He grinned slowly. ‘Me? Or the bow tie?’
Rolling her eyes, she picked up the pashmina she’d had the foresight to buy at the airport and slid it over her shoulders. She let out a breath.
Laszlo looked at her enquiringly. ‘Ready?’
‘No. But do I have a choice?’
He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘Not any more. Come on! Let’s go!’ He gave Prudence his arm and, opening the front door, stepped into the night air.
She gave a gasp of surprise, for, leading away as far as the eye could see, hundreds of tiny flickering flares edged the path up to the castle. ‘That’s so pretty!’
Shaking his head, Laszlo laughed. ‘They’re supposed to stop us breaking our necks. But I suppose they do look a bit like fireflies.’ His golden eyes gently mocked her excitement. ‘It all adds to the magic of the occasion. For the women and children!’
Prudence laughed. ‘Don’t make me use my putsi,’ she said teasingly.
‘There’s nothing wrong with a bit of magic.’ Laszlo grinned. ‘I’ll remind you of that later, when my Uncle Lajos starts doing conjuring tricks.’
The noise of laughter and music greeted them as they walked along the gravel path towards the barn and Prudence squeezed Laszlo’s arm nervously.
She had enjoyed the christening more than she’d expected. The tiny church had been bright with sunlight and filled with flowers. And seeing Laszlo hold Pavel in his arms, his unguarded face still with pride, she could have wept with love and envy. Laszlo’s family had been polite and friendly. But now the darkness felt intimidating, and she suddenly wished that she was walking in as his wife.
Shivering, she pushed the thought away. ‘It sounds like the party’s already started,’ she said quickly. ‘How many people are coming?’
Laszlo shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Probably a hundred—maybe more.’
Prudence felt her feet stutter to a halt. ‘A—a hundred?’ she stammered. ‘A hundred people?’ She stopped and stared at him incredulously. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
He gazed at her with a maddening lack of concern. ‘I thought you knew? Did you think it was just the guests from the christening?’ He laughed softly. ‘No. This is everyone.’ Frowning, he took her hand in his. ‘Does it matter? I mean, they’re all family...’
Swallowing, she smiled weakly. ‘Is that why there were more women than men at the church?’
He grinned. ‘They didn’t all come to the church. A lot of the men think that priests take away your manhood. Mine seems fine, though!’ His eyes gleamed in the darkness.
She knew he was teasing her, trying to make her relax, but she couldn’t. Feeling suddenly queasy with panic, Prudence clutched his arm more tightly.
Laszlo gave her hand a comforting squeeze. ‘You did the hard part this morn
ing. It’ll be fine. They’re going to love you. Trust me.’
Trust: how could so much be wrapped up in that one little word? ‘Okay.’ Heart pounding, she nodded. ‘Okay. But you have to trust me too, Laszlo. That’s how trust works.’
In the darkness, she couldn’t tell if he’d taken in her words or not. She opened her mouth to speak again, and then, behind them, the door to the barn opened and light and noise and colour hit her like a physical blow.
‘Laszlo! Laszlo!’
Prudence stared in astonishment round the barn. All around her, hands were reaching across and patting Laszlo on the back, pulling him by the arm, calling out his name. Turning towards her, he grinned and shouted back something in Hungarian, or maybe Romany. But the noise in the barn made it impossible for her to do anything but smile and nod.
Children were running around, darting through the crowds of smartly dressed adults, laughing and shouting. Some men dressed in dark suits and waistcoats were singing, stamping in time to guitars, and men and women, old and young, were dancing in a mass of people that seemed to fill one end of the vast barn.
Laszlo guided her into a part of the barn that had been screened off as a cloakroom. He turned to her and grinned. ‘Now, this is a party. A Romany party!’ he whispered in her ear.
She nodded. ‘A hundred people?’ She glared at him accusingly as he led her back into the main barn. ‘There must be well over two hundred!’
He glanced round the room. ‘Nearer three, I’d guess.’ His eyes were light and teasing.
She shook her head. ‘You’re incorrigible, Laszlo Cziffra! You knew exactly how many people were coming—and I bet you were always going to wear a dinner jacket, weren’t you?’
‘No.’