Page 45 of Save Me

The sounds around us fade away the longer we look at each other. All I can do is sense. His fingers on my waist, moving slightly, his hand holding mine tightly. His eyes are almost like a dare that I’d do anything to accept.

“James.” A deep voice rings out behind us.

The fire in his eyes goes out in a split second. His relaxed stance is gone too. Suddenly, he’s stiff as a board and drops my hand like it’s burned him.

An instant. No longer, and he’s back to the James Beaufort I know. All at once, the arrogant twist to his lips and the coldness in his eyes make him look pretty threatening.

“Mum, Dad, I didn’t know you were going to be here today.”

Oh, God. I start to turn around in the weighty dress, and once I’ve managed it, my heart sinks down to my toes.

Standing in front of me are Mortimer and Cordelia Beaufort. James and Lydia’s parents. Heads of one of the most successful firms in the country. Suddenly, I no longer feel as strong and powerful as I did a moment or two back—especially not in comparison to Cordelia Beaufort. Everything about her is stylish, elegant, and grand. She has a slender face and the same arrogant mouth as James, except for her dark red lipstick. Her skin is like porcelain, and she’s wearing a fitted white shift dress, clearly by an expensive designer. Her glossy rust-red hair sits just above her shoulders and is perfectly waved, as if she’s come straight from the salon.

James’s father has sandy hair, ice-blue eyes, and a mouth that turns down slightly at the corners. His stance is proud and erect, and in his Beaufort suit, he looks like he’s on his way to an important business meeting.

His face doesn’t change as he looks me over from top to bottom.

Now I know where James inherited his impenetrable mask from.

“We were here for a meeting about China,” his mother explains. She steps forward to kiss her son on the cheek, and I catch a waft of her perfume. It seems powdery, like a bouquet of fresh roses.

“Percy told us that he’d driven you and your”—she glances at me—“school friend here.”

James doesn’t reply. He’s making no moves to introduce me to his parents, so I step forward, cheeks burning, and hold out my hand to his mother. “I’m Ruby Bell. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Beaufort.”

She looks at me a moment too long before she strikes. “The pleasure is all mine.” She smiles, revealing a row of pearly white teeth.

I want to be like her, I catch myself thinking. I want to walk into a room the way she does, my very aura instantly causing everyone present to see me as a strong woman to be respected.

What I don’t want is for my mere presence to strike fear and trembling into people, as seems to be the case with Mr. Beaufort. He gives me a curt nod as we shake hands, then looks around the workshop as if he’s already had enough of me.

“I see you’ve ordered a couple of pieces from the archives,” Mrs. Beaufort says, looking at us slightly aslant. She takes a step forward and twitches my skirt. There’s a crease between her brows. “The skirt is too long. Kindly alter it, Mr. MacIntyre.”

Tristan hasn’t uttered a word since the Beauforts arrived, but he nods hastily. “Of course, madam.”

Now Mrs. Beaufort gestures to me to turn around. I feel queasy as I do so. “What do you need them for again?”

“The Victorian party at the end of October,” James answers. He’s like a different person, his voice as monotonous as a robot.

“By which he means the party that he has to organize because he acted like a badly behaved little boy,” says Mr. Beaufort.

Mrs. Beaufort clicks her tongue. It wasn’t so easy to turn in the dress, but I face the front again and glance subtly from each of them to the next. James doesn’t react to his father’s words. Mrs. Beaufort looks crossly at her husband for a moment.

Then she turns back to me. She puts her hand on the short sleeves, twitches them, and then says to Tristan: “It needs letting out a little here at the front, Tristan. It’s pinching so that, er…” She looks questioningly at me.

“Ruby,” I say.

“Ruby won’t be able to breathe properly,” she concludes.

Tristan nods and pulls me and his assistant back behind the screen. I glance back over my shoulder again to James, but he doesn’t look my way; he’s focused entirely on his parents. His father seems to be nagging him, his eyes fixed on me. He sounds annoyed, but I can’t hear what he’s saying to James.

I look away, turning back to Tristan. “They seem very…important.” It’s only at the last second that I manage to substitute a more positive word for “terrifying.” Tristan has a pincushion on his wrist, and he is already busy, cautiously pinning up the hem of the dress.

“You’re right there, Miss.” That’s all he says.

It’s spooky how quiet it’s been in this vast room since the Beauforts walked in. Nobody seems to be chatting anymore; evenTristan merely flashes me a brief smile before disappearing and leaving his assistant to help me undress. It’s much easier to take the dress off than it was to put it on. In less than ten minutes, I’ve got my own clothes on again, and I can go back round to the front.

I come to stand next to James, who has taken the frock coat off and draped it lightly over his arm.

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