The Connoisseur

Chapter 21 - A Still Life of Lust

The party continued as normal, but Sophia did not enjoy it as much as before.  It was still astonishing, but she felt detached from it all, reduced to being an observer of the past rather than a participant.  A new player sat before the piano and took up a ragtime tune, delighting the guests. 

“It’s the latest fashion in New York,” she heard one young lady say.  “No one will dance the polka any more.”

Hipsters, thought Sophia, laughing to herself.  She remained seated in a corner of the room.

She stiffened: in the corner of her eye, she noticed Alexander approaching.  She forced herself to look at him and smile.

“Let’s try this dance,” he said.  “It’ll be wonderful!”

“I don’t know the steps,” she replied.

“No one does, it’s brand new.  Come, come!”

She stood and danced with him, but she felt awkward and heavy, and found it difficult to move in her dress.  At the end of the song, she moved back to her seat in the corner.

“Anything the matter?” he asked her.

She looked straight into his eyes: they were full of care.  She desperately wanted to believe it was genuine.

“No,” she said.  “I’m just a little tired.  All of this, it’s overwhelming.”

“Don’t worry,” he said.  “We’ll make our escape soon enough.”

He leant forward and kissed her on the lips.  She couldn’t help but smile afterwards, but the moment he walked away her smile fell.

She knew what he wanted.  She knew that, earlier in the evening, she had wanted it too.  Now?  Sophia didn’t know.

As the clock struck one, a number of guests began to leave.  With each who passed through the doors, she felt more and more nervous.  With the room half empty, Alexander approached her.  She drank the last of her champagne with difficulty: her hand was shaking.

“Shall we depart?” he said gently.

“Sure.  Okay.” 

She let him take her arm in his.  They walked into the reception hall.  Wilde stood nearby, talking amiably to the young man who had been playing the piano.

“You are leaving us, Mr. Hartigan, Miss Deveaux?” said the writer.  “So soon?”

“Alas, yes,” said Alexander.  “I make it a rule to leave parties early.  Nothing else makes them quite so enjoyable.”

“Oh Alexander, you sound like me.  I commend you.  Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.”

“Until we meet again, Oscar,” said Alexander, smiling.

“Goodnight.  And goodnight to you, Miss Deveaux.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Wilde.” 

As Alexander led her to the door, she looked back.  Wilde stared sombrely at her.

The fog outside was gone, but the wind was brisk.  Sophia hugged her furs around her.  They walked slowly along the pavement.

“Where to, then?” said Alexander.  He was quiet, but Sophia could hear the excitement in his voice.  “Shall we find a room for the night?”

Sophia shrugged her shoulders.  “We could do.”

“How does the Savoy sound?”

“The Savoy?  You are a high roller.”