to collapse back in on itself. For once Jacob’s company seemed the lesser of two evils, so she took his arm and walked at his side.
The back of Holly’s hand rubbed against Jacob’s shirt-covered bicep, the sensation heated, intoxicating, reprehensible. Thankfully the awareness of that tantalising touch was shortlived, as soon the peripheral heat was all that registered.
The room was stifling, her view filled with sweaty, leering faces. Somebody trod on her foot and spinning around to apologise, they spilt drink down her side. She leapt back, clutching onto Jacob’s arm with both hands. He immediately wrapped a protective hand over the top of hers, its warmth and tenderness calming her a little.
Feeling claustrophobic, she closed her eyes, and allowed herself to be led the rest of the way blind. Only once bright sunlight lit the inside of her eyelids blood red did she open them.
Finding they were now in the big open space at the top of the grandstand, she hungrily inhaled the fresh, cool winter air, her breath releasing on a shudder.
She turned to thank Jacob but he was in conversation with two of his men, pointing towards the track where Race Three had just begun. And Holly knew she would not get any sense from any of them until the event was over.
The first two races had been won by the favourites and Holly expected no different ending to this one. She remained silent, unmoved as the dogs rounded the final bend.
The sparse crowd in the grandstand rose to its collective feet and the men in her own party jumped up and down, yelling and screaming, and clutching their betting slips in tight, agitated fists. The favourite, Sir Pete, was a nose behind, and the possibility of an upset electrified the air.
‘I don’t know why they get so excited,’ Holly muttered under her breath, ‘Sir Pete will win.’
‘Don’t bet on it,’ Jacob said equally quietly, his eyes bright.
‘I never would.’
Then, in the last twenty metres, Sir Pete put on a phenomenal burst of speed and finished two body lengths ahead of his nearest competitor.
‘I hate to lose,’ Jacob said through comically clenched teeth as he ceremoniously tore up his losing bet. ‘So pick the favourite.’
A huge grin broke out over his face, its effortless brilliance surprising her, catching her unawares and sending a blissful rush from her neck to her toes.
‘You are one surprising woman, Holly Denison.’
Definitely time to go back to her party.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ONLY when Holly made to follow her departing group did she find herself still attached to Jacob’s arm. Flicking him an apologetic smile, she released her steel grip. But he pulled her back until she was flush against him.
‘Not just yet, Ms Denison. Before I let you go, I have a question I simply must have answered.’
His voice was low and husky. His face was in shadow, and his dark hair in a halo of sunlight as he stood with his back to the sun.
‘Ask away,’ she said, her voice reedy.
‘What on earth are you wearing on your feet?’
Holly blinked. Looked at her feet. And grinned. In all the confusion, she had plum forgotten.
‘Haven’t you even seen a pair of galoshes before, Mr Lincoln?’
‘Of course. I have even seen ones that yellow before. But not, I must admit, on a grown woman, otherwise dressed to the hilt as you are. Is this some kind of fashion statement?’
‘Hmm. You have been away too long, haven’t you? Bright yellow galoshes are Melbourne’s must-have fashion item this winter.’
‘Throw out the little black dress?’ he asked.
Holly brought her spare hand to her heart and gasped in mock shock. ‘Gosh, no. Never. But wear with the little black dress? Of course.’
Jacob nodded, his expression deadly serious, as though impressed by her wealth of fashion knowledge. He eased her into a slow ramble towards the grandstand steps.
‘Now you’ve answered the what, do I get to hear thewhy?’
Holly paused a moment for effect. ‘So my feet don’t get wet.’
Jacob glanced at her sideways and raised one unconvinced eyebrow.
‘Okay. After last night’s downpour, I arrived this morning to find the ground below my marquee ankle-deep in mud. Rather than have guests whose only memory of the day would be their wet feet, and without having to move the whole shebang up to a dreary old conference room with no view of the track, I brought in enough galoshes and warm socks to shoe my entire guest list.’
As her tale unfurled Jacob stopped watching the group ahead of him, and concentrated fully on her, his eyes growing bright with delight.
‘And besides you, did anybody actually dare to wear them?’
‘Sure. Everybody.’
Holly pulled Jacob up short as they had reached the fence line that separated the crowd from the track. Jacob looked about for the rest of their group and finding them heaving themselves awkwardly over the fence several metres away, he tried tugging her in their direction.
But Holly tugged him back.
She beamed at him proudly, then slipped effortlessly through the concealed hole in the fence that the others did not know was there. Jacob watched in amazement before following her through.
They trudged across the muddy dirt track, nearing the huge white marquee, which glowed brightly in the midday sun, the canvas roof flapping softly in the light breeze. The sounds of clinking glasses and happy chatter wafted across the way.
Holly smiled inwardly. Jacob looked so dubious. His expression was like a child’s on Christmas Day, just before opening his present from Grandma. Would it be the monster truck he had been promised or would it be tartan hankies again?
Jacob’s doubt was written so clearly across his face that Holly’s inward smile twisted with sadness. She had the feeling that he probably always doubted good things could happen until he saw them with his own two eyes. This was a man who knew disappointment.
The men ahead of them lifted the flap and headed inside. Holly and Jacob came close on their heels. Enjoying the moment intensely, Holly made sure she got there first. She grabbed a hold of the big flap and feeling like a ringmaster, opened it with a flourish.
Jacob was astounded.
Inside the marquee were glass-topped tables, candlelight shimmered from every spare surface and even from makeshift chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling. Heaters were scattered discreetly throughout the tent. The walls crawled with ivy interweaved with daisies and daffodils. The effect was like a mirage, a dash of springtime in the middle of the gloomy, muddy oval outside.
He scanned the faces of the people in the room. Many familiar, several famous. All laughing and drinking and obviously having a ball. And all were wearing bright yellow galoshes.
He turned to Holly, who was watching him with a satisfied grin splashed across her lovely face. ‘I am impressed.’ ‘And your feet?’ she asked.
Jacob lifted one foot and saw the kid leather was wet through and through. ‘Ruined. Even my socks are soaked.’
Holly gave a quick nod to someone outside Jacob’s field of view and within a couple of seconds a waiter arrived, the tray in his arms laden with a pair of brand new galoshes and a pair of thick cotton socks, both in size extra large.
‘Do I have to?’ he asked.
‘What do you think?’
In answer Jacob grabbed the galoshes and pulled up a spare garden chair. He held up his wet leather lace-ups and the waiter swapped the ruined shoes