'No, Frank, I'm not thirsty.'
'Why don't you dance?
Or come and sit down a moment; there's a corner in the terrace.'
'No, I'm better standing.
I don't want to sit down.'
'Can't I get you something, a sandwich, a peach?'
'No, I don't want anything.'
There was the salmon lady again; she forgot to smile at me this time.
She was flushed after her supper. She kept looking up into her partner's face. He was very tall, very thin, he had a chin like a fiddle.
The Destiny waltz, the Blue Danube, the Merry Widow, one-two-three, one-two-three, round-and-round, one-two-three, one-two-three, round-and-round.
The salmon lady, a green lady, Beatrice again, her veil pushed back off her forehead; Giles, his face streaming with perspiration, and that sailor once more, with another partner; they stopped beside me, I did not know her; she was dressed as a Tudor woman, any Tudor woman; she wore a ruffle round her throat and a black velvet dress.
'When are you coming to see us?' she said, as though we were old friends, and I answered,
'Soon of course; we were talking about it the other day,' wondering why I found it so easy to lie suddenly, no effort at all.
'Such a delightful party; I do congratulate you,' she said, and
"Thank you very much,' I said.
'It's fun, isn't it?'
'I hear they sent you the wrong dress?'
'Yes; absurd, wasn't it?'
"These shops are all the same.
No depending on them.
But you look delightfully fresh in that pale blue.
Much more comfortable than this hot velvet.
Don't forget, you must both come and dine at the Palace soon.'
'We should love to.'
What did she mean, where, what palace?
Were we entertaining royalty?
She swept on to the Blue Danube in the arms of the sailor, her velvet frock brushing the ground like a carpet-sweeper, and it was not until long afterwards, in the middle of some night, when I could not sleep, that I remembered the Tudor woman was the bishop's wife who liked walking in the Pennines.
What was the time? I did not know.
The evening dragged on, hour after hour, the same faces and the same tunes.
Now and again the bridge people crept out of the library like hermits to watch the dancers, and then returned again.
Beatrice, her draperies trailing behind her, whispered in my ear.
'Why don't you sit down?
You look like death.'
'I'm all right.'
Giles, the make-up running on his face, poor fellow, and stifling in his Arab blanket, came up to me and said,
'Come and watch the fireworks on the terrace.'
I remember standing on the terrace and staring up at the sky as the foolish rockets burst and fell.
There was little Clarice in a corner with some boy off the estate; she was smiling happily, squealing with delight as a squib spluttered at her feet.
She had forgotten her tears.
'Hullo, this will be a big 'un.' Giles, his large face upturned, his mouth open.
'Here she comes.
Bravo, jolly fine show.'
The slow hiss of the rocket as it sped into the air, the burst of the explosion, the stream of little emerald stars.
A murmur of approval from the crowd, cries of delight, and a clapping of hands.
The salmon lady well to the front, her face eager with expectation, a remark for every star that fell.
'Oh, what a beauty… look at that one now; I say, how pretty… Oh, that one didn't burst… take care, it's coming our way… what are those men doing over there?'… Even the hermits left their lair and came to join the dancers on the terrace.
The lawns were black with people.
The bursting stars shone on their upturned faces.
Again and again the rockets sped into the air like arrows, and the sky became crimson and gold.
Manderley stood out like an enchanted house, every window aflame, the grey walls coloured by the falling stars.