There's No Accounting For Love

Chapter Fifty Two

The band struck up again and started to play rock 'n roll. They danced together for several dances and when the music stopped the band leader made an announcement.

"We are now holding a dance competition for the jive. Couples wishing to take part, please come to the dance floor."

"We can jive, mum taught us when we were small," said Clare. "Can you remember?"

"Yes, I think so." said Alan.

"Shall we have a go?"

"All right, I suppose we could try."

The music began and they danced together. It was a slow beginning, but as they got into the swing of it Alan remembered the steps and dancing with Clare was magical. She twirled round on fairy feet and he felt light headed as he held her hand and jived with her. After a few seconds he lost sight of the room and the people in it, as he became engrossed in the dance. All he could see was Clare and all he could hear was the music. When the dance was over, they were breathless. The band leader came forward and said "The prize for the best jive goes to...James Bond and his 'woman'!" And everyone clapped and whistled.

Clare smiled up at Alan as he took her hand and led her to the stage. "I don't believe it!" she whispered. "Neither do I." said Alan. The band leader put his arms around them both and said "For our handsome James Bond and his beautiful woman we have a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of wine." Again, everyone clapped and they thanked him and left the stage.

The photographer snapped them when they reached the dance floor. "What name?" he asked, writing on a piece of paper. "Harding." said Alan. "Porter." said Clare. "You're not married then? I was sure you were, you look so natural together." he replied. "Here's my card, the photographs will be ready in two days time." He left them and Alan led Clare back to their table, where Philip and Libby were waiting. "The photographer thought we were married." said Clare to Libby and Philip. Philip and Libby looked at one another and Alan felt himself blushing again. How he wished they were! Philip saved him by saying "You go back a long way, I expect people can sense it." Libby smiled at Philip and Alan knew what they were thinking. They both knew about his feelings for Clare. In fact, it sometimes felt like everyone knew, except Clare.

The evening was over and they were now waiting outside for their taxi. It had turned cold, but Alan hadn't thought to bring an overcoat. He began to shiver. Clare was more sensible and had brought a warm pashmina, which she'd thrown over her shoulders. She looked at her watch. "What time did you order the taxi for?" she asked. 

"What? I thought you..." 

"No, I thought you..." 

"Oh sh...shoot!"

They went inside and ordered a taxi and had to wait forty minutes for it to arrive. Then unfortunately, it broke down on the way home and they didn't get home until 3.40 am.

They were standing now inside the entrance of Clare's apartments and she was waiting for the lift.

"I've had a wonderful time, thank you so much. It was nice to meet Libby she's lovely and just perfect for Philip." "Don't forget the wine." said Alan. "I thought the whiskey was for me?" she replied. Alan was startled and she laughed. "Only joking, I'd much prefer the wine."

The lift arrived and Clare kissed his cheek and he handed her the wine. One last smile from Clare and the lift doors closed – and she was gone. In his apartment, Alan poured himself a whiskey. He'd had too much to drink already, but tonight he didn't care. Tonight, he'd almost declared his love. Tonight, he'd danced with Clare and won a dance competition. Tonight he had not ordered a taxi and then when he did order a taxi it had broken down on the way home and tonight... he'd almost murdered Patrick Harris!

'Quite an achievement', he thought, as he crawled into bed at five past four in the morning.