hope because then the disappointment wouldn’t be so great. But it was in her nature to be optimistic, and she looked so good now that it was impossible to stifle it.
It was almost eight when she left her room. There was the sound of voices echoing up from the hall as some guests arrived. Tiffany walked to the top of the staircase and stood there a moment, watching as Calum and his grandfather greeted their guests. It was like watching a film: the richly dressed people, the voices and laughter, the beautiful setting; Tiffany could hardly believe that she was to play a part in it, be a part of it.
Then Chris and Francesca came into the hall, arm in arm, laughing. Francesca let go and ran to kiss an elderly guest on the cheek. Chris followed, but something made him glance up and he saw Tiffany. He stood still, just as Calum followed his glance. For a supremely wonderful moment both cousins seemed frozen, gazing up at her. But then Tiffany smiled and came lightly down the stairs towards them.
Chris stepped back and let his cousin greet her. Calum took her hand and held it. ‘You look enchanting.’ His eyes smiled, were warm.
‘Yes, that dress suits you.’ Francesca came over and put a familiar hand on Calum’s shoulder. ‘Grandfather wants to know who Tiffany is. What shall we tell him, Tiffany?’
Outwardly Francesca was as warm and friendly as ever, but Tiffany’s feminine intuition was tuned as finely as a Stradivarius and she immediately sensed a hidden antipathy in the other girl. Easy to sense but not easy to explain. Is she jealous because I look good? Tiffany wondered. Is she so vain that she doesn’t like it if someone outclasses or equals her in looks? Tiffany decided it must be that, although Francesca, in a stunning silver sheath-dress, was just as eye-catching as she’d been that afternoon. Tiffany could understand feminine jealousy and dismissed it from her mind; she was determined to enjoy herself for once and wasn’t about to let Francesca’s petty emotions spoil it.
Calum took her over to meet his grandfather, introducing her merely as a friend, and then took her into the drawing-room where he got her a drink. She met his other cousin, Lennox, with his wife Stella, who was wearing a rich red maternity gown that really looked good on her. ‘I suppose I would have looked more respectable in a dark colour,’ she confided to Tiffany, ‘but those might give my baby a sombre feeling and I want him to be warm and happy.’
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