'Oysterl We have a barrel just arrived from UmWanga Rocks.'
'Excellent. ' Ruth liked the man's response to the emergency.
'Then I could do a smoked ham, cold venison, cold rock lobster, salads?
' 'Excellent again. What about cheese?'
'Gruyre. Danish Blue. Camembert.'
'Wine?
'Champagne?'
'Yes,' Ruth agreed instantly. She would shamelessly exploit Sean's
weakness for it. 'A bottle of Veuve Clicquot-no, on second thoughts,
three bottles. ' 'I'll send the wine up first?'
'Immediately-with your best glass and a silver bucket,' Ruth told
him.
Then she fled to her toilet. Thank the Lord for French perfume and
this morning dress of grey silk she had been saving for just such an
occasion. She worked quickly, but with skill, upon her face and hair,
and when she was finished she sat quietly before the mirror and
composed her features into an expression of peace. The effect was very
satisfactory, she decided after critical contemplations. Since it was
the way he had first seen it, Sean could never resist her hair in
braids. It made her look like a little girl.
'Shall I open the wine, Madam?'
'Yes, please. ' She called into the sitting-room, then went through to
await the onslaught of the hurricane.
Ten minutes later it came wafting in like a gentle zephyr, with a cigar
clamped between its teeth, its hands thrust deep into trousers pockets
and a bemused expression on its face.
'Hey, now!' Sean stopped when he saw her, and removed the cigar.
'That's nice!'
The fact that he had noticed her appearance was proof that her weather
forecast was hopelessly incorrect and she burst out laughing.
'Whats so funny?' Sean asked mildly Nothing and everything. You and
me. Have a glass of champagne.
'Mad woman,' Sean said and kissed her. 'I like your hair like this
'Aren't you disappointed?'
'About the result, you mean? yes, I suppose I am. ' He went to the
central table and poured wine into the crystal glasses, handed one to
her and took up the other.
'I give you a toast-the short, exciting political career of Sean
Courtney. ' 'You wanted to win so badly-but now . . . ?'
Sean nodded. 'Yes, I always want to win. But now that the game is
lost. . . ' He shrugged. 'Shall I tell you something? I was getting
a bit sick of all the speechifying and hand-shaking.
I feel that even in my sleep I have a vacant grin on my face.'
He crossed to one of the leather arm-chairs and sank down into it
gratefully. 'There is something else also. Come here and let me tell
you about it. ' She went to him, sat in his lap and slid her hand into
the front of his shirt so that she could feel the soft springy hair of
his chest, and the hard rubbery flesh beneath.
'Tell me,' she said, and he told her about Garry. He spoke slowly,
