‘It's OK, I didn't expect you to.’

They gazed at each other for a while and Elsa suddenly felt a little awkward. She was just wondering what to say next when the music stopped and Natasha's consort, who, unlike all the other men, was in Regency dress, went to a microphone.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to announce the winner of the costume competition.’

Elsa felt tense. She'd always dreaded hearing her name or her number, or indeed anything, called out. And while she didn't think she was in any danger now, she still felt anxious. Then Laurence took her hand and squeezed it, looking down at her encouragingly.

‘In reverse order…' A name was announced and Elsa relaxed; the woman who came forward for her bottle of champagne was immaculate. Elsa was fairly sure that her dress was an exact copy of a period costume from a painting. There was no way she was likely to be called for now.

The second prize went to another stunning creation, far grander than Elsa's gown – this one was suitable for a duchess. Elsa by contrast was very ingénue, her dress suitable for a girl in her first season. She was no longer in her teens but she felt sufficiently inexperienced in the ways of the world for this to be appropriate. Apart from anything else, she hadn't wanted to make anything too complicated in case she'd had to drop it to start on Carrie's creation.

‘And the winner,' called the man, who actually looked very smart in his tight pants, tail coat and exotically tied neckcloth, 'who wins a weekend for two here in this lovely hotel, is..

Elsa looked round for someone to step forward and then realised it was her name she had heard. Laurence was looking down at her, smiling. He mouthed, 'Ready?' and when she gave a little nod he took her hand and led her to the front. Everyone clapped like mad. In theory it was the worst moment of her life, being the object of everyone's gaze, in the forefront rather than the background. But from somewhere came a sense of theatre: spontaneously, she performed a deep curtsey and accepted a bottle of champagne and an envelope as if she'd been born to receive such accolades.

‘Thank you so much,' she said, stuttering a little. 'I can't believe I won!'

‘Your dress wasn't the grandest,' said Natasha, kissing her cheek, 'but it was the prettiest and you look so lovely in it. Where did you get it made? I can tell it's not hired.'

‘Oh, I made it myself,' Elsa said making a dismissive movement with her fingers.

‘But it's amazing!' said Natasha. 'Did you hear that? She made her dress herself!’

Now the prize-giving was over, other women gathered round Elsa and Natasha. They inspected Elsa's dress more closely.

‘It's lovely. And you do it professionally?’

Elsa nodded. 'Mm. I make wedding dresses mostly.’

‘You haven't got a business card in your reticule have you?' said Natasha.

Elsa was writing her website address down for what felt like the tenth time when a woman said, 'You don't take on work-experience students, do you? My daughter's doing A level Art but all she ever does is sew. She loves it and wants to go to fashion college.’

Elsa considered. 'Although I do occasionally have help, I've never had anyone for work experience. But I have got a big commission coming up. It might be very useful if your daughter can really use a needle.' She thought of all the crystals that would have to be sewn on by hand. She could try her out at least.

‘It's in a fortnight. If you say you'd have her, my Mummy Points will sky rocket,' said the woman. 'The only work experience that is even near what she wants is working in a clothes shop.'

‘Well, my work will be quite menial but it'll be with lovely fabrics. Tell her to get in touch.’

Elsa was quite happy chatting to these women eager for her services about what she knew best but then Laurence touched her elbow.

‘Come on, we've got to do a victory waltz. On our own. This is when we really find out if your dancing lesson paid off!’

Something happened. Perhaps because Elsa was feeling good about herself after her work had been validated by all those eager people, or because they'd already had a trial run, or for some other, inexplicable reason, but something happened. A switch went on and she and Laurence truly connected.

She didn't notice the applause, she only heard the music and felt Laurence's arm lightly on her back, intimating to her which way to go. She floated, rising and falling on the music of the Viennese waltz. In her head she was in the Vienna Opera House for the night of the Opera Ball. Round and round they went and she felt she was in heaven.

The feeling wasn't only about the dancing, she knew that. She felt a charge between them; now they felt like a man and a woman, not just two random people who happened to be at the same party.

She was aware of other couples joining them on the dance floor and when the music finally ended she and Laurence were at the edge. He was smiling faintly; the corners of his eyes creased slightly. Apart from the fact that he was pleased with her, she couldn't quite interpret his expression. She felt a flutter of excitement in her chest as he looked deeply into her eyes. Then he released the hand he had been holding and took her chin. She closed her eyes and waited for his kiss.

His lips had barely brushed hers when he suddenly pulled away. Someone was tugging at his sleeve. It was Natasha.

‘Laurence, I'm really sorry to interrupt' – she shot an apologetic glance at Elsa – 'but you're the only person guaranteed to be sober.’

Disappointment and reality arrived simultaneously. She'd been dancing like an angel, with Laurence, and he had been going to kiss her, properly. The circumstances might never be right again and kind, gentlemanly, sober Laurence was going to have to rescue another damsel in distress.

‘It's Jamie,' explained Natasha. 'He managed to really gouge his hand opening a bottle of wine. Maggie is beside herself. She can't drive, they've got a babysitter who has to be got home, and she thinks Jamie should go to hospital. I do too, actually.’

Elsa thought she saw Laurence close his eyes for a moment, expressing irritation, or possibly frustration. But then he was his usual helpful self. He glanced at her, almost as if he were asking her permission. She smiled back.

‘Come on, let's have a look,' he said.

The kitchen could have been a scene from Holby City before the ambulance crew arrived.

There was a man sitting at the table holding a bloodstained tea towel round his hand. A woman, presumably his wife, was leaning over him, alternately upbraiding him for being so stupid and asking him how he felt. Other people stood around offering opinions – some said the wound, which Elsa couldn't actually see, should be stuck up with sticking plaster, that was all that was necessary. Others said he should go to A and E. One person was all for calling an ambulance.

When Laurence entered the room everyone went quiet. 'What happened?' he asked, and everyone started to talk again.

‘Bloody fool was trying to open a bottle with a knife. It slipped and it went straight into his wrist.' This was his wife. 'He's going to bleed to death if someone doesn't do something! And he's drunk,' she added.

‘I'm fine! I said I'd drive!' said the man concerned, obviously not only in pain but somewhat inebriated.

‘No you're not. Even if you hadn't cut your hand half off you couldn't drive,' said someone else.

‘Let's have a look.' Laurence knelt by the man and unwrapped the tea towel. He didn't say anything, just wrapped it up again very quickly. 'Maggie's right,' he said. 'A and E for you.'

‘I don't drive,' wailed Maggie. 'And I must get home -we've got a new babysitter, I can't leave her there all night!'