a single syllable or pause and then he had kissed her! The nerve of him! But she was smiling as she thought it all through.
It was hard to judge the effect of a kiss when you'd had so few. She signed to herself. It had certainly not set off fireworks in her head. Her legs had not turned to jelly. But it had been nice. He smelled good and taste good.
All in one, a very satisfactory kiss! I must obviously be in love with the man, she teased herself, and laughed as she suppress such ridiculous thought, that sort of thing just didn't happen nor in Ariana world. Still, she seemed to hear his warm, deep voice echoing in her ear.
It wasn't an echo; it was a real thing. He was down in the garden below her, smoking a cigarette, and talking to some women out of sight from Ariana's seat.
We all saw you kiss that little redhead. Right in the middle of the dance floor!
Nonsense, Isabel, he returned, the language. A kid's joke. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. With her parents around some place, I suppose. And that wasn't red hair, it was bronze. A fine, natural bronze, soft as silk.
So you're a specialist now in women's hair? The trill of laughter set Ariana's teeth on edge. It was jealous laughter.
It apparently wasn't. The woman muttered an incoherent something and stalked away. He chuckled, took one more puff on his cigarette, then flipped it out into the garden and walked away.
TBC----------