There's No Accounting For Love

Chapter Fifty One

On the evening of the Easter Ball, Alan was spellbound at the sight of Clare in her cherry red evening dress and although, unfortunately, there was no cleavage she looked ravishing. Her dark hair was curled up onto her head with a sparkly hair clip showing the nape of her neck, which looked very sexy. Alan felt comfortable in his James Bond outfit and had bought a toy pistol, which he'd placed in his pocket.

The taxi arrived on time and took them to the Country Club. A long queue had formed inside the entrance as each couple were formally introduced into the dance hall. As the queue dwindled down, Clare pulled a pair of glasses from her handbag and put them on. Alan was horrified.

"You can't wear those!" he shouted. "Take them off right now."

"Please don't shout. Miss Money Penny wears glasses." she said.

"You aren't wearing those hideous things." he said and he grabbed the glasses, accidentally scratching her face.

"Ow, that hurt." she said pushing him away.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

Clare was upset and Alan felt embarrassed. People behind them were staring.

"I can't be Miss Money Penny without them, so what will I be?" she asked.

By this time, they had reached the entrance to the dance hall.

"Who shall I introduce?" asked the usher.

"We're James Bond and um... his woman."

They were loudly introduced and Alan felt himself colour up. He didn't blush often, but somehow it always happened when he was with Clare. She certainly did something to him. Alan saw Clare roll her eyes upwards as they walked into the room. In a moment of complete madness (or so he thought afterwards) James Bond fell down on one knee and taking the pistol from his pocket, pretended to shoot people around the room. "Kapow, Kapow, Kapow" he shouted. He was about to get up when he collapsed onto the floor, a red hot pain shooting up his leg. Clare bent down towards him. "For goodness sake, get up. What are you playing at?" she hissed.

"Ah...ooh, don't just stand there. Ah! Go and get a chair." he whispered, rubbing his leg.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Ooh..." he rubbed vigorously. "It's cramp..." he said between groans.

"James Bond with cramp, yes, he's just about to jump out of the plane and he gets cramp... he's just about to swing from the bridge and he gets cramp...I've never heard the like."

She was angry with him already and the evening had hardly begun. As Alan continued to rub his leg, a small group of amused people gathered around him, including Patrick and Sabrina.

Eventually, James Bond recovered from his bout of cramp and he escorted his 'woman' nonchalantly to the Bar.

"What would you like?" he asked her.

"A much less embarrassing evening." she replied.

"Perhaps you'll forgive me if we win first prize." he said.

"That all depends what it is."

"£100 first prize, £50 for second and £25 for third." said Alan.

"That would be £50 each, so yes, I think I'll forgive you. We won't get first prize though, look at them all."

They were surrounded on all sides now by historical figures, a group of Star Trekkers and characters from stories and Nursery Rhymes... every costume worthy of a prize.