Page 65 of Under a Dancing Star

We move across the terrace accompanied by Hero’s high, breathless stream of chatter and Klaus’s animated answers to her questions. The excitement of the evening has got hold of us all. We’re giddy with it. And why not? We’re in fairyland. It feels unreal, like a dream.

A sound breaks through my daze – the scattered, birdsong sound of a fiddle striking up a tune. I hadn’t noticed the ramshackle band setting up, and when they pick up their instruments the air hums with excitement. A lithe, graceful young man with a flashing white smile lowers a bow to his violin and a wild and joyful melody skitters through the air to howls of approval. The crowd begins clearing a space for dancing immediately.

“Well…” Ben lifts an eyebrow. “Surely you didn’t get all dressed up like that to stand around. Will you dance with me?”

“Of course,” I say, stepping into the circle of his arms. “I’d love to.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Ben holds me close while we dance, and I think about what a good thing it is to twirl about in someone’s arms under the stars. I’ve never been particularly interested in dancing before, but it suddenly seems like a wonderful idea.

“Whoever invented dancing should get a medal,” says Ben, echoing my thoughts.

“I think we’ve always danced,” I say dreamily. “Homer wrote about dancing in the Iliad, you know. That’s almost three thousand years ago. But every society must have danced long before that, though of course it’s harder to find evidence.”

“Perhaps dancing makes us human,” Ben suggests with a smile.

I pull back a little. “Oh no, Ben,” I say firmly, “plenty of birds dance. After all, one only has to look at the grebe…”

I stop because Ben is laughing, holding me so close that I can feel the laughter rumble in his chest. I look up at him, and his eyes are crinkled around the edges.

“I’m just glad we’re including dancing in the experiment,” he says.

“What are your observations?” I ask.

“I observe that your cheeks are flushed.” He runs a finger down the side of my face. “That your eyes are sparkling, and that we haven’t stepped on each other’s toes. I would call that a success.”

His arm is tight around my waist and my hand rests on his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt soft against my fingertips.

The music changes and Ben twirls me suddenly, setting the world spinning around me, a kaleidoscope of light and sound. The melody is shrill and exciting, a heady cacophony of sound, full of life. Some of the songs that follow have words, and the Italians burst into a loud, enthusiastic singalong that I ask Ben to translate for me. I’m not sure if he is teasing me or if the lyrics really are as scandalous as he claims, but either way it’s a very interesting lesson in social behaviour.

“I should go and talk to people about my work,” Ben murmurs reluctantly in my ear. “Will you save me another dance later?”

“Perhaps,” I say.

With a rueful smile, Ben drops his hand from my waist and takes a step back. The air that rushes between us is cool and I feel curiously bereft, as if my body is registering the absence of his touch.

But then, after Ben, I have another dance partner and another and another. “My dance,” they say. “My dance, my dance.” I’ve never been so much in demand, and I try to concentrate on enjoying myself. After a while I forget to try, caught up in the easy excitement of the crowd.

I notice that Klaus chats easily with the musicians in between songs, paying particular attention to the handsome violinist. The two of them smile at one another in a way that is warm and intimate. How interesting.

I feel like a spinning top, as the music rings out and the lights blur around me. After a while I find myself in Klaus’s arms and he greets me as though we’ve been apart for months, pressing warm kisses to my cheeks. Finally, after yet another dance, I’ve had enough, and I leave him with a new partner, as I head off in search of food and water.

I come across Hero sitting at the dining table, her chin in her hand, her eyes on the decadent scenes unfolding in front of her. She looks as though she’s at the pictures, watching quietly from the darkness as the light spills towards her.

“Are you having fun?” I ask, sitting down in the seat beside her and reaching for a hunk of bread topped with oily tomatoes and sweet-smelling basil leaves.

“So much fun,” Hero breathes. “Isn’t it wonderful, Bea? You’d never see anything like this in boring old England.”

“Certainly not the England that we inhabit anyway,” I agree, licking my fingers.

“I hope we never have to leave here,” Hero says. Something sad comes into her eyes. “I think … I think maybe Pa is getting homesick.”

“Perhaps it’s just spending time with Lady Bowling and Sir Hugh,” I say, in what I hope is a comforting way. “That’s bound to remind him of home. When they leave everything will go back to normal.” The truth is, I suppose, that Leo feels separate to all this. It’s as though he’s already back in the polite drawing rooms of England.

“I suppose.” Hero doesn’t sound completely convinced. Her gaze strays towards Klaus, who is now twirling Ursula around, her gold dress rippling like a beacon. I can already see several other men prowling around the edge of the dance floor waiting to pounce once the song ends. “Klaus is handsome, isn’t he?” she asks, changing the subject with a moonstruck sigh.

“He is,” I agree.