‘Do you realise we’ve never danced together once yet?’
‘But we can’t go anywhere like that in these clothes.’
That was true. He hadn’t thought of that. Well then, they would dress properly the next night and go and dance and dance.
Catherine sat back in the seat. Dance? She hadn’t danced for years, not since before her marriage with George—never since.
She told Christopher this, and he only laughed and said it was high time she did dance; he adored dancing; he longed to dance with her; they would often go.
‘Oh, Christopher,’ said Catherine, sliding close up to him, ‘the best thing of all will be being alone together at home, you and I, in your precious evenings. Won’t we go there now? Do we really want supper?’
‘Tired, darling?’ he asked, instantly anxious, stooping to look under her hat.
‘Oh no—not a bit. Not in the least. Really not,’ said Catherine quickly. ‘But—our first evening—it’s so lovely at home——’
He hung out of the window and redirected the driver. ‘Yes. Of course,’ he said, taking her in his arms. ‘That’s far and away the best of all——’
And they began to whisper.