A Meeting Fraught With Meaning

This excerpt is from the 1920s story - still untitled - that I started the other day. It features the meeting between my no-longer-boring heroine, and the hero. I have no idea if this scene will carry over to the final draft, as this story is still very much in rough draft mode, but I thought it fun enough to put up here, even in its unpolished state. It amuses, me, at any rate!

&&&&&

The man standing before her was tall. That was the first thing Maia noticed. At five foot seven, she stood taller than most women, and this man loomed even over her. She noted that he had a very determined chin, as that was at her eye level, and then she took in the rest of his appearance.

He certainly didn’t look stodgy. He was, in fact, quite handsome as he stood there in his elegant evening dress, his light brown hair scarcely rumpled at all despite the press of bodies all around. Of course, standing head and shoulders above most of the people there might have helped with that. 

“How do you do, Miss Whitney?” His voice wasn’t stodgy, either, despite the polite-but-bored tone. He had a pleasant baritone, a rich, deep voice that put Maia in mind of brown velvet, or a smooth claret.

“Very well, thank you, Mr Davies,” she replied. She held out her hand, and was absurdly pleased when he shook it instead of kissing it. It was a real handshake, too, not one of those limp affairs so many men gave to ladies. His hand curved around hers securely, very nearly covering it entirely.

“Well,” Maud said brightly, “I’ll just leave the two of you to get acquainted, shall I? I must go greet some more guests. Maia, love, we’ll chat more later. Len darling, do make sure you get out to dance at some point, won’t you?”

With that, she vanished, leaving Maia feeling neatly manoeuvred.

“Quite the social butterfly, isn’t she?” Mr Davies said, eyes travelling across the sea of people.

Maia stiffened. “Maud is a splendid person. She was one of the best nurses we had in France.”

Mr Davies glanced sideways at her. His face creased into a slight smile, and Maia saw why Maud called him sweet. “I meant no offence. Being Daniel’s wife requires Maud to be a social butterfly, I imagine. She does her job well.”

Maia unbent as well. “Sorry to take you up so quick. It can be very irritating to have people always making assumptions about one, simply because of one’s social class. One reason, I suppose, why my sister has become a Socialist.”

“And are you a Socialist as well?”

“Goodness, no,” Maia said, thinking of how desperate she was to hire competent staff for the house. “Though I do admire many of their ideals, I’m afraid that they are all terribly impractical for real life.”

To her surprise, he laughed at loud at that. His laugh was as lovely as his speaking voice, ringing out above all the chatter. “Very true! Miss Whitney, I’m afraid I’ve been quite shamefully lax in my duties. Can I fetch you a drink?”

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Maia said.

“I will be right back, then.”

Maia was impressed at how the crowd parted before him, without anyone seeming to even be aware of moving out of his way. As the people filled in the gap behind him, they started to press closer to her, as well. Instinct told her to get out before she couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t just leave, not after sending Mr Davies to get her a drink. It would be rude to go now, to not be here when he came back.

Maia wondered if she was invisible as people swirled closer and closer, dancing, shouting, laughing, and smoking. It was the smoking that did her in finally. By the time Mr Davies returned, she was white with a green tinge and having a hard time breathing.

“Good lord, are you ill?” he inquired. If Maia had had the energy she would have shot him a disgusted look. Of course she was ill; was he blind or just stupid?

“Here you, take these,” he said, hastily passing off the two champagne glasses on a nearby dancer. The chap looked surprised, but didn’t question the unexpected gift. He downed one and handed the other to his partner, who made short work of it.

“Come with me,” Mr Davies ordered Maia. He took her arm very firmly and led her across the floor, weaving through the swirling couples until she was dizzy as well as nauseous. Just as she was afraid she was going to completely disgrace herself by being violently sick all over his tail coat, they made it to the french windows. Without letting go of her arm, Mr Davies unlatched one, led her through it to the terrace, and closed and latched in behind them.

Maia’s head started to clear as soon as she was out in the fresh air. She stepped away from Mr Davies, sinking into one of the little chairs Maud had scattered all along the terrace.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be fine in a moment. I think it was the heat and the crowd.”

“Why didn’t you just leave, then?”

“I didn’t want to be rude,” Maia stammered. Even though his face was shadowed, she could see the incredulous lift to his eyebrows. Her cheeks heated.

“Pardon me, but that seems rather foolish, don’t you think?”

Now it was anger as well as embarrassment that lent colour to her face and strength to her knees. Maia surged up. “Perhaps some people do think that good manners and common politeness are foolish. I do not happen to be one of those people.”

The abominable man chuckled! “I stand corrected,” he said, his voice thick with amusement.

Maia’s head was beginning to throb. “I shall be quite all right now. You may return to the party, if you wish.”

“Thank you,” he said with a bow. “I believe I shall.”

The minute he was gone, Maia’s legs began to tremble again. She sat back down.

“‘All this self-sacrifice,’” she told herself, “‘is a sad mistake.’”