Save the Last Dance (20 page)

A loud gasp from someone in the audience caused Allegra to pause as she finished her curtain call. The stage lights were so bright she couldn't see much past the edge of the stage, but Stephen was looking off to the left now, and some of the other dancers were pointing in that direction. She squinted and tried to adjust her eyes to the gloom beyond the footlights.

A murmur now, rumbling across the stalls, and then another louder collective intake of breath. Any residual applause died away. What on earth was happening out there?

Suddenly there was movement at the back of the auditorium—a couple of the security guards—and then the house lights came up. What was it? A fire? Then why hadn't the safety curtain come down? Why wasn't the alarm sounding? Allegra took a step and leaned forwards, trying to see what all the fuss was about.

That was when she saw the idiot dangling from the
outside
of one of the second tier boxes, one arm gripping the railing, one foot straining for the railing of the box below.

Insane! The man was literally insane.

Something else, too. Something that made her heart contract with an unwanted association. He was also fearless.

A lump rose in her throat. Tonight of all nights, some nutter had to go all Tarzan and remind her of
him.

It might have been entertaining for those watching if the man hadn't slipped just then, only narrowly saving himself by balancing one foot, then the other on the edge of the Grand Tier balcony and hanging grimly onto the curved brass stem of one of the shaded lights nestled in the plasterwork.

That was when Allegra dropped the large bouquet she'd been holding and pressed her hands to her mouth.

There was only one man daft enough on this planet to try something so stupid.

Finn McLeod.

She held her breath as he nodded his greeting to the shocked occupants of the box he'd landed on and continued his descent past them to the stalls.

Allegra didn't know what to do, what to think. Yes, she'd seen the story in that morning's paper about Finn and Natalie's split, but while that was current gossip to the rest of the nation, to her and Finn it was old news. It didn't change anything. So why was he here?

The sudden realisation of what he must have been doing—who he must have been watching—directly before he'd started his unconventional journey to the stalls hit her.

He'd seen her dance?

Now her hands moved to cover her face completely. If throwing herself at him on the beach hadn't been bad enough, he'd just witnessed her pouring the contents of her pathetic little heart out. It really was too humiliating.

The sounds of a scuffle and muffled shouting made her peel her fingers from her face. The security guards were now attempting to haul Finn off to the back of the auditorium where they'd be able to wrestle him down the stairs and out of view of the rubber-necking audience.

But Finn broke away and started to run towards the stage. Not for long, however. There were two of them and only one of him, and they hadn't just climbed down the outside of two balconies, so it didn't take them too long to restrain him again.

‘Allegra!' he yelled as the guards dragged him to the top of the aisle.

The outraged whispering that had been steadily increasing in volume since Finn had hit the floor suddenly ceased.

‘Crazed fan,' someone muttered behind her.

Allegra tried to get her tongue to work, but it just didn't want to cooperate.

They were almost there now, at the top of the stairs, and Finn would disappear in a few seconds, probably to spend the night in a police cell.

She took one last step forward. Stephen grabbed her arm but she shook him off.

‘Wait!' she shouted and more than two thousand faces, which had all been facing the back of the auditorium, now swivelled to look at her. She swallowed.

‘I know him,' she said, and her voice sounded breathless and scratchy, as if she hadn't used it for some time. ‘It's okay.'

The two guards looked at each other and, while they weren't one hundred per cent focused on him, Finn slipped from their grasp. He stood up, straightened his terminally wrinkled clothing, patted one of the guards on the shoulder in a matey gesture of thanks and then began walking down the aisle towards her.

A bony hand grabbed at his sleeve and Finn almost brushed it away, but then he turned and saw its owner—an elderly lady with her white hair pulled tight into a bun at the top of her head. She thrust a cellophane-wrapped rose at him.

‘Here, young man, I have a feeling you might be needing this.'

Finn nodded his thanks and carried on his journey, even though he knew a whole forest of red roses might not be enough to repair the damage he'd caused.

Allegra was standing right at the front of the stage, her hands loose by her sides. As he approached, she moved to the right of the stage, her back straight, until she was directly opposite the end of the aisle. He encountered a problem in the shape of the orchestra pit, but decided the most direct path was probably the best, and hopped over the barrier, narrowly missing a couple of the string section, and continued his journey.

It was awfully quiet, reminding him of when the crew had that instinct for when he was about to do something really stupid or really spectacular, and neither he nor they knew which until he did whatever he was going to do. Couldn't someone cough or rustle a sweet wrapper?

She looked so different like this, even close up. Instead of the messy ponytail he'd got used to, her hair was glossy and flowing. Her sun-kissed face was blanched with make-up. There were large dark sweeps of eyeliner both above and below her eyes and her mouth was blood-red. She almost seemed like another creature.

It was all wrong, wasn't it? Him coming here, making a fool of himself? He should just turn around and leave.

But then he spotted the tiny raised bumps on her arms and shoulders, insect bites that not even the stage make-up had been able to hide, and he began to smile.

He took his last step so he was standing at the footlights staring up at her. Her hand flew to her ribcage and stayed there. Complete silence blanketed the auditorium. She looked at him, fear and joy warring for pride of place in those large blue eyes.

He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to stuff his fists in his pockets. ‘This grand enough for you?'

Allegra blinked and her mouth worked. ‘Maybe,' she said finally.

He shook his head, not knowing what to say, where to start, so he handed her the rose and she clutched it to her torso with both hands.

‘More flowers would have been better,' she said.

Finn shrugged, a crazy lightness surging up inside him. ‘You know me—not a big planner. Tend to work with the resources at hand.'

Was that a glimmer of amusement in her eyes? He hoped so. Just the possibility gave him the guts to carry on.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘Fell off a cliff again. Made a
really
stupid choice.'

There. A spark of hope in those blue irises. It lit a fire inside him and he hitched his mouth into a half smile, told her all about it with his eyes, and saw her receive and understand.

But he knew that wasn't enough. Some things needed to be said out loud.

He glanced over his shoulder briefly. Just hadn't expected so many straining ears in attendance when he finally got up the courage to say it.

‘I love you, too.'

Allegra's lip quivered, and Finn got a horribly unfamiliar stinging sensation at the backs of his eyeballs.

‘And I'm sorry I ran away. It was a stupid thing to do.'

She began to smile, slow warmth spreading her lips into a delicious curve. ‘I know all about that,' she said softly. ‘But running away sometimes has unexpected bonuses.'

Was it still quiet in the auditorium? Because Finn couldn't tell. The pounding in his ears had drowned it all out.

Allegra's gaze sharpened and became more intense. ‘Tell me to jump, Finn.'

‘Jump?' he said, suddenly very confused.

Too late to work out what she'd meant; she'd done it. With a bend of the knees and a push of the feet, she'd left the stage and a flying ballerina was heading straight towards him.

This time, however, he caught her.

And then he lowered her to the floor, making sure he kept her tightly in his arms. To have and to hold. Suddenly, he realised what a wonderful concept that was, what an amazing adventure that would be, so he used his lips to do something far more productive than talk. He used them to taste. To share his vision for the future. To promise.

Noise erupted around them. Finn opened half an eye and closed it again. Seemed as if Allegra Martin had just got her second standing ovation of the evening. But this time he was sharing it with her and that was fine by him. The noise around them only reflected what he was doing on the inside.

She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, pulled him deeper. He didn't resist. This was how it should be from now on. They were in this together now. Whatever crests and troughs life threw at them. What a fool he'd been.

‘Allegra?'

She prised her lips from his and half-opened one eye. ‘Mmm-hmm?'

‘You mustn't let me be so stupid ever again.'

And she didn't, of course.

* * * * *

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
old oyster-coloured satin had the most wonderful texture—smooth, but not slippery like modern imitations, stiff and reassuringly heavy. Anyone who saw the cocktail dress would just itch to touch it—and that was what Alice did, letting her fingertips explore it fully, lingering on the crease of the sash as it folded into a bow just under the bustline. This wasn't just a dress. It was a piece of history—a work of art.

She placed it carefully on a padded floral hanger, then hooked the hanger on a rickety clothing rail at the side of the market stall. The next item she took out of the crate was totally different but just as fabulous: a black seventies maxi skirt—a good label—with velvet pile deep and soft enough to get lost in and just not care.

‘We're never going to get the stall set up if you don't get a move on.'

She looked up at her best friend and soon-to-be business partner Coreen.

Today Coreen looked as if she'd stepped right out of the pages of a nineteen-fifties ad for washing machines or toasters. She wore a red and white polka-dot dress with a full skirt, her dark hair was coiled into a quiff at the front, and a
bouncy ponytail swished at the back as she carefully arranged gloves, little beaded evening bags and shoes on the velvet-draped trestle table that made up the main part of Coreen's Closet—vintage clothing stall
par excellence
.

In comparison, Alice looked positively ordinary. Like many of the other market traders, she'd gone for warmth and comfort over style. Her legs, as always, were covered in denim, and an old, battered pair of trainers graced her feet. Coreen had already made fun of the oversized bottle-green fleece she'd stolen from one of her older brothers. Okay, so she wasn't the epitome of style, but she didn't stand out either. She
was
ordinary. Completely average. No point trying to kid anyone any different.

‘Hey, Gingernut!'

Alice sighed and looked up to find the man that everyone at Greenwich market knew only as ‘Dodgy Dave' grinning at her.

‘Cheer up, love. It might never happen!' he said in his usual jolly manner.

Too late. It already had. Exactly six weeks and two days ago. Not that she was going to tell Dodgy Dave all about her broken heart.

‘I wasn't…I was just…'

She waved a hand. Ugh—who cared? It was easier to play along than to explain. She beamed back at Dave, and he gave her a thumbs up sign and carried on wheeling his stash of ‘antiques' to his stall.

Okay, there was one thing about her that wasn't ordinary—her hair. And though that sounded as if it was a good thing, it really wasn't. Some people were kind and called it red. The more imaginative of her acquaintances had even tried to say Titian or auburn with a straight face. The fact was it was just plain ginger.

Coreen snapped her fingers in front of Alice's face, and when Alice had focused on her properly she realised Coreen was giving her one of her looks.

‘You're not still mooning around over that useless Paul, are you?'

Thanks, Coreen.

Just for a few moments she'd lost herself in the texture and colours of these wonderful old clothes, but Coreen's blunt reminder had brought her back to earth with a bump. ‘We only broke up just over a month ago. A girl is allowed to lick her wounds, you know.'

Coreen just snorted. ‘I can't believe you didn't dump him first, after the whole kebab incident. I would have done.'

Alice sighed, regretting the fact she'd ever told Coreen about the disastrous evening when she'd got all dressed up to go out to dinner—she'd actually worn a
dress
—only to discover that Paul's idea of a treat was a new computer game and a greasy doner kebab. He'd flung the paper-wrapped kebab in her direction as he'd helped her nerdy flatmates set up the games console. It had landed in her lap and left an unsightly grease stain on the brand-new dress. And he hadn't even noticed when she'd disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutes, cross with herself for welling up over something so stupid.

At least Paul had
tried.
How could he have known that she'd been hoping for a romantic dinner rather than a boys' night in? She'd never complained before.

But, still….

Okay, she hadn't expected him to roll up in a limo and give her the princess treatment. But being treated like a
girl
for once might have been nice.

‘No wonder your luck with men is so awful,' Coreen said
as she pulled on a suede coat with a fur collar. ‘You should have “welcome” tattooed on your stomach, because you practically lie down and invite guys to walk all over you.'

Alice didn't look at Coreen. She craned her neck to look at one of the entrances to the market. It was just short of eleven on a Thursday morning—not their busiest day of the week, but someone had to stop and browse soon, surely? Hopefully, that would take Coreen's mind off lecturing her.

‘I do not invite men to walk all over me,' Alice said in a quiet but surprisingly defiant tone, well aware that Coreen would have no trouble kicking just about any man into line with her pillar-box red patent peep-toes wedges. Vintage, of course.

Coreen cocked her head to one side. Her curls bounced. ‘You
so
do.'

It was no good. Coreen would never get it. She was vivacious and sassy with a glint in her eye and a wiggle in her walk that could stop traffic. Alice knew that for a fact, because she'd once witnessed that same wiggle cause a minor collision down Greenwich High Street. Coreen didn't know what it was like to be as interesting to men as last year's wallpaper.

And, while Paul had not been Coreen's cup of tea, Alice had thought he was lovely. A little bit too into his computer games, and not one for grand gestures, granted, but she'd really liked him. She'd even thought she might have been on the verge of falling in love with him. How stupid. All the time he'd been pining for his ex-girlfriend, and had ended up going back to her. All Alice had fallen into was moping around at home, eating chocolate and feeling rejected and foolish.

‘Sometimes when you're in a relationship you have to be prepared to compromise,' she said, hoping desperately that one of the other regular stallholders would wander over for a chat now they were all set up.

No, Alice was a realist. Men weren't even going to press slightly harder on their brake pedals when she walked down the street, let alone swear undying love or promise to bring her all her dreams on a silver platter. But maybe she'd find a nice guy to settle down with eventually.

She frowned. No, ‘settle' wasn't the right word. It made it seem as if she
wanted
to settle—which she didn't. She still had dreams. But maybe they weren't as glitzy as the next girl's. Prince Charming could keep his castle and his fairy kingdom. Alice would be happy with an average Joe who just wanted an average Jill to share his life with.

But how did she explain all of that to quirky Coreen, who not only expected but demanded all-out devotion from the men in her life?

‘Hey.' An arm came round her shoulders and she smelled Coreen's lavender perfume. ‘Just don't forget that even though relationships need compromise, it shouldn't be just
you
doing all the compromising—okay?'

That sounded fine in theory, but no man was ever going to be bowled over by her looks. And if you didn't have looks, you needed a great personality to make a good first impression. Alice didn't think she did too badly in that department, but she was a little shy, and it took her time to relax around people she didn't know and let them get to know her properly. And not many of the guys she met were willing to sit around and hang on a girl's every word unless she had the
looks.
Basically it was a vicious circle Alice had no part in.

But she had discovered one weapon in her arsenal when it came to interacting with members of the opposite sex. One she'd stumbled upon quite by accident…

Somewhere around her fourteenth birthday she'd discovered she'd suddenly become invisible to the male species.
They'd all been too busy being at the mercy of their hormones and drooling after girls who had more, should she say,
obvious
appeal. But Alice had worked out a way to be around guys. She'd become one of them. Almost.

It hadn't been hard. Somehow she'd never got the hang of doing all those unfathomable, girly things that tied teenage boys' brains in knots and drove them insane. So, while she was busy being their buddy, boys got to know her. And when the divas dumped them, they asked her out instead. It hadn't really been a grand plan. Just a pattern she'd noticed and hadn't done anything to discourage.

All her ex-boyfriends had said they liked her calm, straightforward nature. ‘You're so easy to be with,' they'd said, and had laughed about how they'd raced around like headless chickens trying to live up to their previous girlfriends' whims and finally exhausted themselves.

Men didn't have to walk on eggshells around her. She could be friends with them. And friendship was a solid base for something more permanent. The ‘obvious' girls might be good for the short term, but when it came to the long haul Alice knew other qualities came into play. Qualities she had in spades—loyalty, honesty, supportiveness.

She turned to look at Coreen. Okay, Paul maybe hadn't been The One after all, and it probably
was
time to look forward to the future, concentrate on her work instead of her love life.

‘Believe me, Corrie, I'm not mooning around about anything other than these clothes.'

Coreen grinned and clapped her on the back. ‘That's the spirit! But you can't daydream about every piece you hang up, you know.' She took the skirt from Alice and slung it on a hanger. ‘And it's a good idea not to fall too much in love with the stock. Yes, it's fabulous, but when someone comes
and pays cold hard cash for it I'll be waving each piece bye-bye with a smile on my face.'

Alice nodded. She knew Coreen was right. This was a business—a business she was on the verge of buying into. But falling in love with the clothes was what it was all about, surely? It couldn't hurt to just…
flirt
with them a little, could it?

‘We've got a business to run,' Coreen said, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Alice shrugged. ‘Technically—until we get the money together for a lease on a shop—
you've
got a business to run. Until then I'm not your partner. I'm just moonlighting from my “proper” job, as my dad calls it.'

Coreen made a dismissive little snort and Alice smiled. That was what she loved about her one-of-a-kind friend. Only Coreen would consider hauling second-hand clothes around the markets of south-east London a proper job, and Alice's home-grown IT consultancy a waste of time.

Actually, Alice's ‘proper' job was coming in rather handy at present. Not only was she able to set her own hours, leaving her free to help Coreen out and learn the vintage clothing business, but some of the small companies she did computer troubleshooting for paid her nicely for being at their beck and call. All her spare cash was going into the start-up fund for their dream—Coreen's Closet in bricks and mortar, with a stockroom and a small office. A place where Gladys and Glynis, the two battered mannequins that Coreen had rescued from a skip, could stand in the warm and dry, safe from the danger of being toppled by blustery autumn winds.

At that moment, another gust blew through the market. Although they were in a courtyard with a corrugated roof, surrounded by small shops, Greenwich market was basically an open-air affair, and the wind still whistled through the access
alleyways and pillared entrances. Alice pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, and Coreen pulled her coat around her and stamped her feet. Braving the elements was part of the life of a market trader, even if you dealt in old furs and satins, so all in all it was a very ordinary day—and Alice was totally unprepared for what happened next.

Coreen had been to an estate clearance the day before, and had brought back some truly amazing pieces, obviously hoarded by a woman whose children didn't see the designer labels she'd tucked away in the back of her wardrobe as a useful part of their legacy. Some people were like that. They could only think of vintage fashion as wearing other people's clothes, and would never see the inherent beauty of the pieces they were on the verge of throwing away or cutting up for rags.

The satin cocktail dress and the velvet skirt were only part of that haul. Alice carefully lifted a peacock-blue taffeta evening cape out of the box, and when she saw what was underneath it she froze. There they were, just sitting there—the perfect pair of shoes.

She'd been on a steep learning curve about the history of fashion since she'd first met Coreen, but she knew enough to date this pair of evening sandals somewhere in the early fifties. They were the softest black suede and hardly worn. They were elegant, plain—apart from a small diamanté buckle on one side—with a slingback strap. But it was the heels that made the shoes unique. They were totally transparent. Not dull, cheap plastic, though. They were hard and solid, and reflected the light like glass.