Impatiently, Timothy Turner stood before his father as his formal bow tie was finished. “Timothy, stop fidgeting. Mum will be down in just a moment. There’s plenty of time,” Patrick told his son. They stood almost eye-to-eye now, and Timothy’s feet were already larger than his dad’s.

“You always say that, and then we’re always late,” Tim complained. The poor boy’s nerves were already strained without his father’s teasing. When the invitation to  Great Ormond Street Hospital’s Annual Ball arrived a month ago, he had been stunned to see he was among the honored guests.  Since his bout with polio seven years ago, he had spent many hours volunteering with the children on his old ward. Now, to celebrate the opening of the new Children’s Ward, his former doctor Jim Carson had made sure that Timothy and his parents were included in the celebration.

“That’s only when you’re waiting for me. Mum won’t make us late, don’t worry.” The door upstairs opened and he gloated, ”See?”

But if Timothy was expecting to see his mother ready to leave for the dance, he was to be disappointed. His little sister appeared at the top of the stairs, a look of amazement on her face.

Bouncing down the stairs, she came to a stop when she met her father.

“Daddy, Mummy looks like a princess!” Her blue eyes, eerily like her mother’s, were huge and round.

“Cinderella?” he asked. Each family member had taken Angela to the pictures at least twice to see that film down at the Royale, even poor Tim. Angela had taken to walking around in her mother’s heels in the kitchen, pretending she was at the Ball.

“Yes,” she breathed, “just like her.” Angela grinned. “Are you ready to see her, Daddy?” she asked as she scurried down the last steps to take his hand.

“I hope so. Tim’s about to bolt out the door any minute.”

Angela called up the stairs. “Mummy, they’re ready!”

Patrick grinned back at his son, and turned to look at his wife gliding down the stairs. Shelagh smiled as she saw his jaw drop, the air knocked from his lungs. This was her very first Ball, even if only as a chaperone, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it. She knew Patrick favored her in blue, so she had searched the boutiques in Oxford Street for just the right frock. Sapphire taffeta with cap sleeves, it fit close to her waist, narrowly flaring out over her hips as it reached the floor. The decolletage was a little lower than she was used to, but just modest enough for the mother of a young man. She had smoothed her hair into a chignon low on her neck, the long white gloves and the pearls Patrick had given her for their fifth wedding anniversary completing her look.

Coming level with her husband, she smiled shyly at him. “You like it?” Her eyes took on a knowing look.

Patrick swallowed hard, nodding. Speechlessly, he watched his wife come down the rest of the stairs. Shelagh stood before Timothy and reached up to straighten his tie. “You look very handsome, Timothy dear. Susan will be very impressed. Do you have the corsage?”

“Right here,” he answered, shaking the small square box. “You look nice, Mum. Really,” he blushed.

Shelagh beamed. “Well, I won’t kiss you for that right now, so as not to get lipstick on your cheek. But you won’t get off so easily tomorrow, young man.”

“You can get lipstick on my cheek, Mummy,” Angela slipped in. “I wish I was going, too,” she sighed sadly.

“Don’t worry Cinderella, you’ll have a wonderful time at Charlotte’s house. You won’t even miss not having a fairy godmother.” She bent down and pressed her lips to her daughter’s. “There, now you have lipstick, too. Go get your bag so we can drop you off, Angel Girl.”

“I’ve already got it!” Angela proudly showed her mother.

“So in the car then, everybody,” cajoled Timothy. “We really will be late if we don’t shove off.”

Shelagh turned to her husband, looking for his arm. His face still stunned, he hadn’t moved. Tim rolled his eyes. “Please pick your chin off the floor, Dad. If you’re going to look like that all night, I’d rather you stayed at home.”

Running his finger under his collar, Patrick looked more like his son than ever.

---

Having dropped Angela at her friend’s house, Patrick handed the keys to his son. “You drive, son. Pretend we’re not even here in the back seat.”

Thrilled with the rare opportunity to drive his father’s beloved new Vauxhall, Tim ran around the bonnet of the car. Shelagh looked sidelong at her husband. “What are you up to?” she asked coyly.

“Can’t a man help his son out on his first formal date?” Patrick answered innocently. But he had moved a bit nearer than necessary, his fingers only just brushing against her gloved ones. Shelagh smiled to herself as they made their way through town, Slowly, Patrick’s hand slipped closer until it slid itself under her palm to clasp her hand. No change in expression accompanied the gesture, but Shelagh felt a strong sense that he was planning something.

She was right. The moment Timothy stepped from the car to pick up his date, Patrick slid the rest of the way across the seat, pressing his wife into the corner. “You’re stunning, my love.” His hand caressed her cheek, his thumb lightly playing along her lips. “Did you bring your lipstick?” he whispered.

Shelagh’s eyes danced. “Yes. Did you want to borrow it?”

“Not exactly. But you’ll need to refresh it before Tim comes back.” He swiftly lowered his head to hers, capturing her lips with his. Shelagh felt a flush of desire as his mouth teased hers open, the tip of his tongue tracing and retracing the paths he knew would stir her. Trying very hard to control her response, Shelagh placed her hands on his chest pushing away to allow just enough air between them to restrain their passion. His lips slid along the column of her neck, and for a moment, she let herself get swept away. Soon, however, she forced herself back to sanity. Timothy would return any moment, and would not appreciate his parent’s shenanigans.

“Patrick, dearest,” she whispered. “You have to stop.”

“Mmmm..,” he responded, his hand dangerously close to her perfectly coifed hair.

“Patrick,” Shelagh commanded.

It never paid to fail to heed that tone, as he had learned over the years. Grinning wolfishly, Patrick pulled away. “Is my tie all right?” he asked.

“Your tie is fine. But you’d better scrub your mouth. You were particularly effective in taking off my lipstick,” she noted, checking her face in her compact. “Oh, Patrick,” her voice carried feigned annoyance. “When will you grow up?”

The wolfish grin became a leer. “Never, if I’m lucky. And speaking of getting lucky-” he slid back to her side of the car seat. Shelagh was saved by Tim, not for the first time, as he opened the car door and ushered his date to her seat.

Settling himself in the driver’s seat, Tim muttered, “Why’s the window so-”

Blushing fiercely, poor Tim turned the key in the ignition and put the car in gear.

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