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fussed. She found it. Orange Vinaigrette. Ethel couldn’t say that that was unimaginative … you cut up oranges and black olives and onions and fresh mint … sounded terrific, you poured a vinaigrette sauce over it … it would be perfect. Carmel smiled happily. She knew that she was doing the right thing. All she had to do was go at it slowly.
    She would go home now and rest; tomorrow she would come out and find a main course, and then a dessert. She had work to do at home too. Joe had said that if he was going to come and help her he would need co-operation. She mustn’t have turned into a dowdy middle-aged old frump, she must look smart and glamorous and well-turned-out. She had thirty afternoons to organise that.
    *   *   *
     
    Sheila dropped in on her way home from school. She seemed relieved to find Carmel there, and there was a look of worry on her face.
    ‘I was a little alarmed, Martin told me you had sent us a letter.’
    ‘It was only an invitation,’ Carmel smiled. ‘Come on in and we’ll have a coffee. I was in the middle of tidying out some cupboards … I’ve a lot of clothes that should go to the Vincent de Paul … but you know what always happens, you’re ashamed to give them the way they are, so you get them cleaned first. Then when they come back from the cleaners they’re better than anything else you have in the press so you never give them at all.’ Carmel laughed happily as they went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.
    ‘It just seemed so funny to write, when I talk to you nearly every day …’
    ‘Did it? Oh, I don’t know, I’m such a bad hostess I thought you have to write things down as invitations or people didn’t believe you. I suppose that’s why I wrote. I’d have told you anyway.’
    ‘But you didn’t tell me yesterday.’
    ‘No, I must have forgotten.’
    ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there, Carmel? You are all right?’
    Carmel had her back to Sheila. She deliberatelyrelaxed her shoulders and refused to clench her fists. Nobody was going to see just how annoyed she became when people asked her in that concerned tone whether she was all right.
    ‘Sure I am, why wouldn’t I be, a lady of leisure? It’s you who must be exhausted coping with all that noise and those demons all day. I think you should be canonised.’
    ‘Tell me about the dinner party,’ Sheila said.
    ‘Oh, it’s not for a month yet,’ Carmel laughed.
    ‘I know.’ Sheila’s patience seemed strained. ‘I know it’s not for a month, but you actually put pen to paper and wrote so I thought it was a big thing.’
    ‘No no, just eight of us, I said it in the letter.’
    ‘Yes, Martin told me, I wasn’t at home when it arrived.’
    ‘He rang you? Oh, isn’t he good. There was no need to. I mean you could have told me any time.’
    ‘Yes, and you could have told me any time.’ Sheila looked worried.
    ‘Yes, of course. Heavens, we are both making a production of it! When you think how many parties Ethel goes to, and indeed gives …’
    ‘Yes, well, Ethel is Ethel.’
    ‘And you, I mean you and Martin often have people round, don’t you? I often hear you say you had people in.’
    ‘Yes, but that’s very casual.’
    ‘Oh, this will be too. Mainly people we all know well.’
    ‘But Ruth … Ruth O’Donnell … we don’t know her all that well, and honestly, do you know, I think that’s the night that her exhibition opens – in fact I’m sure of it.’
    ‘Yes, I know it is, I said that in the letter. Didn’t Martin tell you? So I know we’ll all be going to it … but it’s at four o’clock … it will be well over by six, and even if people go to have a drink afterwards … well, they’re not invited here until eight, for half past.’
    ‘Yes, but don’t you think on the night of her own exhibition she might want to go out with her own friends?’
    ‘But we’re her friends, in a way.’
    ‘Not really, are we? I mean, are you? She doesn’t normally come