My Oxford Year(64)

“I give up.” Charlie sighs, turning to me. “Right. To the bar. Statistically, there’s not enough alcohol in the world to make watching that”—he gestures dismissively toward our friends—“comfortable, but I shall happily endeavor to prove the exception.” He leaves.

Jamie turns to me and extends an arm. “Shall we?”

About to answer, I catch a glimpse of Cecelia. She’s watching the dancing couples, wearing a slightly melancholy, nostalgic look. I nudge Jamie and tip my head at her. He quirks his head at me. I try again. He quirks further. I incline my entire head in Cecelia’s direction. He gets it this time. “Ce?” She turns that serene face to him. “Would you care to dance?”

I half expect her to demur, but her face lights up, a smile emanating from it. She nods quickly, almost embarrassed. “So much.”

Jamie offers his arm and she gratefully takes it. As I watch them step out onto the dance floor I can’t believe how happy I suddenly am. Against all reason, given the circumstances, how blisteringly happy I am in this moment, watching these people I’ve come to care about congregate on a dance floor. There’s something magical about it.

On a sigh, I turn to go find Charlie, and run straight into William.

“Whoa!” I cry, keeping control of my glass as I step back from his battering ram of a chest. “Sorry.”

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says.

“No, it’s fine!” I remind myself to smile. “I was just on my way to—”

“Dance with me.” He offers his arm, looks out at the dance floor.

“I’d love to.” And I mean it. Mostly. I want to start over with him, get to know him. I set my drink on a table.

Just as I extend my hand to him, my purse vibrates. Shit. “Sorry,” I say to William, and his head turns toward me. “I just need to . . .” I dig my phone out and look at the display. Gavin. Of course. “I’ll be quick.”

“I’ll wait,” William says, looking back out, something ominous in that declaration. I wince apologetically, but he doesn’t see it.

Yes, it’s a Saturday night, and yes, I’m at a ball at a palace in England, but this is who I am. I’m the person who takes the call. Besides, I know what it’s about and it’ll be quick. “Gavin.”

“Did you see the numbers I sent?”

“I did.” In the limo on the way over here. “They’re great.”

“Just great?” He sounds so excited I have a feeling he might be a few Manhattans into his evening.

“A net positive favorable—even a net twenty—doesn’t matter when it’s hypothetical,” I say. I glance at William. He’s assessing the crowd, but I can practically see his ear tuned to me like a dog’s. “We’re basically asking people if they’d vote for Santa Claus over the Tooth Fairy. It’s fiction.” I catch the beginning of a reluctant grin on William’s face. Boldly, I raise my voice a little. Am I preening? Sure. “Come on, Gavin, you’re supposed to be the battle-worn vet who doesn’t count chickens, I’m supposed to be the doe-eyed idealist.”

Gavin laughs. “Oh, what do you know, you’re just the doe-eyed education consultant.”

“Then why’d you send me the numbers?” I fire back. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because you’re the only one I know will answer.” There’s a moment of quiet and I swear I hear ice clinking in a glass. It’s five P.M. on a Saturday and Janet’s probably in Florida with her boyfriend and youngest son. Thrice-divorced Gavin is calling me. “You’re doing good, kid,” he says. “Really. You’re doing good—no, you’re doing great—work for us.”

“Thank you,” I say, stealing another glance at William.

“We’re gonna need you in the administration.”

Weirdly, my ears heat. Just my ears, just a rush of anticipatory blood to a random part of me. I laugh it off. “Don’t start measuring the drapes for the Oval just yet.”

He chuckles. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I got a list of possible hires I wanna run by you.” Per usual, he doesn’t say good-bye. He’s just gone.

I slip my phone back into my purse. I turn to William and tap his arm, and he looks as if he’s surprised to see me there, as if he hasn’t been listening to my entire conversation. An actor, he is not. “Sorry about that.”

“Quite all right,” he says, and offers his arm to me. I tuck my hand into his elbow and we move to the periphery of the dancing crowd. William turns to me, taking my right hand lightly in his. My left immediately goes to his shoulder and his other hand finds my waist. I send a silent thanks to my mother for making me take ballroom dance as an elective sophomore year.

I scan the crowd for Jamie and Cecelia, but they must have drifted to the other side of the floor. I see that Maggie and Tom have inched closer, but they gaze in opposite directions, glancing at each other occasionally and then looking away quickly if they happen to meet the other’s eye. Needless to say, they don’t speak. I peer at William, hoping he’ll look back at me and smile. He does neither. So I study him. He’s quite striking for his age. He has Jamie’s jaw and shoulders. But his eyes are dark. Opaque. He begins rolling his neck, back and forth, like a boxer warming up for a fight. Before I can ask if he’s all right, he unclasps my hand and reaches for his bow tie. We pause in our dance as he struggles to loosen the knot without completely undoing it. “Damn constricting,” he mutters.