A voice somewhere behind Helen said, ‘They make a beautiful couple.’

The music swelled and couples began to flood on to the floor. Laughter and talk broke out again.

But for Helen there might have been no-one there but Oliver and Pansy, waltzing, and herself. She was transfixed by a sudden sadness, brought by the certainty that she must let him go. The Oliver that she had created in her mind drifted away. All that was left was the beautiful, faintly desperate man now holding Pansy in his arms. He was nothing to do with Helen, she understood that at last. Perhaps the other, hidden Oliver that she had glimpsed and fallen in love with was no more than a reflection of the tension within him. And for all the gilded exterior she knew that something was wrong, badly wrong. Helen could only guess at what it was, but as she watched him dancing her sadness for him was mingled with fear.

‘Come and have some champagne. I can’t do this sort of dancing, but there’s a disco somewhere.’

Her pleasant, dull partner looked imploringly at her. Very slowly, Helen turned her back on the bright blond head and the classic perfection of the face that had filled her dreams for so long.

It was time.

As they left the ballroom the gaping edges of the canvas in Helen’s head began to knit together. The landscape that was revealed was flat and unremarkable, but at least it was whole.

Champagne, Helen thought. Why not? Froth and sparkle to drown the last few hours of a year she was glad to be leaving. Perhaps next year would be like life had always been before, calm and monotonous.

The discotheque, in sharp contrast to the ballroom, was hot, noisy and almost dark. Helen surrendered herself to the music and the tide of champagne. The faces here were much younger, some of them were familiar. Different people kept asking her to dance, and she was happily drawn deeper and deeper into the party. The chiffon points of her dress floated as she danced.

It’s easy, she thought. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

At eleven o’clock one of the procession of pleasant and flatteringly attentive young men took her to the supper room. The little round tables were candlelit and crowded with laughing faces. Maitland and Mrs Pugh were in charge at the long buffet and Maitland himself prepared her plate for her with the greatest care.

At the table her partner led her to, Helen saw Flora and Fiona.

They made room for her at once. ‘Hel-lo’, Flora said. ‘You look knockout.’

It’s easy, Helen thought again, and drank another glass of champagne.

Candlelight blurred the faces, making them look warm and friendly. Helen began to feel a little as if she was floating somewhere outside the old, awkward Helen who had felt so out of place at Montcalm.