Page 179 of Lovers' Dance

George folded his arms. He was giving me his usual starchy look, but it didn’t bug me anymore. That was George being George.

“Gnocchi it is,” I said, already tasting the pancetta on my tongue. George shook his head and moved towards the cupboards, taking out the necessary pots for me.

Instead of leaving me to it, George lingered, watching me go about preparing an early hours meal. We chatted about everything and nothing in low whispers. It was relaxing, chattering away without worrying about the fifteenth of October anymore. Today was a new day. I could start living again.

“Did you like your gift?” George asked as he got two bowls out. “Mr Bradley made sure the contractors got everything done in time.”

I stopped stirring my sauce, curiosity piqued. Contractors? What sort of gift had Matt gotten me? “Quite nice, wasn’t it?”

George looked taken aback. “Nice? Just nice? Half the back rooms have been ripped out and remodelled into that dance studio. Nice. Let me tell you, the dust and dirt were everywhere. I had to call in cleaning staff to get—” He broke off when he realized my open-mouth stare. “Mr Bradley has shown it to you, hasn’t he? Because I would feel terrible if I’ve unwittingly ruined the surprise.”

“He built me a dance studio?” I asked. “Here?”

George was wearing an ill expression on his lined features. “Your sauce is starting to burn, Ms DuMont.”

I pulled the pan off the hob and wiped my hands on the dishcloth. Matt was crazy. I crooked my finger at George. “Show me.”

George shook his head. I noticed that his grey hair was brushed neatly back. Had he brushed his hair before coming down?

“Perhaps it is best if you wait for Mr Bradley to show you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “George.”

“As you wish, Ms DuMont, but you must give me your word that you won’t reveal to Mr Bradley how you found out. In fact, when he shows you the room, can you feign surprise?”

“Yes, yes,” I agreed as I turned off the stove and hurried him out of the kitchen. Like two cat burglars, we crept along the floor until we arrived at the back of the house. George looked around nervously, then flicked the lights on. I gasped in shock, then felt my eyes filling with water as we walked the remaining distance towards the new glass walls.

“Is it large enough?” George asked. “Mr Bradley was worried about whether the space would be sufficient—”

“It’s perfect,” I whispered, swiping away the moisture trickling down my cheeks as I peered into the room. I went for the glass door and George stopped me.

“Don’t.”

“Shh,” I grumbled and opened the door. It was amazing. Unbelievable. He’d built a studio for me in his house. I immediately started investigating, much to George’s consternation. Running my hands along thebarre, rubbing my bare feet over the floor. Grinning inanely at the mirrors. Oh shit. What happened to my hair?

I ignored my lion’s mane and spun around laughing: once, twice, thrice.

“Please. Be quiet, Ms DuMont,” George hissed, gaze constantly scanning the hallway for his employer.

“Oh, look, George.” I pointed to the far corner of the room. “Why did he put a flat screen in here? What’s that blinking light in the corner of the ceiling?”

“Mr Bradley installed a camera so you could tape your sessions. It’s all linked into a separate system that you can control with that tablet over there. He mentioned you have a system something like that at your place of work.”

Uh, yes and no. We had a plain old camera and a tripod we used if we filmed any dancing, then we’d hook it up to the TV in the canteen or the one in my office and assess our movements.

This was on a whole different level. I turned and peered into what seemed like another room through the glass wall. “What’s in there?” I asked George.

“Mr Bradley’s office. Now can we please leave?”

“But can he see into here from there? I mean, it’s a glass wall.”

“That was his intention, Ms DuMont. We must go now.” George came over and grabbed my elbow firmly before marching me out. He shut the door behind us, and I took one last look at the space before George turned the lights off.

“I have to thank him.” I said. “Right now.”

George looked alarmed. “What about our meal? Let’s go eat. Remember you gave me your word.”

I grabbed George into a bone cracking hug. He gasped in shock at my impropriety.

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