Night School: Legacy

‘Exactly.’ Jo crossed her legs, revealing the red soles of her stilettos. ‘Oh, look, Sylvain’s parents are here.’


She nodded in the direction of an elegant couple who stood chatting with Isabelle near the dance floor. Leaning forward, Allie studied them with hungry curiosity. The man had fair skin and greying sandy-blond hair. He looked suave in his perfectly tailored tuxedo. The woman had tawny skin and a mane of dark hair that fell in waves and curls down her back. She wore a bronze silk gown that clung to her trim hips. A necklace heavy with diamonds encircled her throat.

Nearby, Katie Gilmore stood with an older couple who must have been her parents. She was stunning in a dark green dress – the colour made her skin shimmer like milk. With a touch of bitterness, Allie wondered if it was a coincidence she was standing so close to Sylvain’s family.

As she watched, though, Sylvain walked by Katie without seeing her and up to his father. Allie willed herself to feel nothing, but her heart beat faster nonetheless; his perfectly tailored tuxedo emphasised his leanly muscled shoulders. His father turned to greet him and, even from across the room, she could see the brilliant blue of his eyes.

‘So that’s where he gets it from,’ she murmured.

‘Hmm?’ Jo, who had been looking elsewhere, turned to follow Allie’s gaze.

‘His dad,’ Allie said absently. ‘Sylvain has his eyes.’

The waiter returned with a tray of drinks; Jo looked thoughtful as he set them down, waiting until he was out of earshot. Then she leaned forward tapping a glossy silver nail against the tabletop. ‘OK, out with it, Allie. What’s going on with you and Sylvain? I’ve seen the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you. Frankly, a blind person could see there’s something happening between you two.’

Flushing, Allie tore her gaze away from Sylvain’s family. ‘No. I mean … What?’

‘Come on, Allie.’ Jo’s cornflower blue eyes studied her knowingly. ‘This is me. I can see it in your face. You fancy him.’

Panic made it hard to think. She’d tried so hard not to like Sylvain. So hard. And she’d failed.

‘I can’t like him, Jo.’ Allie’s eyes pleaded with her.

But Jo seemed confused. ‘Why not? He’s sex on legs. And he sure likes you.’

‘It’s just, Carter …’ Allie fumbled her words, trying to think of a way to explain this that didn’t sound absurd. ‘He hates Sylvain and we haven’t … I don’t want to hurt him.’

Resting one hand on Allie’s arm, Jo pointed across the room; her narrow diamond bracelet caught the light, fracturing it into a million bright sparks. Allie followed the line of her slender arm to … Carter and Jules. He looked tall in his tuxedo, and she wore a tight black dress that suited her perfectly. They were kissing.

‘What?’ Staring, Allie ordered herself to close her mouth.

‘This is the thing.’ Jo leaned forward to catch her eyes. ‘Don’t ever let your ex-boyfriend decide who you date. OK?’

‘How long have they …?’

‘Does it matter?

I’ve been so worried for so long about hurting Carter and he just … What? Got over it and forgot to mention it? Let me keep on feeling guilty while he made out with Jules?

Anger flared in her chest as she glanced over at the dance floor again. They’d been slow-dancing, but now the band switched to a different tune – an Eastern song Allie remembered from the summer ball – and Carter swirled Jules out on to the dance floor. They were both laughing.

As she stared at them, a boy walked up to Jo and bowed from the waist. ‘Miss Arringford, might I have the honour of this dance?’

He had a Spanish accent and a courtly manner; Allie wondered why she hadn’t seen him around before.

‘Hello, Guillermo.’ Jo fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I think so. Let me just check with my date.’ She turned to Allie. ‘Do you mind, darling?’

Guillermo was tall and lanky, with brown hair in irrepressible curls. He looked like a Spanish prince. Jo’s eyes were aglow.

How could Allie say no? ‘Have fun, kids.’ She smiled as they walked away.

Guillermo was so tall he had to lean over to hear Jo talk. Jo’s cheeks were pink. They looked adorable together.

As Allie watched the others dance and laugh, an overwhelming sense of loneliness threatened to subsume her. She wanted to sit at the table and cry, but that wouldn’t do anybody any good.

I’ll go and look for Lucinda.

She threaded her way through the crowd, snippets of mysterious and uninteresting adult conversations floating around her like flotsam riding on waves of noise.

‘He’s with a hedge fund now, of course …’

‘Five under par! At St Andrews!’

‘I told her that dress was unacceptable but she won’t listen. She never listens …’