Learning to Dance Read Online Free Page B

the door – her door – and closed her eyes and whispered several serious curses. Oaths. Good old-fashioned oaths to match the good old-fashioned castle. She lifted her wrist and looked at her watch. Three o’clock. Ack emma. Three ack bloody emma.
    Of course she was going to laugh about this later; perhaps share it with Sybil or even Nathaniel. The thing was, what could she do now; at this moment? She had no idea where anyone else’s rooms were, and they had been the only group at dinner. My God, it was like a murder novel. Someone had been murdered, and she was the only one wandering around outside her room. She forced a giggle at such absurdities. She must pass it on to Jack. He could do a comic strip and save her at the end – perhaps she could have neglected to flush the toilet? A perfect alibi?
    If only Jack were here, he would go to such extremes, and they would laugh just like they used to. If only Naomi were here … they would sit on the top step of the beautiful curving staircase and Naomi would mock herself, going through the alternative choices they must make, ‘We are responsiblefor our actions, and therefore must be responsible for their solutions …’ She had had a deep-throated laugh, and she would close her eyes and tilt her head up as if to let the laugh soar up to the ceiling like soap bubbles … And she was dead.
    Judith took a very deep breath and noticed how it caught in her throat. She mustn’t be found out here in tears; that wouldn’t do at all. She began to move along the landing, listening at each door, then tapping lightly, then hitting the door with the side of her clenched fist. There were four doors on the left of hers and another four on the right of the bathroom. All eight rooms were empty. So was hers. This was not funny any more.
    She ignored the lift; if that got stuck she might lose what little self-control she had. She flicked every light switch she could find, and then started down the stairs. Dammit, she hadn’t even stopped to put on her slippers; the polished wood was distinctly chilly under the soles of her bare feet. Opposite the landing an enormous curved stained-glass window that had seemed benign in the setting sun was now black and ominous. She was glad when the stairs turned and the view was of another landing. Nine bedrooms and a bathroom. All apparently empty; not even the gentlest snore. She gave up hitting the doors with her fist and went to the stairs again; the window went with her.
    She ended up in the entrance hall; to her right was the dining room and the sitting room, to her left was the reception area and the lift. The lights she had switched on above revealed a telephone on the highly polished counter. She ran to it with a little cry of sheer relief.
    It didn’t click or tinkle as she lifted the receiver, and behind it was some sort of switchboard; it looked old-fashioned, each switch was numbered. She replaced the receiver andcounted the rows: four. Twenty-four rooms and only eight of them occupied. She searched for another key to switch the whole thing on and could find nothing. She leaned on the counter, suddenly exhausted. This was not good. And she was cold. For goodness’ sake, why was she here? She felt the ridiculous Gothic pile like a weight around her, cold and probably damp. She dropped her head on to her arms and let something wash through her, thinking it might be a philosophical moment during which she would come to terms with living on her own and perhaps decide to join the gardening club that winter. But it turned out to be a wave of misery, and she wept into the inside of her elbow and felt useless.
    How long she was engulfed in self-pity she did not know; the sound of a key in the enormous oak door brought her quickly into the present. She glanced wildly around the big square hall, then up at the enormous stairwell lit by all the switches she had flicked on her way down, then at the nightie Jack had described as diaphanous but that