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on their way. When they reached the table Hugh and Ross Hamilton rose politely. Linda smiled in a superior fashion, but Ross Hamilton’s lazy blue eyes ranged up and down Ruth’s figure in such a way, she wondered wildly whether the dress was transparent She sat down swiftly, only to catch his glance flitting from one bare shoulder to the other.
    To her utter annoyance Ruth felt her face grow warm. From her evening bag she brought out a white lace fan someone had bought her as a present from Spain and began to fan her hot face.
    ‘Whew! It’s hot in here tonight,’ she remarked to cover up the real reason for her colour.
    Ross’s gaze shifted to Gareth. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your young friend?’ he asked smoothly.
    Ruth’s eyes blazed. This was an obvious comment on the fact that she was dressed in something other than her sweater and jeans. She snapped her fan shut and wanted to bring it down hard on his brown hands, cupped one inside the other as he leaned his elbows on the table.
    Gareth was looking from Ruth to Ross Hamilton, a puzzled frown on his face, as though he could not be quite sure whether the other man genuinely did not recognise her.
    ‘You must be joking,’ he said, ‘though, of course, you don’t know her as well as we do. Look a little closer. The face is the same. It’s only the hair-do that’s different.’
    Thankfully, Ruth noticed he didn’t mention her clothes. Ross Hamilton peered more closely at her from across the table, his bright blue eyes flicking over her features. Ruth compressed her lips and her eyes blazed. Then his eyes narrowed for a second, before he made a great show of suddenly recognising her.
    ‘Good gracious me, if it isn’t the angry young lady I met in the inclosure! And last night, of course,’ he added. ‘But what a transformation! No wonder I didn’t recognise her. Do you know who you remind me of?’ he asked Ruth.
    She took a deep, angry breath. ‘No, and I’m not interested.’
    But he went on as if she had never spoken: ‘A Spanish dancer I met in Barcelona. The same colouring, the dress, the fan—and the wonderful colour in your cheeks. It suits you.’
    She knew he was goading her, and when the music started again, she glanced at Gareth. But Ross Hamilton was too quick for him.
    ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Medway? I’m sure your boy-friend won’t mind just this once.’
    ‘Well, I—no, of course not. But it’s up to Ruth, not me,’ Gareth answered.
    A swift refusal came to Ruth’s lips, but she caught a mute signal from Gareth that it might be policy to agree. Jill and Hugh rose to dance, and she heard Gareth say to Linda: ‘May I?’ Rather than sit alone with the new Forester at the table, or make an obvious excuse to go to the ladies’ powder room, Ruth didn’t feel she had much alternative other than to dance with him. In any case, he seemed to have taken her lack of outright refusal as an acceptance. He had risen, taken her hand and was pulling her gently to her feet.
    ‘You can dance, I presume?’ he asked as he put his arm about her waist. ‘I could wait to find out, but I wouldn’t want to tread on your toes or embarrass you.’ The small band was playing an old Glenn Miller tune—irresistible to dance to.
    ‘Why are you so rude?’ she asked him candidly as he led her in the first rhythmic steps.
    His eyes widened with feigned innocence. ‘I merely asked because I know that most of you youngsters don’t know ballroom dancing and do only beat.’
    She could have kicked his shins. ‘I am not a youngster! I’m well over twenty-one.’ She was actually twenty-two.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes, really. And for your information, my father taught me ballroom dancing. Anyway, we always have all kinds of dancing here. But perhaps you don’t know how to do beat—as you’re so old.’
    At this he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well done!’ he said, as though he were praising a child. ‘Now