Jack Compton's Luck. Paula Marshall

a moment she could seen in him the lively, reckless boy he had once been…And then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

      ‘Now, that,’ she told him severely, ‘is more intriguing than ever, since hell-raising back home covers such a multitude of sins.’

      ‘Then I suggest that you use your lively imagination—I’m sure that you have one—to work out exactly what mine must have been.’

      ‘Wine, women and song?’ she merrily proposed. ‘The rake’s classic path to hell?’

      ‘Something of the sort—but I visited hell later on in quite a different place from Oxford or London.’

      Lacey refused to ask him to elaborate on where he had found hell, for she thought that she knew the answer. To restore the conversation to its previous, lighter, level, she said provokingly, ‘I don’t want to use my lively imagination about your past, whose sinfulness has undoubtedly been exaggerated by the time that has passed since then. Instead, to punish you for your lack of frankness, I shall insist that on the next occasion when the Charleston is played you will join me on to the floor again so that I may teach you how to dance it!’

      Jack stopped dead—nearly causing a collision behind him by doing so and gathering a lot of amused, angry and surprised stares into the bargain.

      ‘You wouldn’t! Oh, yes, I do believe that you would. What a spectacle I shall present if I allowed you to do any such thing,’ he exclaimed, resuming the dance again.

      ‘Exactly—a splendid one, I’m sure. I shan’t take no for an answer. You are not to refuse me when I come to collect you for it. If you do, I must tell you that I have a nice line in throwing comic conniption fits—scenes to you—which I stage to punish boy friends who let me down.’

      Jack said, ‘But I am not your boy friend.’

      Lacey raised her fine black brows at him in derision. ‘If you’re not, then tell me why you have been flirting with me ever since we were introduced, and why, before we met, you looked at me as though you could eat me.’

      ‘None of it was intentional.’ Jack tried to make his voice as stiff as possible.

      ‘That makes it worse, not better. Come on, Fighting Jack, live up to your nickname and dance the Charleston with me.’

      Her face, nay, her whole body, was so alight with mischief that suddenly Jack could refuse her nothing. ‘Very well, on your own head be it. Take the consequences, Miss Lacey Chancellor, and live with them.’

      ‘Great!’ she sparked back at him. ‘That’s the ticket.’

      ‘Happy to hear it,’ he murmured, wondering what on earth he had let himself in for—and what this was doing to his reputation.

      Each of them was so engrossed in the other that neither of them noticed that the music had stopped and the dance had ended until they saw that people were leaving the floor and staring at them as they still revolved.

      Lacey murmured wickedly, ‘No need to wonder about making a spectacle of yourself, you are already one.’

      ‘Too true—and I put it down to my unfamiliarity with this life. I do hope that we shan’t be blackballed and not allowed into a society hop again. I don’t worry for my sake, I’m only in London for a short time, but I shouldn’t like to put an end to your fun.’

      Where was all this coming from? Jack asked himself. It was years since he had engaged in social badinage and now it was as though time had rolled back again, or as if he had never been away from town, the season and its functions.

      Lacey seemed to be enjoying herself, too. ‘Oh, I don’t think that you need to worry about that. I am that curiosity of nature, a rich American who is not quite a barbarian and is not quite one for whom anything goes. Now, you may take me back to my aunt who, for some reason, is looking most disapproving, but you’re not to forget the Charleston lesson which I am determined to give you even if I have to drag you on to the floor.’

      Jack could not stop himself. ‘Are all American women as downright as you are, Lacey? Or is it the Chancellor in you? I seem to remember, years ago, someone saying that all the women of the junior branch of the family were strong-minded beauties.’

      There, he had said it, his first compliment to a woman in years.

      ‘Both,’ she told him. ‘American women are not like yours. On top of that, I believe that a distant ancestress of mine was noted for her looks and her strong mind at a time when women were supposed to boast of the former and not of the latter.’

      By this time they had reached Aunt Sue, who greeted them with a frozen face even after Jack had been introduced to her. This was so unlike her that Lacey wondered what was wrong. Had she and Jack perhaps overdone things on the dance floor? Surely not.

      She was, of course, perfectly polite, even if cold. Jack did not appear to notice that anything was amiss when Miss Susan Hoyt, Lacey’s mother’s cousin, was introduced to him as Lacey’s companion.

      ‘Not my duenna,’ Lacey said laughing. ‘Rather a friend to see that I am not lonely and, since Aunt Sue has spent a lot of time in England, to show me the ropes, as it were, and to make sure I don’t say, or do, the wrong thing.’

      ‘Oh, I’m sure that you’d never do that,’ smiled Jack in a comic tone that suggested that she probably might, ‘so Miss Hoyt’s task must be an easy one.’

      Not even that provoked a smile from Aunt Sue and once he’d wandered off, after promising again to be taught the Charleston, she asked her aunt, ‘What’s wrong? Is it something I’ve done?’

      Her aunt shook her head. ‘No, not at all. There is something which I have to tell you, but here is not the place for it. When we get home will do. Are you really promising to teach Mr Compton the Charleston on the dance floor? Is it wise?’

      Lacey laughed, ‘Perhaps not, but I managed to pierce his icy English reserve several times and I thought that making him dance the Charleston might unfreeze it altogether. Come on, Aunt Sue, you’re not usually a spoilsport.’

      ‘There are reasons,’ said her aunt ambiguously, shaking her head. ‘But have your own way, dear, you usually do.’

      Lacey thought that she was past the age when she could be reprimanded by a companion, even one as kind as Aunt Sue usually was. Bees did not usually buzz in her bonnet but tonight there was a distinct noise of a hive having been disturbed by something. Not to worry, she would concentrate instead on trying to unsettle Fighting Jack even further—perhaps to the point where she made him behave as though the nickname still suited him!

      Chapter Two

      ‘Old Mother Leominster’s dance was even more eventful than hers usually are,’ was Rupert Compton’s somewhat inelegant remark to Darcey Chancellor later. They had spent the evening and the hour after midnight in enjoying themselves with a variety of flappers. Neither of them had any real expectations of inheriting anything and, since Darcey was already pledged to his long-time, if also penniless, love, they were not regarded as either threats or possible husbands.

      ‘Something between a gigolo and a cavaliere servente,’ was Darcey’s rueful comment to Rupert, who wasn’t sure what he meant by the second half of the sentence but didn’t say so. He assumed, rightly, that it was something more respectable than a gigolo, but both words were damned un English so far as he was concerned.

      They had lost sight of Jack, who had come across an old friend from his Army days who had stayed behind in Europe when Jack went to Palestine and had got involved with Allenby’s lot and ‘that bounder, T. E. Lawrence’: the friend’s description, not Jack’s. Jack’s attempt to explain the intricacies of Middle East politics was lost on him and he was thankful when he heard the strains of the Charleston begin to filter into the supper room.

      ‘Forgive me, lady waiting,’ he offered, and set off at the double. Wouldn’t do to offer Miss Lacey Chancellor the opportunity to stage