Page 61 of Playing to Win

Karen examined her lipstick in the blade of a silver butter knife. “So how are you finding reeling parties now that you’re out?”

“It’s like stepping back in time.” He unfurled his fingers toward the ancient swords and shields mounted on the ballroom’s stone walls amongst portraits of long-dead aristocrats posing with horses and hounds. “I still dance only with girls, I still write my name on your dance cards with the wee phallic symbol provided for the occasion.” He picked up a green one that had been left behind on the table. “Look, this year they’ve given us golf pencils. Is that so a guy’s name can’t be erased when someone better comes along?”

“Little do they know, every woman’s eyeliner pencil holds a tiny eraser.”

“Really?”

Karen laughed and shook her head, bouncing her sleek, razor-cut blond bob. “I wish. So if you’re back in the eighteenth century, does that mean your night might not end with a sordid lavatory shag?”

“That only happened once.”

“At least twice. Remember that gallery opening in Marylebone back in April? The afterparty at Chiltern Firehouse?”

“I do not remember it. Which probably means you’re right.” A waiter stopped at their table with a tray of water glasses, which Andrew gratefully exchanged for his empty whisky tumbler. “But you know, I’m rather enjoying this respite from being on the prowl. Just having good times with family and friends, not constantly scanning the room for my next sexual conquest.”

He met his cousin’s eyes, and they both burst into laughter.

“God,” she said, “for a second I thought you were serious.”

“Maybe a little bit.”

Karen gasped. “Have you met someone?”

“I meet loads of someones. It’s what I do.”

“Come on, spill.” She reached over and shook his arm. “Thereisa someone!”

“Everyone is a someone, Karen.” He held his water glass to his rapidly warming face.

“Drew!” When he kept his mouth shut, she sank back in her chair. “Fine, be coy. But don’t forget, you can’t be in the Little Black Book unless you’re single.”

“I’ve not forgotten.” Thinking of the LBB’s publisher,Tatlermagazine, reminded him of his Wednesday night date with Colin, which in turn reminded him again of the rock through his window—not that it was ever far from his thoughts. Colin’s repair had required a trip to the hardware shop, the purchase of several new tools and materials in addition to the pane of glass, then five hours of trial and error, despite the YouTube videos demonstrating how to do it. The result wasn’t perfect, but it would pass a cursory inspection.

Andrew admired Colin’s dogged determination and cool head as he went about the frustrating task, but now he was having second thoughts about lying to Reggie. Looking back, the cover-up was a childish move, but in the moment, Andrew had panicked.

It wasn’t only Colin’s freedom he’d feared for, but also his own. If Reggie had known about the rock, he would have placed Andrew on lockdown—and probably told Lord and Lady Kirkross. There’d be no more rendezvous with Colin, and probably not even tonight’s ball.

If Andrew was to be a real adult, he couldn’t live in a bubble. But the secrecy meant he needed to solve this mystery himself.

“Karen,” he said, “you haven’t, by some strange chance, shared my home address with anyone?”

“Of course not. I know how paranoid you are. Why, do you have a stalker? Like a real one, besides the people online who’d give their left nut and/or tit to sleep with you?”

“I don’t know.” Andrew had kept the reception-room blinds open in defiance, even at night. But every time he walked in there, he felt jittery, waiting for another crash. “You’ll be at the Perth Ball on the thirtieth?” he asked, changing the subject before it ruined his mood.

“Fuck yeah!” Karen said. “I hear some royals are coming.”

“Ah.” Andrew wondered why the thought of hobnobbing with princes didn’t fill him with as much delight as usual. Perhaps because he imagined Colin’s sneer, something he hoped would be curbed—though not eradicated—at the Sunderlands’ reeling party next month.

The Gay Gordons ended, then the band swooped into the Hamilton House line dance with only a moment’s pause.

“That’s my cue.” Karen checked her dance card. “Oh my God, this guy! He’s so fit.” She leaped up from her chair and beamed at a young blond man heading their way. Karen was right—he was gorgeous.

Andrew gave a wistful sigh, then realized it wasn’t the lack of men to dance with that filled him with longing. It was the fact that the only man he wanted to dance with was a hundred miles away.

He slipped out of the ballroom, then took the stairs up to the gallery, where it was quieter but he could still watch the dancing. He phoned Colin, who didn’t answer, so he sent a text instead:

Just rang you but didn’t leave a voice mail, seeing as it’s the 21st century. Hope you’re having a good evening. -x

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