Pam felt something stir in her that she had neither the time nor the inclination to examine too closely, but she thanked Mr. Halpert with a charming laugh and put aside her yoghurt. Was there any more of it that Mr. Halpert thought was spoiled? As the hostess she would rather like to know? Oh, no, somehow she had obtained the only one that was visibly off and not noticed. How unfortunate, but then, how lucky that she could simply pick up another! And so she did, and ate it while laughing charmingly at all of Mr. Halpert’s jokes, slipping an arm into his and propelling him around the ballroom with her while she greeted the other guests.
This latter behaviour did not go unnoticed by the Viscount and his young guest from Norfolk, who soon abandoned any hope of Jim returning with drinks or food and went to seek them out themselves. Ryan was decidedly of the opinion that Miss Beesly had no interest in Jim—that this was the behaviour of a woman who unselfconsciously believed herself already married, or at least advanced in her spinsterhood, and therefore not neither object nor subject of flirtatious advances—to which Mark replied with a wager of his own good greys against Ryan’s decidedly inferior team of roans if there ever came evidence that this was not a flirtation. Ryan considered this very bad business on Mark’s part, but, never one to shun a wager or to warn a man off his own self-inflicted doom, heartily shook hands upon the bet, agreeing that they would only settle once entirely solid evidence was adduced on one side or the other, but that each would keep a weather eye out for such a sign. With that they addressed themselves to the whist tables, where they found themselves once again confronted with the subjects of their wager, and agreed to make a table of four.
The conversation flowed easily around the whist-table; the three men were in their element, having a shared wealth of experience to fall back on whenever the talk might lag, and Pam found herself oddly at peace listening to it ebb and flow. She certainly held her own, twitting Jim especially as she learned various things about him from the rollicking quizzing of his peers, but for the most part she found herself sitting back a little and thinking about how Jim and the others seemed to interact. It was not that they were unwilling to tease or quiz each other, or to sometimes bring up moments in their shared history that one or more of them found uncomfortable or embarrassing—though some of those moments were quickly flitted over with a glance in her direction or a muted cough, suggesting strongly that they were inappropriate for mixed company—but they were somehow more genteel, less coarse than the similar conversations she had been party or witness to among Roy and his friends, who tended to congregate in Roy’s or Darryl’s apartments in the evening and shoot craps or draw a game of vingt-et-un. Those conversations often ground to a halt when she dropped by, or worse, on a few occasions, did not, whereas this one simply skimmed over the moments that were perhaps best left unreferenced in her presence and seemed if anything to grow stronger and more interesting to its participants for the omission. She could tell that this was a game for Ryan Howard in particular, who seemed to delight in pushing the boundaries while remaining just technically within the realm of propriety—an endeavour that was clearly encouraged by the laughing Viscount Banbury but merely acknowledged by Jim Halpert, who would ruefully signal a hit when Ryan managed to push the conversation back into more risqué or controversial ground and steadfastly redirect to safer territory. She was almost beginning to suspect Jim of protecting her, but his play at the table was sufficiently ruthless no matter his assigned partner that she assured herself that could not be the case; if it were, why had he just set her bid by three? No, he was simply a gentleman—a gentleman’s gentleman, if his friends were to be taken as any indication—and a good friend. Truly, she was not sure she had had a friend since childhood, at least not one as good and…well, friendly…as Jim. She smiled and laughed and, for once at one of Colonel Scott’s parties, thoroughly enjoyed herself.
This all threatened to come crashing down when Ryan arose from the table and expressed a desire to go have a drink, suggesting that they settle up for the game. Jim agreed and offhandedly noted that they hadn’t agreed on stakes. Pam realized that they had not, and a dismayed feeling forced itself up from her stomach, only accelerating when Jim casually offered to settle at a shilling a trick. A shilling a trick? She didn’t have that kind of money, not even if you included the very simple jewels she wore, or the whole cost of her gown. Were these seeming gentlemen really sharks—a term she remembered Roy using about a couple of his supposed friends who always seemed ready for a game and never stood up losers except for petty stakes, or winners except for high ones—set to gobble her up? She was so worried she lost all opportunity to object as the gentlemen agreed and tabulated their scores, only to return to full consciousness at the realization that Ryan was good-naturedly placing a full guinea into her hand. Jim seized the opportunity of her distraction and Ryan’s departure to whisper in her ear that he was sorry about the stakes but he’d noticed how far the two of them were up on Ryan especially and had not been able to resist offering the high price knowing Ryan had not been keeping track. She giggled, and could move again, finding herself glad to be confirmed in her initial supposition about his character, at least where she herself was concerned. The three of them arose from the table and made their way towards the salon, where Pam could see Colonel Scott holding court to an ever-diminishing audience. Somehow Mark conceived to slip away on the walk so she found herself once again alone with Jim—or as alone as one could be in the packed space of the party. She listened to Michael pontificate about whatever it was was on his mind that day and leaned against Jim’s arm, content with everything for once.
Jim, of course, stood stock still as soon as he felt Pam’s face press against his arm, and forcibly resisted the instinctual urge to wrap his arm around her and offer her his chest as a more comfortable resting place. Instead he stood carefully, not allowing her to slip or fall, despite the pins and needles building up within his own arm. At length, Michael’s flow of words stopped and the last hearers dwindled away, one of whom fortuitously brushed against Pam’s sleeve, bringing her back to awareness.
“Hey” he smiled down at her.
“Hullo” she smiled back, then realized where she was and what she had been doing. “Are you an equestrian, Mr. Halpert?”
“I am reputed to be a bit of a hand, I believe, Miss Beesly. Why do you ask?”
“Ah, I thought you must be. I have been told, by many reputable friends of mine, that hay is for horses, so I felt certain that you must be well-acquainted in that field.”
“A touch, a touch, I do confess.” He grinned. “Shall we dance?”
She took his hand. “Most certainly.”
And so they did.
