The Last Dance Read Online Free Page B

his Adam’s apple as though he knew he’d been caught in a lie.
    ‘Can you really imagine my situation? I suspect you’re not short of a penny and you certainly can’t be short of dance partners, so why you have to pay for it is anyone’s guess. That aside, how can a wealthy man possibly understand my situation? You are rich, aren’t you?’
    ‘I suppose.’
    She gave a murmur of disdain. ‘You suppose,’ she said softly. ‘There you go again.’
    He looked at her quizzically. ‘What am I doing again?’
    Stella added a cube of sugar and a splash of milk to her tea. She stirred gently with the silver spoon and focused on the whirlpool of bronze liquid. It felt dangerous to bait him but she was feeling in a careless frame of mind, knew the anger of self-pity was behind it and frustrated that he’d managed to unleash it again by encouraging her to talk about her situation.
    ‘You’re lying,’ she said, fixing him with an accusatory stare.
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘Monty – if that’s even your real name – let’s just share that I think you’d make a fine conjuror.’ He smiled uncertainly and she knew she’d hit a nerve. ‘You’re adept at finding out about me but you clearly don’t believe I’m owed your respect of telling the truth. I’ve been honest with you – too honest, I suspect – and while we don’t come from the same social backgrounds I don’t deserve your scorn. I’m nothing to you, I know that; a girl in a dance hall with dreams of making something of herself, who thinks sixpence is worth humiliating herself for.’ As she said it she knew she would never sell herself cheaply again. She could see his jaw grinding at her quietly spoken but heartfelt tirade as the steam from their drinks mingled, curling and twisting around each other from barely touched china. ‘Thank you for the tea but I’ll leave you to enjoy your coffee alone. Perhaps if you see Madge, you could let her know I found my way home.’
    He sat forward, about to say something.
    ‘No, please, really. I don’t need your money or a taxi. Goodnight . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, hoping in that final gesture he picked up that she already regretted her attack.
    ‘You’re right,’ he said, and then murmured something to her back that she didn’t catch.
    She turned. ‘Sorry?’
    ‘I said it’s not Monty . . . at least not the name I prefer.’
    Stella stared at him, waiting.
    ‘My name,’ he continued, ‘the one that people who loved me once called me by is Rafe.’
    Rafe. Now, that did sound like it belonged to him. Simple, elegant and as straightforward as his suddenly open expression appeared and her shoulders relaxed in apology to see a hint of horror in it.
    ‘I appreciate your telling me – wasn’t that hard, was it?’ She frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘Very few people know it. I’m frankly surprised I shared it.’
    ‘Why is your name a secret?’
    ‘It’s not,’ he said, standing, and she was aware – as surely were most of those envious women staring – again at how well the dress suit hung off his shoulders and hips. ‘It’s just . . . private.’ He took her arm. ‘Come on, I’ll see you into that taxi or I’ll hate myself forever.’ He signalled to the waiter and signed for their refreshments.
    ‘Do you have an account here?’ she said as they walked to the main entrance.
    He laughed. ‘No, but Fruity does.’ He helped her on with her coat. ‘I hope you have gloves?’
    She pulled the small leather pair from her coat pockets with a smile of triumph. ‘Fruity?’
    ‘Sorry. Basil. His surname is Peach, can you believe it? Poor fellow. School must have been hard for him.’ Stella chuckled, relieved that they would not part on her harsh words. He must have heard her thoughts. ‘I’m glad we could say farewell with a smile, Stella. I do regret making you feel anything but valued. If it’s any consolation, I loathe events like this,’ he said,