Free Sweet Sorrow by David Roberts

a few couples were already on the floor.
    ‘Edward, look! That’s the woman who was talking about Byron.’
    ‘I know her. She’s Lady Gore-Bell. When I went out more often she and I used to “trip the light fantastic”.’
    ‘Well, introduce me to her. I want to see her face when she realizes she lost you to an unimportant journalist.’
    ‘Jealous, my own one?’ Edward said, taking her hand. ‘No need to be. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else tonight with anyone else. Let’s dance and we can “bump into” Barbara and I’ll introduce you.’
    ‘You know I can’t dance but I suppose no one will notice.’
    ‘Babs! Haven’t see you in ages,’ Edward said as he engineered the ‘bump’. ‘Do come and have a drink at our table. I don’t think you know my wife. Verity, this is Barbara Gore-Bell.’
    Verity tried to look pleased.
    ‘Edward, darling – how absolutely lovely! I heard you were married and to a famous foreign correspondent.’ She offered Verity a limp hand. ‘I thought I recognized you downstairs. Oh help, I hope I wasn’t being indiscreet. I didn’t say anything about Edward, did I? The moment I saw your picture in Tatler – or was it the Illustrated London News ? – anyway, the moment I saw it I said to Reggie, trust Edward to marry someone different. We debs bored him silly, didn’t we, Edward? By the way – this is Reggie, my husband. I absolutely adore him, don’t I, darling? And he’s heavenly rich.’
    Reggie, a balding man some twenty years older than his wife, looked tickled to be adored for his wealth and smiled at her indulgently.
    ‘Lady Edward,’ he said taking Verity’s hand. ‘I say, beautiful and brainy! Not really fair, what!’
    Edward saw Barbara wince but Verity held her smile which had become, he thought, roguish if insincere.
    ‘Sir Reginald . . .’ Verity allowed him to kiss her hand.
    ‘Reggie, you must call me Reggie. Everyone does, you know.’
    ‘And Verity – I may call you Verity, mayn’t I?’ his wife echoed. ‘You must call me Babs. I feel we are going to be great friends.’
    ‘Babs, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation when we were powdering our noses.’ Verity took pleasure in the lady-like euphemism. She tried not to sound arch. ‘You mentioned the name Byron Gates. We’ve just bought a house in Sussex and he happens to live in the same village.’
    ‘Oh Lord, was I talking ill of him?’
    ‘No need to apologize. We have met him but he’s not a friend. In fact, I have to confess that I didn’t take to him and it doesn’t surprise me to hear he behaved badly to your sister. I hope I am not being impertinent but the coincidence . . .’
    ‘Not at all. Edward knows I have the sweetest nature and never normally say anything bad about anyone but, really, he’s a rat.’ Barbara looked towards the stairs. ‘Good heavens, talk of the devil. Here he is now.’
    ‘Yes,’ Edward explained, ‘we came up to town on the same train and we sort of agreed to meet here. How embarrassing!’
    ‘We’ll leave you to him, won’t we, Reggie? I really can’t talk to him. I might have to douse him with champagne. Who’s the woman with him? It’s not his wife. She’s the actress, Mary Brand. I’ve met her. Don’t say he’s brought his mistress! When you are the Aga Khan, you can get away with having a string of mistresses but not when you are plain Mr Gates. Well, goodbye, both of you. Telephone me, Edward – Sloane 247. We must meet and talk over old times. Come, Reggie – it’s time we went home.’
    She swept off haughtily, leaving Verity and Edward to greet Byron.
    ‘Wasn’t that Barbara Gore-Bell?’ Byron asked, sounding puzzled. ‘I wonder why she made off like that?’
    ‘She said you had abandoned her sister here one evening and gone off with some other girl.’ Verity thought it would be interesting to see how he reacted to being told the truth. Edward looked pained.
    ‘Oh really!’ Byron was indignant.