Beginning of the ball.
Harold pursed his lips at the nickname but said nothing. Nothing encouraged people more than acting like you hated something that you hated. He should know, he looked for the exact same signs. "Well, perfection like this takes time," Harold said airily, tugging his sleeve down a little before sipping his drink with a little less of Sally's enthusiasm. Another one of Harold's lessons learned. Staying behind someone you're drinking with, means they'll spill their secrets before you're close enough to spill yours...
"Besides, your drink wasn't the only thing I had to stop off and get hold of," He grinned and pulled open his jacket to show them both the inside pocket, which, when pulled open, was far larger inside that it should have been. How else would Harold have snugly fit a bottle of premium champagne inside it?