But James was shaking his head and turning away. Dulcie couldn’t believe it. This was his chance – he couldn’t turn it down now!
The silver Sheaffer fountain pen went whistling past James’s head and ricocheted with a CLACKKK off the wall.
‘How dare you!’ Dulcie leapt recklessly to her feet, cracking both shins against the edge of the coffee table. ‘How bloody dare you?’ she yelled, outraged. ‘How can you be so stupid, so stubborn, so ... so ... oh hell, what’s that?’
Gasping with pain, doubled up and clutching her poor bruised shins, Dulcie collapsed back on the sofa. James had taken another envelope, already stamped and addressed, down from the fireplace. Wordlessly he held it out to her.
‘It’s for Bibi, isn’t it?’ she groaned, feeling stupid. ‘God, James, you are so annoying. Why wasn’t it down here with the rest of them?’
He grinned and tapped the address book on the coffee table. ‘These are the people ‘I need to look up.’ Then, pointing to the other slim stack of envelopes propped up on the fireplace, he added simply, ‘And these are the ones ‘I don’t.’
‘Does it give you a huge amount of pleasure to watch me make an idiot of myself?’
‘Huge isn’t the word for it.’
‘Is my card up there, then?’ said Dulcie, ever the optimist. ‘Ah,’ James’s grin broadened, ‘have to wait and see.’
They had another drink. By this time it was getting on for ten o’clock.
‘You’ll be so glad you did this,’ Dulcie told him reassuringly. ‘I mean it, when Bibi gets your card, she’ll be able to send you one back. Then you can either phone her or accidentally-onpurpose bump into her ... I can arrange that if you want me to, ‘I could have a—’
‘Dulcie, don’t you think you should give up on the arranging front?’ James commented drily.
‘Wouldn’t it be an idea to let people make their own arrangements from now on?’
Dulcie pulled a face. She was raring to go.
‘I know, ‘I know, but you men are so hopeless at this kind of stuff. If we leave it to you, you’ll take months to do anything. Trust me, do it my way and ‘I could have this whole thing sorted out by ... well, maybe even by Christmas!’
‘What if I don’t want it all sorted out by Christmas?’
‘You see?’ Dulcie was ready to explode with frustration. ‘That’s exactly what ‘I mean. James, please – oh!’
She gazed down at her car keys, which had just landed unexpectedly in her lap. James was putting on his jacket and looking masterful. He slid Bibi’s card into his inside pocket, switched off the television and indicated with a brief businesslike gesture that Dulcie should shift herself, pronto, in the direction of the front door.
Smiling at the uncomprehending look on her face, he said quietly, ‘What if I want to sort it out now?’
Three massive Scotches had given James just enough Dutch courage to do what he had been wanting to do for months. When Dulcie pulled up outside Bibi’s house for the second time that evening she leaned across and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
‘Go for it.’
‘Wish me luck.’
‘You don’t need luck. The two of you belong together.’
‘Yes, well. Thanks for the lift.’ James reached for the door catch before what felt like a nasty attack of stage fright could get a grip.
He appeared to be one Scotch short of total confidence. ‘Got the card?’ said Dulcie.
He patted his pocket.
‘Er ... yes.’
‘What a waste of a stamp.’
Beginning to panic, James wondered if this was wise. Maybe he should post the thing first after all.
Dulcie realised what was going on. He needed encouragement. Reaching past him, she flipped open the passenger door. And pushed him out.
There were lights on inside the house and Bibi’s car was there on the drive but nobody was answering the doorbell.
James began to feel sick. Did this mean she was too engrossed in the man who was in there with her to come to the door? Or that she had seen him climbing out of Dulcie’s car and was now hiding upstairs, cursing her daughter-in-law for getting it so spectacularly wrong again?
Dulcie had, of course, driven off and left him to it. To get home, he would have to flag down a passing cab. Taking a deep breath, James rang the doorbell one last time.
Finally, he heard the sound of footsteps running downstairs – ha, so she’d been in bed with him, had she? – and Bibi’s voice calling out, ‘Who is it?’
Should he? Shouldn’t he? James hesitated.
‘Hello, who’s there?’
Bloody Dulcie, taking off like a bat out of hell, leaving him stranded .. .
‘Bibi, it’s me.’
The door was flung open. Bibi stood in the doorway, visibly stunned.
She had been in the bath, James realised. Her ash-blonde hair was up in a loose topknot and damp tendrils framed her face. Her skin
