Save the Last Dance (38 page)

At the time she'd just thought they were rats who'd gone
where the grass was greener, but perhaps she'd been uncharitable. At least all but Tim had been decent enough to break up with her
before
they'd started something with the new women in their lives. Maybe they'd just fallen in love and then realised that their undemanding, safe relationship with Alice wasn't all it had been cracked up to be.

She didn't grieve for the loss of any of them. Not any more.

But Cameron was a different matter.

She'd loved him. Still did. He was the one man who, when she looked at him, she meant it. And she'd sent him away. Too scared to see if maybe he meant it too.

While she'd stayed in her safe little bubble, being baggy-jumpered Alice who nobody ever looked at twice, she'd had hope. Hope that maybe she had the potential to be more, the potential to be really loved. But if she'd tried—stripped off all her defences and really tried—and Cameron had still moved on, then she'd have been crushed, knowing that if it didn't happen with him it wouldn't happen with anyone.

Had she hardened herself too much? Pushed him away too hard?

If he'd kept on sending her breakfast she might have had had the courage to ring him up right now, no matter what time it was. But the croissants and warm coffee had stopped coming, and she had no idea what he felt or what he was doing now. If she really wanted to find out she was going to have to dig up some strength from somewhere.

I'll be waiting…

The line from Cameron's note replaced Paul's words on the loop in her head.

Was it too late? Was he still waiting? Suddenly she really needed to know.

 

Coreen's voice was so loud that Alice had to hold her mobile phone away from her ear.

‘You need to get your butt up to the V&A, pronto. They've got a new exhibit in the fashion collection. It's fabulous—right up your street—and there's a little drinks thing and a private showing tonight, before it goes on public display tomorrow. Just give your name at the side entrance and they'll let you in.'

Alice had wondered where Coreen had been all afternoon, and now it was all starting to make sense. Until the shop opened just after Christmas they were continuing to run Coreen's Closet as an open-air enterprise. Monday was their day off after all the weekend markets. Personally, she'd already spent a long afternoon doing absolutely nothing, and could really use a distraction from staring out of the window and thinking about Cameron.

She'd composed an e-mail to him ten times. She'd deleted it ten times.

Perhaps these things needed to be said in person. In that case she'd have to wait until tomorrow and see if she could wangle an appointment out of Stephanie.

Her heart went into overdrive at the thought. What if she'd been right? What if Cameron had moved on to someone else? Someone even more elegant and stunning than Jessica—if that were possible.

‘Erm…
hello
? Earth to Alice!'

Alice jumped. ‘Sorry! Just drifted off for a bit. Thinking about this V&A thing…'

‘Of
course
that's what you were thinking about.' Coreen didn't sound convinced.

Alice decided to ignore the sarcasm and talk clothes. They'd rehashed the whole Cameron thing so many times now that even Alice was getting sick of hearing herself talk about it.

‘What will people be wearing?'

‘Pff! People…Who cares what anyone else is wearing? But vintage would be a good choice, given the opportunity to mingle with like-minded people.'

Alice picked up a stack of the business cards they'd had printed for the new shop. At least her professional life was going right; it was only her love life that had disappeared down the drain.

‘I know,' Coreen said. ‘The little blue mini-dress. The one with the matching jacket.'

It was a good choice, but Alice had something else in mind. It was high time she listened to her instincts and learned to choose outfits without Coreen's input. Coreen might sulk about that for a bit, but she had known this day would come. In the end she'd be pleased to see her protégé had spread her wings and learned to fly.

 

The Christmas lights were twinkling as Alice stepped out of South Kensington tube station. There was a Victorian tiled underpass that led to the cluster of museums situated on and around Cromwell Road, but she'd decided on fresh air instead. It was seven o'clock on a clear night. Alice hadn't needed to check opening times or consult a map. Her grandmother had brought her to the Victoria and Albert museum many times as a child, and she'd loved to see all the fabulous jewellery, the things from far-flung places around the globe and the massive sculptures.

The fashion collection, specialising in
haute couture
down the decades, had always been a draw. Maybe that was why she'd fallen in love with the whole vintage clothing scene when she'd stumbled across it. She and Gran had spent ages inspecting each dress carefully, picking out which ones were
their favourites and settling on the one that they'd wear to a ball, if they ever got the chance.

Alice sighed.

Would her dress be all right? Suddenly she was second-guessing her choice of a cute little short-sleeved dress, with its wide panels of black satin dotted with pink roses at the waist and hemWas it a little too much? Well, too late now to run home and hide away in a baggy fleece. She'd just have to brave it out.

She ignored the grand entrance and made her way to a smaller one at the side of the building in Exhibition Road. A security guard merely smiled at her and waved her on as she walked through the revolving doors and told him why she was there.

Her destination was only a short distance from the entrance, down a flight of marble stairs, just off a long hall full of sculptures. Her heels clipped on the mosaic floor as she passed headless and armless statues, all male torsos, rippling with muscles and leashed strength. That made her sigh too. Why did everything remind her of Cameron? And she hadn't even seen him without his shirt off.

The only thing visible at the wide entrance to the fashion exhibit was a long, horizontal display case filled with shoes—embroidered seventeenth-century court shoes, buttoned boots in deep red leather, and sequined platforms all stood proudly side by side.

As she climbed the few steps to the entrance she slowed down. If this was a preview, with cocktails and canapés, where were all the people? Why couldn't she hear them talking or glasses clinking? Perhaps Coreen had got the time wrong. Perhaps she was early.

Her hunch was borne out by the fact that, apart from the lone guard she could still see on duty by the entrance there wasn't a soul in the place. She glanced at him, wondering if
it was really all right to enter the room and go exploring, but he just nodded and gave her a little wink.

Although the vintage clothes were all housed in a vast domed room, it always felt very close, very intimate, because the lighting was kept deliberately low to preserve the wonderful fabrics. The central part of the room was closed off, only used for special exhibitions, but the main collection could be seen by walking the perimeter—long glass cases on each side of the walkway, displaying clothes of all kinds on headless white mannequins.

She'd never been here at night before, but far from being creepy, the added depth to the darkness only made the exhibits seem even brighter and more wonderful, each one illuminated by a soft spotlight. It was almost too good to be true to be here on her own, with no one to crowd her view, no one to hurry her along.

Well, okay, then. If she was early, she was going to make the most of it and take her time. She'd probably never have this opportunity again. Keeping an ear out for anyone else arriving, she started to circle the room, stopping every now and then to pay special attention to some of her favourite pieces—a shocking pink fifties ballgown with a stiff skirt, a ‘flapper' dress in swirling silk with sequins and jewels and a court mantua, all creamy satin and exquisite embroidery.

At each ‘corner' of the circular room there was a curved alcove where the display cases made a C-shape. A large octagonal glass case stood in the extra space. The first she'd passed had housed an embroidered Regency wedding dress. She approached the second octagonal case with curiosity. This must be it—the new exhibit. Only she couldn't see what was inside properly because the lights were out. She walked towards it, trying to make out what it was…

A dress of some kind, in a dark shiny fabric.

When she was just a few steps away the small spotlights in the ceiling of the case started to glow, shining brighter and brighter until there was no doubt as to what it contained.

Her
dress. Her dark green bias-cut Elsa Schiaparelli dress. It said so on the card—even mentioned her name as the person who had donated it.

And her shoes.

Beside the dress, at the bottom of the case on a specially created stand, lit so the Lucite heels sparkled and glimmered, were her shoes. She crouched down and inspected the heel of the left shoe. She would never have known it had been snapped off if she hadn't been the one to do the snapping.

But…

The silence in the darkened gallery thickened. Alice held her breath and slowly straightened. Someone was here with her. But she didn't turn round yet; her brain was working overtime. The only person it could be—the only way to explain all of this was if it was…

Suddenly her eyes adjusted. The dress and the shoes blurred away and a reflection in the glass came into focus.

Cameron. Standing behind her.

Looking at her as if he meant it.

She spun around, still unable to breathe. He didn't move, just continued to let his eyes wander over her. Somehow he didn't look a bit like the Cameron she'd come to know again in recent weeks, but more as she recalled him from the past. He wasn't even wearing a suit. Just jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

The clothes were just a symptom. As she stared back at him, remembering to squeeze and release her lungs, forcing air into them, she saw the real transformation. All the layers had been peeled away and he seemed younger, more vul
nerable. His eyes, far from being blank and unreadable, were telling her all kinds of things. Things she could hardly dare to believe.

‘You said you wanted an ordinary guy…' He shrugged. ‘I think I've found you one.'

She shook her head. He would never be ordinary, and she didn't want him to be. He was Cameron.
Her
Cameron. A perfect fit.

But in another way what he'd said wasn't too far off the mark. He wasn't an untouchable god or an out-of-reach prince. He was just a man, with all his faults and flaws and fears.

And how she loved him.

He must have seen something of that in her eyes, because he stepped forward, more determined now, and ran his hands down her bare arms. After weeks of being deprived of his touch it was all that was needed to blast any remaining defences away.

‘You're not perfect,' he stated slowly, a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.

‘Not being very romantic here, Cameron…'

He laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘I don't want you to be perfect. I just want you to be you.' His lips didn't stop there, and he placed tiny kisses along her temple, across her cheekbone. ‘Because I'm not perfect either, and I'm finally okay with that concept. I don't need to prove myself to anyone who will take notice any more.'

She wound her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. He didn't need to explain—she got it. They were both incomplete, stupid, and very, very human. And thank heaven for that, she thought, as he slid his hands around her waist and held her tighter still.

‘I don't care if you're perfect or not,' she said. ‘You're my Gilbert after all.'

His lips had been poised to place a kiss at the edge of her jaw and he paused for a fraction of a second. ‘Your
what
?'

‘Never mind,' she whispered back. ‘Just shut up and kiss me.'

She decided she liked it very much when control-hungry Cameron stopped being habitually stubborn and did as he was told. She liked it very much.

It was such a relief, such a joy to be here with him, that she felt tears collect in her lashes. ‘I'm sorry I pushed you away,' she said, her voice scratchy. ‘I couldn't understand why you of all people would decide to keep me—the second-hand girl that everyone else had discarded.'

He kept her pressed up against him, but leaned back a little so he could focus on her face.

‘Oh, I'm planning on keeping you for a long time—as long as you promise to keep me back. You're the best thing in my lousy life, Alice, because you challenge me to be the best man I can be. Because you demand it of me. And up until now I've been too afraid to be that man.'

‘Shh,' she said, pressing her fingertips to his lips, feeling her tears fall.