Love is for Ever by Barbara Rowan

ornamental lantern above it was opened to them, and inside they might have been in a luxurious private villa, which was what the place had actually once been, although it was now turned into a kind of club. The girls left their wraps in a cloakroom, and then rejoined their escorts in a big room where the tables were all discreetly arranged and softly lighted, and a clear place in the centre was plainly intended for dancing. There was also a kind of raised dais at the far end that was banked with flowers, and an orchestra was already playing softly when they entered, the low throbbing of guitars sending a kind of shivering pleasure through Jacqueline as soon as she heard it.
    For her the evening passed in a kind of dream of unreality, for from the outset it became plain that Martine had by no means completely relented towards Dominic following upon what must have been quite a serious quarrel during the morning; and no doubt because she thought it would hurt him badly—perhaps drive home to him the extent of her displeasure—she remained cool and indifferent towards him throughout the entire evening. And Dr. Barr, who had been invited—so Jacqueline had believed—to provide her with someone to talk and dance with, became the recipient of all the exquisite red-head’s carefully calculated smiles, and it was on him that she turned the full battery of her charms and conversation.
    While they dined, the conversation was more or less general, and Neville allowed his eyes to rest fairly often upon Jacqueline, in spite of Martine’s deliberate attempts to ensnare every glance from them for herself. But once couples started dancing it became obvious that Martine was having the effect upon him which was almost inevitable and Jacqueline’s claims to attention receded farther and farther into the background.
    Jacqueline and Dominic sat watching them as they circled the floor, the most finished pair of dancers moving in the softened rays of amber light. Martine drifted with the ease and grace of a professional, and somewhat to Jacqueline’s surprise Neville was quite obviously a highly accomplished dancer.
    She thought of her father, and his years at the clinic during which he had never danced, and it struck her not for the first time that Neville, stepping into his shoes, was as unlike him as it was possible to imagine, and really quite a fresh pair of shoes altogether.
    She became aware that Dominic was not watching the
    others, but was looking at her.
    “Would you like to dance?” he asked.
    She looked back at him almost in panic.
    “I told you I’ve danced so little! I—I’m not at all sure I won’t disgrace you!...”
    “Don’t worry,” he told her, smiling in the way she liked to see him smile best—gently, and as if she was something very young and rather rare—“I wouldn’t really mind if you did, but I’m quite sure you won’t!”
    Following upon which reassuring pronouncement she found herself in his arms, and gliding like the others over the polished floor.
    She became aware of a rising bubble of excitement and pleasure inside her. The moment his arm had actually slipped about her, and he had taken her hand, she had felt as if the breath caught and remained suspended for a few moments in her throat. And then, when she started to breathe again, she could actually feel the blood tingling in her veins as it coursed through them, and there was an excited quickening of her pulses.
    She discovered, to her infinite relief, that she could follow his steps perfectly, and in fact there was nothing at all difficult about dancing with him. She just happened to be a naturally good dancer herself, although she had never had a partner before who had caused her to realize that she was—and, in fact, there were few men, she was sure, who danced like Dominic.
    She had decided that Neville moved effortlessly, but Dominic was partly a Latin, and his Latin temperament supplied all the little differences that made his