CHAPTER FIVE.
"Do you dance, Mrs Lao?" Sebastian asked, and a playful twinkle appeared briefly in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.
Mey-Rin realised she had no idea how long she had been standing staring at him while he held her hands, and that the multimedia player built into the house had just started to play a waltz, filling the air with the encouraging sounds of a romantic orchestra.
"Er..." she began. "I had a few lessons before the wedding – but it turned out they weren't needed, as Lao had to leave in such a hurry..."
"You missed your first dance?" Sebastian's brow furrowed, and his tongue clicked in pity. "We can't have that. You seem steadier on your feet than I thought you would be a moment ago. May I show you the ballroom?"
Perhaps it was the spritzer – or another form of more masculine intoxication working its magic on her – but Mey-Rin suddenly felt that a few other things she was missing could do with catching up on as well.
"A ballroom?" she repeated, wondering what sort of parties were held here.
Great big debauched ones, she thought, and had to try and dismiss the mental images that accompanied it.
"This way." Sebastian folded her right arm through the crook of his left elbow, and escorted her to some stone steps at the end of the patio, leading away down through the flowering shrubs onto the beach.
Another enormous set of open glass doors divided the house from the sand in front of them, and through them Mey-Rin could see oak floors and wood panelling set off by ludicrous-sized chandeliers, like something out of a French Louis XIV palace. On the sand itself was a pillared gazebo decorated with chiffon drapes and pretty lanterns, and outdoor fairy-lights arranged in strings that mimicked the chandeliers indoors.
"Sometimes they underestimate the number of guests, and private functions often overflow outside," Sebastian explained, at her small gasp of surprise.
"Oh, dear," Mey-Rin murmured. "Perhaps you need to install more lavatories."
There was a hiccupping sound, and a suppressed snort from Sebastian.
"Not quite what I meant," he replied, almost perfectly smoothly. "Although, there is certainly plenty of cleaning up to do afterwards on those occasions."
The gazebo also had speakers strung in each high corner, and the strains of the waltz surrounded them as they stood in the middle.
Sebastian turned to face her, placing her hand in position on his shoulder.
"Do you know this one?" he enquired, and she shook her head mutely, bright red yet again. "Just follow my lead, Mrs Lao."
They began to step and turn slowly in time with the music, with the distant and gentle accompaniment of the surf rolling in and out on the shore.
"Can I ask you something?" Mey-Rin asked timidly.
"The lavatories are all clean, and in good working order," he assured her. "And they are not overflowing in the slightest."
"No – not that," she answered. "But thank you for sharing that with me. I wondered if you would mind calling me Mey-Rin. I'm not used to Mrs Lao yet. And it's how everyone addresses his mother. It feels a bit strange."
"Of course, Mrs Lao." Sebastian raised his arm for her to twirl beneath, before returning his other hand to her waist, with a smile. "Miss Mey-Rin, I mean."
XxX
He'd added the unmarried prefix 'Miss' without permission, but the anticipated burst of irritation from her wasn't forthcoming. In fact, she appeared relieved.
As if the whole 'Mrs Lao' act was already a burden on her.
"Your dance teacher must have been very pleased," he ventured. "I would say you are a natural."
"Really?" Now she sounded even more surprised, and stopped. "Two left feet, was all he said about me most days. Clumsy. You are meant to be a gazelle with feather-light toes, he would shriek. Instead you are like happy-potamus with head stuck in barrel! Apparently I was going to trample Lao black-and-blue at our wedding dance."
Shame you didn't, Sebastian thought, as the tune died away.
Once more, her refreshing lack of coquettish modesty or typically airy dismissal of compliments intrigued him.
Perhaps Lao had begun to wonder if her guileless and open honesty would undermine his security in the long term. In fact, judging by Lao's lifestyle, having anyone so honest at his side would be a serious risk, more than a minor inconvenience to him.
"That sounds like the divine Viscount Aleister Chamber-Druitt," Sebastian mused. "Twinkle-Toes to the Stars. Does he still scatter pointed caltraps on the floor to punish wrong-footedness?"
"Is that what they're called?" He could see her wince at the memory.
"Mr Lao must have thought very highly of you to engage such a diva on your behalf," Sebastian remarked, and very gently took the lead again as the next waltz started, prompting her to continue their dance. "It is a shame he did not stick around long enough to reap the rewards of his investment."
Mey-Rin fell silent, following his steps with no sign of clumsiness at all.
"Lao is very busy," she muttered.
"He's easily distracted," Sebastian corrected.
"...Dealing with important people..."
"High-maintenance, I would say."
"You are a better lead than he was."
"He's a..." Sebastian caught himself just in time, aware that something else was being discussed. "Pardon?"
"A better dance lead." Mey-Rin's eyes were fixed on her feet, as if looking for the dreaded caltraps. "He came to one lesson, so that Viscount Druitt could assess us. Druitt said afterwards that watching Lao lead was like seeing a string-marionette trying to move a Chesterfield sofa."
"Do you think you can trust me enough as a lead to tear your eyes off the ground as we dance?" Sebastian suggested, amused, and was rewarded by an upward tilt of her pretty chin. "That's good. I don't think I'm at any risk of being trampled black-and-blue tonight."
"Thank you," she smiled, unexpectedly. "Um, this was nice of you. I do feel better."
"You deserve better."
"I do?"
Damn. That definitely wasn't meant to be out loud...
XxX
"A better dance partner," Sebastian clarified.
Mey-Rin wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. Was it possible to feel both?
"You'll just have to do instead." She covered her ambivalence with an attempt at teasing. "It's not as if I have any choice, after all."
"That's true." He twirled her a few more times as she started to feel more confident. "A few days earlier and you might have had a dilemma. Too much choice. Myself. Other staff. Tanaka. Finnian. Bardroy. The owner himself, Mr Phantomhive, stopped by on one of his flying visits, so the island was fully staffed."
"Oh." Strangely, Mey-Rin couldn't picture anyone else living or working here. So far, her smug butler seemed to fill the place alone, with his own remarkably self-assured presence. "And the owner's wife?"
"Mr Phantomhive is not married," Sebastian replied, and his gaze appeared to be assessing her, a gold-digger-detecting glint under the dappled fairylights. "But his intended betrothed, Miss Elizabeth Midford, might be known to you? She is often in the society pages, I believe."
"Lizzie Midford?" Mey-Rin gaped up at him. "Gosh. She owns that enormous..."
"Yes."
"And in Belgravia, with all the Greek and Roman erotic marbles..."
"Indeed."
"...Camel-racing in Morocco, with Prince Asman Kadar..."
"Very popular sport, I hear."
"...Can name four hundred and twenty-seven different cheeses!"
"That, I wasn't aware of," Sebastian mused. "Is it a party piece she performs, or the hospitality rider she demands at magazine interviews?"
Mey-Rin's mouth opened and closed soundlessly with no more complete words emerging, the endless queue of qualifications that embodied Elizabeth Midford too great to voice coherently.
"Was she here?" she said at last, peeking over each shoulder nervously as if expecting to be pounced upon from the gathering shadows, by a naked Roman statue riding a camel, or a giant escaped wheel of ripe Camembert.
"No," Sebastian reassured her. "Lucky Island is a little too quiet and out-of-the-way for Miss Midford. She spent last weekend on the Phantomhive super-yacht in Cannes, for the annual film festival."
"I think I saw some pictures," Mey-Rin nodded. "She throws the most unbelievable..."
"Tantrums – I know."
"I was going to say parties," Mey-Rin whispered, but then smiled again. "But you're absolutely right, Mr Sebastian."
He returned the smile, and the gold-digger-detector look in his eyes had by now completely evaporated.
"Can I ask you something?" he enquired.
It felt so natural to be dancing under the stars with him at this point that her defensive attitude had melted away, as equally as his had appeared to. His arms felt strong and supportive, and reassuring.
So NOT like Lao...
"Of course," she murmured.
"Please," he said. "Just call me Sebastian."
"Sebastian..." she repeated.
It hadn't occurred to her that it might be his first name.
He nodded, and heaved a sigh, almost of regret, as the music faded away.
"Now," he pondered. "I wonder - is there room yet for dessert?"