the lights. It looked like the entire building had been covered in stars, which shone so brightly they almost eclipsed the full moon that glowed like
a large silver dollar above the towering ornate chimneys. The central piece of the circular entrance was an impressive gilded staircase that swept up in two curving flights meeting on a landing in
front of a wide arched window before parting again. A dazzling crystal chandelier hung above Bridie’s head and she couldn’t help but remember Castle Deverill and the preparations for
the Summer Ball, when the servants would help take down the chandeliers in the ballroom and lay out every little piece of glass on a vast cloth on the floor in order to polish them until they shone
like diamonds.
At the far end of the ballroom a jazz band of black musicians led by Fletcher Henderson was positioned on a stage and their energizing music echoed off the walls. The floor was already crowded
with fashionable people drinking champagne from crystal flutes and cocktails from slim-stemmed glasses. There were Martinis and cosmopolitans and cherries on sticks, and no one gave a thought to
Prohibition; if anything, it made the party all the more exiting. Some of the revellers had already begun to dance. Women with feathers and headbands, strings of beads and pearls, fringes and
tassels, short dresses, short hair and short attention spans were like exotic birds among the men in bow ties and slicked-back hair. Laughter and conversation rose above the sound of brass and drum
and Bridie and Elaine threw themselves into the thick of it. It seemed to Bridie that Elaine knew everyone, but it soon transpired that most people had already heard of the infamous Mrs Lockwood.
It wasn’t long before they had glasses of champagne and a crowd around them of admiring suitors all vying for a dance.
‘Look, darling, there’s Noel Coward talking to Gertrude Lawrence and Constance Carpenter. I wonder what they’re plotting?’ said Elaine, gazing at the famous English
playwright and actresses with curiosity. ‘Wouldn’t you just love to be able to eavesdrop on their conversation?’
‘I only have eyes for the luscious Mrs Lockwood,’ said a young man who had introduced himself as Frank Linden.
Bridie gave him a quizzical smile. ‘You’re presumptuous,’ she said tartly.
‘How so? Is it so wrong to tell a woman she’s a doll?’ he replied. He watched her blush then added, ‘Dance with me?’
She let her eyes wander over the dancers. Everyone looked as if they were having the most wonderful time. ‘All right,’ she replied, handing Elaine her empty champagne flute.
Frank took her hand and threaded through the crowd into the middle of the throng just as the band started to play ‘Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby’. A roar went up and a great surge
of people flooded the dance floor. Bridie was good at dancing. Ever since she had been swung around the kitchen by her father in Ballinakelly she had loved moving to music. There was nothing more
exciting than jazz and she danced energetically while Frank gazed at her with admiration.
Dinner was a banquet of mouth-watering dishes, each one more beautifully presented than the last. Bridie drank more champagne, she had lost count of just how many times her glass had been
refilled, and sat down to eat at a round table with Frank, Elaine and a small group of Elaine’s friends. She noticed that Elaine was tipsier than usual, flirting outrageously with a young man
in a white tuxedo called Donald Shaw, patting his chest with a limp hand and laughing her throaty laugh at everything he said. Her headband had slipped on one side, almost over her left eye, and
her kohl had smudged a little, giving her a decadent look. Bridie was glad Mr Williams was not present to witness it. But she was too drunk on excitement and dizzy with champagne bubbles to worry
about Elaine.
It was very hot in the ballroom. The music vibrated in her ears, the alcohol made her
a large silver dollar above the towering ornate chimneys. The central piece of the circular entrance was an impressive gilded staircase that swept up in two curving flights meeting on a landing in
front of a wide arched window before parting again. A dazzling crystal chandelier hung above Bridie’s head and she couldn’t help but remember Castle Deverill and the preparations for
the Summer Ball, when the servants would help take down the chandeliers in the ballroom and lay out every little piece of glass on a vast cloth on the floor in order to polish them until they shone
like diamonds.
At the far end of the ballroom a jazz band of black musicians led by Fletcher Henderson was positioned on a stage and their energizing music echoed off the walls. The floor was already crowded
with fashionable people drinking champagne from crystal flutes and cocktails from slim-stemmed glasses. There were Martinis and cosmopolitans and cherries on sticks, and no one gave a thought to
Prohibition; if anything, it made the party all the more exiting. Some of the revellers had already begun to dance. Women with feathers and headbands, strings of beads and pearls, fringes and
tassels, short dresses, short hair and short attention spans were like exotic birds among the men in bow ties and slicked-back hair. Laughter and conversation rose above the sound of brass and drum
and Bridie and Elaine threw themselves into the thick of it. It seemed to Bridie that Elaine knew everyone, but it soon transpired that most people had already heard of the infamous Mrs Lockwood.
It wasn’t long before they had glasses of champagne and a crowd around them of admiring suitors all vying for a dance.
‘Look, darling, there’s Noel Coward talking to Gertrude Lawrence and Constance Carpenter. I wonder what they’re plotting?’ said Elaine, gazing at the famous English
playwright and actresses with curiosity. ‘Wouldn’t you just love to be able to eavesdrop on their conversation?’
‘I only have eyes for the luscious Mrs Lockwood,’ said a young man who had introduced himself as Frank Linden.
Bridie gave him a quizzical smile. ‘You’re presumptuous,’ she said tartly.
‘How so? Is it so wrong to tell a woman she’s a doll?’ he replied. He watched her blush then added, ‘Dance with me?’
She let her eyes wander over the dancers. Everyone looked as if they were having the most wonderful time. ‘All right,’ she replied, handing Elaine her empty champagne flute.
Frank took her hand and threaded through the crowd into the middle of the throng just as the band started to play ‘Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby’. A roar went up and a great surge
of people flooded the dance floor. Bridie was good at dancing. Ever since she had been swung around the kitchen by her father in Ballinakelly she had loved moving to music. There was nothing more
exciting than jazz and she danced energetically while Frank gazed at her with admiration.
Dinner was a banquet of mouth-watering dishes, each one more beautifully presented than the last. Bridie drank more champagne, she had lost count of just how many times her glass had been
refilled, and sat down to eat at a round table with Frank, Elaine and a small group of Elaine’s friends. She noticed that Elaine was tipsier than usual, flirting outrageously with a young man
in a white tuxedo called Donald Shaw, patting his chest with a limp hand and laughing her throaty laugh at everything he said. Her headband had slipped on one side, almost over her left eye, and
her kohl had smudged a little, giving her a decadent look. Bridie was glad Mr Williams was not present to witness it. But she was too drunk on excitement and dizzy with champagne bubbles to worry
about Elaine.
It was very hot in the ballroom. The music vibrated in her ears, the alcohol made her
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