Page 18 of Save Me

I take one last photo and put the phone back in my pocket. Then I let my eyes roam back to the door. “My guests have arrived.”

A grin spreads over Alistair’s face. “Showtime.”

Ruby

The party’s a total success. By eleven, the guests are thronging to Maxton Hall to eat, drink, chat, and dance. Nothing major has gone wrong, and Mr. Lexington just congratulated Lin and me on a successful evening. I’m so relieved that for a brief moment, I consider stepping onto the dance floor and relaxing for a bit. But I told Doug and Camille that they were free for the rest of the night, and somebody has to keep an eye on the buffet so that nobody gets the idea of spiking the punch.

No one was dancing in the first couple of hours, which got me pretty worried. But Kieran, who was in charge of the music, reckoned that was totally normal. And he was right. In the last half hour, people have been dancing to weird remixes of chart hits that do nothing for me personally, but seem to be going down well.

I look around. I don’t recognize a lot of the faces, but that’s totally normal too. The whole point of this party is to bring people together—a mix of a reunion and wooing of potential sponsors and new parents. Current pupils having a nice evening is only the second priority, as Lexie explained back when I joined the events committee.

Suddenly, the lights go off. And so does the music.

For a second, I freeze, then I hastily fumble in my bra for my phone. “Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, trying to get the flashlight to turn on.

I hear the murmur of annoyance from around the room echoing in my head. This partyhasto go well. Nothing can go wrong. It might be a fuse that’s blown, but Lin and I will still get the blame—I can already imagine the head’s disappointed lecture on planning and thinking ahead, and the damage we’ve done to the school’s reputation.

There’s no point looking for Lin. I have to find Mr. Jones, the caretaker, and head down with him into the cellars, to the fuse box…

As I’m making a beeline past the buffet table, the lights come back on. I breathe a sigh of relief and press my hand to my hammering heart. But then I turn around, and the sight of James Beaufort at the DJ booth sends it plummeting down again.

He’s talking to the DJ and pressing something into his hand.Money, probably. I grind my teeth. I’m too far away to get there in time. I eye the dance floor. People are exchanging curious glances, presumably wondering what’s happened to the music. Others are heading for the buffet or the bar.

Some of them look nothing like Maxton Hall regulars, but I don’t realize that until it’s already too late.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ is saying, “I’ve just heard that a very special surprise has been arranged for you all. Are you ready?” My stomach flips again. Opposite me, across the dance floor, I spot Lin and Kieran, standing like statues with chalk-white faces. “Have fun!”

The lights are dimmed until the room is in semidarkness. The crowd murmurs with surprise as the music comes on again. This track has a thumping bass and a slow beat that sets the chandeliers jangling. I stare at the dance floor. The dancing now is practically obscene with men and women grinding against each other. The mood in the hall has switched in an instant. Just a few minutes ago, it was still dignified and elegant. Now it’s dirty and smutty. I’m about to head over to give James Beaufort an earful when somebody touches me on the arm.

“Are you Ruby Bell?” asks the guy who’s just turned up. I nod absentmindedly. At the other end of the room, one of the young women has grabbed Mr. Sutton and Mr. Cabot and pulled them into the center of the dance floor.

“This is a present from your friend James Beaufort,” he continues, pushing a chair into the backs of my knees so that I fall onto it. Confused, I look up at him.

He’s probably in his early twenties, with fair, gelled-back hair and light blue eyes. He steps in front of me and…starts dancing. My mouth goes dry. My mind has switched off. I can’t believe thisis actually happening. But it is. The bloke slowly slips his jacket off his shoulders and then starts to undo his black bow tie. He pulls it right off and throws it over his shoulder, setting a few of the women shrieking with delight. Then he plays with his suspenders, sliding one off his shoulder and smiling alluringly at me. He gets to the second strap; gives a slow, silky twirl; and then snaps it provocatively back onto his chest. Then he leans down to me, moving his hips to the slow beat of the song.

“Don’t you want to give me a hand, Ruby?” he whispers, taking my hand in his, which is surprisingly warm, and carrying it to his suspenders.

“Come on, undress him!” someone calls out.

That snaps me out of my state of shock.

I jump up. The guy flinches. For a moment, he looks unsettled, then the inviting smile reappears on his lips. He slides the strap of his suspenders down himself and goes on with the show as if nothing had ever happened.

My heart stands still, my eyes go past him to the dance floor. Two of the young women are dancing in front of Mr. Cabot, wearing nothing but glittering thongs and thin lacy bras.

This has to be a nightmare, and any moment I’m going to wake up, dripping with sweat. But then I catch sight of Alistair Ellington. A man is sitting in his lap, having also divested himself of his suspenders, and now he’s starting—with Alistair’s help—to unbutton his shirt. I can’t kid myself any longer. This is reality.

Furiously, I whirl around. I see him at once. James Beaufort is leaning against the wall, watching the show. There’s a glass of amber liquid in his hand and an almost blissful look on his face. The next second, our eyes meet. Smiling, he raises his drink in a toast to me. The rational part of my brain is telling me to start byfinding Lin, and then to go to the teachers to put a stop to this nonsense. The irrational part wants to cause James a great deal of pain. That part is considerably louder, but I think better of it and turn away.

I can get my revenge on James Beaufort later. I know exactly how to hurt him.

7

James

On Monday morning, the party is all anybody’s talking about. The school’s web forum practically melted down over the weekend because everyone was sharing photos and videos and commenting on them. Now we walk down the corridors and people high-five us, thanking us for the amazing evening. Our little event didn’t just hit the headlines locally, it’s the talk of other English schools too.

Obviously, I assured my parents that it was nothing to do with me, and obviously they didn’t believe a word of it, but in the end, they were angrier with Lydia for not putting in an appearance at all.

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