,

***

The next day after work she drove her Panda to Nidhogg Hall, the Elizabethan manor on the East of the county, to the 'headquarters' of the festivities committee. She changed into her favourite Louboutin Apostrophy Pumps, picked up her handbag, and got out of her car. She rang the doorbell, and it opened almost immediately.

The young woman on the threshold was absolutely gorgeous, dressed in an excellent trouser suit - and a pair of the same Apostrophy Pumps as Viola, except in nude and not black.

"Good evening, Dr. Holyoake," the woman said, stepping aside to let Viola in. "My name is Amira Atieno, I'm Mr. Bjornsson's personal assistant. Welcome to Nidhogg Hall!"

"Pleasure to meet you," Viola answered, shaking the woman's hand.

"The Fab Five have informed us you're coming," Ms. Atieno said. "Please, make yourself comfortable," she said, leading Viola in a cosy drawing room. "Mr. Bjornsson was wondering if he could personally show you to the hall where the dance is held."

"Perfect," Viola said with a smile.

"Would you like me to call for tea?" Ms. Atieno asked.

"No, thank you," Viola said and laughed. "I'd rather we have a look at the hall right away. I'm in quite an anticipation."

"Mr. Bjornsson will be right with you," the woman said with a polite nod and left.

Viola looked around. When she'd been married to Rhys, they'd gone on quite a few tours around Nidhogg Hall. Viola had grown up in a family from, what was called, an established middle class. Her father was an electrical engineer, and her mother was an accountant. She'd spent her childhood in a flat, and gone to a comprehensive school. Fifteen years ago the Hall that looked like a filming location for a historical BBC mini-series had both fascinated and intimidated her. At the time the Holyoakes weren't as high in the social standing as they were now - with Rhys owning quite a lot of property in Fleckney Fields and his cousin John being the owner of a publishing empire in London. Still, they had always been treated with respect in the community, being one of the oldest families in the county. Viola remembered meeting Anders Bjornsson and the courtesy he'd always shown to her and her then relatives.

The door opened, and the Swede rushed in. The man was almost as tall as Rhys and even wider, mostly due to his oblong shape.

"Dr. Holyoake! Viola! What a pleasure!" he hollered, rushed to her, and grabbed her hand even before she got up on her feet. "Goodness me, I remember you! What a pleasure indeed! And an honour too! You're now our own proper doctor in the county! So fortunate to have snatched you, all thanks to Mable Holyoake, I'm hearing! Cunning woman!"

He was still shaking her hand, and she laughed.

"Evening, Mr. Bjornsson," she said.

Ms. Atieno joined them, with a clipboard and a large folder in her hand.

"Shall we then?" he said and started backing up, now holding both Viola's hands in his spade like hands. "I'll show you the hall, and you have to stay for tea! No, no, I'm not listening to any objections!" he shouted and shook his large head crowned with a mane of grey waves. "Let dear Amira and myself treat you to the excellent pastries from our kitchen, our own signature Bjornsson honey, and shower you with affection! A village doctor is one of the most important people in a county, don't think I don't know it! Humour me, dear doctor! I so rarely have guests!"

Viola was sure he was lying, but she smiled and nodded. The man was a force of nature - but a pleasant one.

"Shall we, shall we?" he said and looped his arm offering it to Viola.

***

She spent the next three evenings in the Bjornsson Hall, busy with organising the dance: designing and printing the tickets and posters, choosing the music, looking into hiring a live band, or at least renting better audio equipment. At the end of day three she was in the room that the Fab Five used as their HQ, with Mrs. Small, Mrs. Barnett, and Mrs. Tiddles, when the door opened and John Holyoake walked in.

"Evening, ladies," he said with a wide smile.

"Evening, John," Viola said.

She hadn't seen him since the family dinner a couple of weeks ago. They hadn't spoken much that day, there had been too many 'new Holyoakes' to meet. What had struck her most about John, whom she hadn't seen in years, was how open and confident he seemed these days. The John Holyoake of fifteen years ago had been an ambitious, attractive young man, secretly insecure when comparing himself to his twin brother, whom he'd always thought to be more talented. He'd had a slight stutter in his teen years, which had made him more deliberate in his speech. They'd met in a uni dance studio - both of them fond of salsa and tango - and had gone on a few coffee dates and long walks. And then he'd introduced her to Rhys.

"Ah, Dr. Holyoake," he exclaimed, his smile growing even wider. "I've heard you're the new chaperone of the infamous debauchery also known as the Winter Dance."

Viola laughed softly.

"I'm doing quite a poor job of it, I have to say," she said. "So far, the Dance sold the least amount of tickets out of all Festival events, your Book Fair being the most popular, of course. There's of course the Market still, during the first weekend, when I'm hoping to lure a few more patrons, but so far I'm at loss how to convince more people to attend."

"You know what I think we should do?" Mrs. Small said from her corner. "A money dance! Miss Rosa was telling me about this charming Portuguese tradition where men at a wedding can pay to dance with a bride!"

Everyone looked at the old lady, and her paper thin skin powdered with blush on her cheeks.

"And whose flesh are we going to peddle, my dear?" Mr. Barnett asked venomously. "I doubt many of our villagers will pay a pretty penny to wobble around with the likes of us."

Mrs. Small threw her a cowardly look - and then shifted her gaze on Viola.

"Oh please, Philomena," Mrs. Tiddles exclaimed. "Isn't it enough that dear Viola agreed to even pander to us and organise this nonsense and to sell the tickets at the Market? These days, no one is interested in dances anymore."

"I am," John said. He was half-sitting on a corner of one of the desks, one of his endless legs stretched in front of him. "I'll pay for a chance to dance with Dr. Holyoake."

He gave Viola a wink. Her initial taken aback reaction - at the prospect of being 'lady of the evening,' all puns intended - was quickly overtaken by a cheeky thought.

"And I would pay for a chance to dance with you, John," she said amicably, keeping her ire from showing in her voice. "But I think it would be only fair if we both offer our... services to the Dance."

"Oh but that is simply wonderful!" Mrs. Small said and clapped her hands. "You two can be the 'first couple' of the event."

"Oh Philomena," Mrs. Tiddles started protesting, but John interrupted her.

"I'm up for it," he said, and his eyes met Viola's.

"And you could even perform a small routine at the beginning," Mrs. Barnett said, suddenly taking Mrs. Small's side.

"And at the Market, as a small sample of what you're offering," Mrs. Small delivered the final blow.

"What do you say, Viola?" John asked, giving Viola a sardonic look, raising an eyebrow, just as all his male relatives did so well. "Shall we dust off our old dancing shoes?"

There was one thing Viola had learnt in the last ten years - and that was how to firmly and decisively say 'no' to things she didn't want, didn't deem necessary, or cared little for. Except, dancing wasn't either of the three. She suddenly felt some sort of childish excitement bubble under her skin.

"Let's do it," she said lightly, and the four people people in the room cheered.

***

After arranging the times for her rehearsals with John, and saying goodbye to him and the exuberant ladies, she picked up her coat and her handbag and headed out. She was carefully and slowly making her way to her parked car, when she saw Rhys' truck turn into the manor's driveway. Leaving without saying 'hello' seemed rather rude, so she lingered. The air was crisp and still, and she looked up. The evening was uncommonly clear, and she watched the stars twinkling in the ink sky.

He opened the door and stepped out of his truck.

"Evening," she said, surprised by the little flutter of joy she felt at the view of his wide figure approaching her.

"Evening, Vi," he said with a warm smile. "Here for the Festival?"

She nodded.

"Get in your car, you'll freeze," he said, and she grinned. "Your nose is pink," he murmured, and she nodded again, without moving.

He tilted his head, in the familiar inquisitive gesture, and his eyes roamed her face. Her fingers, without her gloves, which she still had in her pockets, were cold and twitched, when some sort of an electric current ran through her body. There was just a couple of feet between them, and her gaze skimmed, first, across his chest, and then up the long tendons of his strong neck and onto his thick dark beard. She met his eyes, and his eyebrows twitched, several emotions flashing in his electric blue irises.

And he leaned in and brushed his lips to hers lightly, in the most innocent of kisses. It was so short she didn't have time to close her eyes - and then he moved away and smiled at her.

"Have a good evening, Vi," he said quietly, turned around, and strode to the front door.

She looked at him over her shoulder, shook her head, amused by her own giddy mood - like a schoolgirl with a crush - and climbed into her Panda. She started the engine and rubbed her hands. He'd been right, she was freezing. Viola suddenly burst into a series of little giggles she didn't know she was still capable of. You can be so silly sometimes, Viola!