Page 30 of A Very Irish Christmas
‘That’s sad,’ I reply, hearing the yearning he is trying to hide. ‘Having to give up your own dreams like that.’
‘Maybe – but that’s all it was, a dream. And besides, this is hardly torture is it? By most people’s standards I lead a gilded existence, so I don’t want to complain. What about you? Did you always dream of being an event planner?’
I stroll around the shelves as we speak, stroking the spines of the ancient leather-bound texts, smiling at the odd unexpectedromance novel crammed between the tomes. Allegra’s, probably – or maybe Roberts’s, who knows?
‘Well, kind of,’ I say. ‘I mean, I know it’s not a vocation like being a doctor or a lawyer, which my sister is. But I always loved organising things. Tea parties for my dolls, that kind of thing. I never really enjoyed going to parties, or being at the centre of my own, but I got a real kick out of making them happen. I love tending to all the little details that go into a great event. It’s hard work, but seeing people enjoy it, seeing people have a great time when everything goes well? That’s satisfying, in its own way. I might not save any lives, but I like to think I’ve created a few good memories.’
‘I’m sure you have, Cassie – and as I’m learning as I get older, and as I see my mother decline, creating memories is quite a gift. No matter how big your home, how impressive your title, at the end of the day it’s the memories that matter.’
He sounds melancholy, but then gives me smile so dazzling that it feels like the sun coming out.
‘Come on,’ he says, ‘Enough lollygagging. I’ve saved the best ’til last – the ballroom.’
I’m not at all sure what lollygagging is, but I murmur the word as I follow him, enjoying the feel of it on my lips.
He leads us down another hallway, then sweeps open huge double doors, gesturing for me to go inside. At first I simply stand still and stare at my breath-taking surroundings. The room is vast, the high ceiling dotted with stunning chandeliers that sparkle into life when he presses a switch.
One entire side is made up of windows and doors leading out onto the terrace, with a to-die-for view of the landscaped gardens sweeping away into the distance. The night sky is so clear that every star looks like a jewel suspended in the air, and the moonlight turns the grass silver.
At the moment, it is largely bare, just a few items covered in dust cloths. I can tell that one of them is a grand piano, and when I pull another away I reveal an enormous cherry-wood cabinet that stretches almost as long as the wall it’s laid against.
‘Oh my goodness,’ I mutter, looking around me. It might be barren right now, but its bones are perfect. I can already see it restored to its rightful glory, a string quartet in one corner, tables with crisp white linen, vases of lilies scenting the air. I can picture a wedding, a party, a formal event – it’s big enough for anything at all. I can almost hear the chatter, feel the excitement, smell the flowers.
I walk to the middle of the room and start to spin, my arms out and flying, around and around and around until I’m giddy and giggling.
Charles stands and looks at me, a lopsided grin on his face as he watches my reaction.
‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’
‘Nice?’ I repeat, letting my head steady. ‘It’s notnice. Hot chocolate is nice. Baby bunnies are nice. This is…staggering! When was it last used?’
‘As a ballroom? Gosh, that’s going back a while. I vaguely remember there being an event when I was a child, maybe about nine or ten. I’m not sure what it was for, but it was packed – family, friends, everyone we’d ever met. But I was a kid, and the grown-ups all seemed frightfully stuffy and boring. I was more interested in sneaking off to watch TV, but was forced to endure it for an hour, all smartened up in my own suit and tie. My sister Vanessa – she was a few years older than me – was a terror all night, dressed up like a lady but acting like a monster. She spent the whole evening sneaking wine, then swiped a decanter of port to take back to her room.’
He smiles as she says this, but it is another puzzle for me to ponder. Allegra said she’d found me in ‘Vanessa’s secret garden’when she first met me, but Charles also said he had no siblings. I can only imagine that for some reason, she is not part of their lives anymore. There are smatterings of framed family pictures in the Blue Room, but I haven’t as yet fully examined them – maybe I’ll find her there.
He seems to realise what he’s said, and quickly changes the subject. ‘So, this could work, couldn’t it? For events?’
‘Of course! It’s wonderful. In summer, everyone could spill out onto the terrace. In winter, you might get snow and it would look amazing. Everything about it works. It just needs a little spruce up. I think you could even just use it for dancing – you have that show here, don’t you, where celebrities learn how to foxtrot and tango? It’s calledDancing with the Starsback home, and it’s made the whole ballroom thing popular again.’
‘Yes, it’sStrictly Come Dancinghere – beloved of millions. Maybe you’ve got a point. If we could get the funding, we could even perhaps hire some of the professionals, offer weekends with lessons and dance parties?’
‘Exactly! I’d be up for that – I’ve always wanted to learn to dance, and I’d feel like a princess if I got to do it in a room like this.’
‘I see. Well, Princess Cassie, your wish is my command – I happen to be an expert ballroom dancer. Part of my education. It’s an excellent way to clear your mind, I’ve found.’
He takes out his phone, and frowns in concentration as he looks at the screen. I see a smile break out on his face, and he presses play. I’d expected some strings or something classical, but instead it’s a song that I quickly recognise from one of theTwilightfilms, ‘A Thousand Years’ by Christina Perri. It’s deliciously tender, and I feel a little thrill run up my spine as it begins.
I was technically way too old for theTwilightfilms when they came out, but I’d been sucked into the book series a few yearsearlier, when I was still clinging to my teens. The movies might not be considered cool these days, but they’re a guilty pleasure, and I can’t help feeling swept away in the music.
Charles moves closer, and tells me we’re going to try a waltz, and that he’s put the music on repeat so we have plenty of time. His right hand goes to my back, and he gently pulls me close. He takes my left hand, and places it up on his shoulder, and holds my other one high.
He grins at me, and says: ‘We’re in hold. You’ve made it through step one.’
‘The trouble will start when I move,’ I reply, laughing.
I’ve watched the show, and I’ve danced around on my dad’s feet – though not for many years obviously – so I have a rough idea of what the waltz is, and know that it is done to counts of three. Still, watching it and doing it are two very different things.
‘Just trust me,’ he says, ‘and follow my lead. I’m going to move my left foot forward, so you move yours back. Then sideways with my right, and we close the gap. So, left forward, side right, close, then the opposite. Whatever I do, you mirror it. It’s a lot less complicated then it sounds, honestly. Don’t forget to breathe!’
