‘Will you have her a minute, darling?’ she said, holding out the little dog to me. ‘I must just talk to the band.’
I’ve never really been sure about dogs, ever since I was rushed by Una and Geoffrey’s miniature labradoodle when I was six. Also, what about those pit bulls, which just ate a teenager? Somehow this anxiety must have communicated itself to Talitha’s chihuahua, because, as I took hold of her, she barked, nipped my hand and leaped out of my arms. I stared, aghast, as she flew through the air, wriggling, light as a feather, up, up, then down, down, into the swimming pool, where she disappeared.
There was a split second of silence, then Talitha shrieked, ‘Bridget! What are you doing? She can’t swim!’
Everyone stared as the little dog foundered to the surface in the middle of the pool, yapping, then disappeared under the water again. Suddenly, Roxster pulled his T-shirt over his shoulders, revealing his ripped torso. He dived straight into the pool, an arc of blue water, spray and muscle, then resurfaced, wet and glistening, at the other end of the pool having completely missed the dog, which took a last gulp of air, then sank. Roxster looked confused for a moment, then dived back under the water and emerged, holding a whimpering Petula. White teeth flashing in a grin, Roxster placed the little dog gently at Talitha’s feet, put his hands on the edge of the pool, and hauled himself effortlessly out of the water.
‘Jonesey,’ said Roxster. ‘We don’t throw dogs.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Tom. ‘Oh. My. God.’
Talitha was fussing over Petula. ‘My darling. My poor darling. You’re all right now, you’re all right.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘She just jumped right out of my—’
‘Don’t apologize,’ said Tom, still staring at my boyfriend.
‘Oh, my darling.’ Talitha was turning her attention to Roxster now. ‘My poor, brave darling. Let me help you out of those wet things—’
‘Don’t you dare re-dress him,’ growled Tom.
‘Actually, I think I need another Red Bull,’ grinned Roxster. ‘With a vodka.’
Talitha started dragging him off through the crowd, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me with him. The face that stayed with me from the sea of open mouths was Woney’s.
Ushering Roxster into the house, Talitha turned to me and murmured, ‘Now that, my darling, is what I call rebranding.’
More smartly dressed now, in one of the Silver Fox’s immaculate outfits, Roxster seemed oblivious to his rebranding role, and more interested in the celebrities he could spot in the crowd, most of whom I’d never heard of. Darkness was falling, lanterns were giving a soft, twinkling glow, the guests were getting drunker, the band was playing, people were starting to dance. I was – though smug – worried that there was something slightly wrong about using Roxster to rebrand: though I hadn’t deliberately used him, it had just happened. In fact, to tell the truth, I was actually falling helplessly in . . .
‘Come on, let’s dance, baby,’ said Roxster. ‘Let’s do it.’