asking if they could bring Kevin Costner along to the party.
But life was somehow never that thrilling. It was Eddie Hammond, the manager of Brunton Manor. Sounding agitated.
‘Dulcie, bit of a hitch. I’m really sorry about this—’
‘What?’ yelped Dulcie, all of a sudden agitated too. If the club had been burned to the ground, where would she hold the party tonight? More to the point, where was she going to spend the rest of her life?
‘It’s the kitchen staff, darling. Gone down like ninepins. Fingers crossed it’s just a virus but the health inspector’s thrown a wobbler. Until salmonella’s ruled out, he’s shut down the kitchen. So
... ah ... no food, I’m afraid, tonight.’
Uh oh, panic attack. Dulcie went hot and cold all over.
‘No food?’ She wanted to cry. ‘What, nothing at all? Eddie, we can’t have a party without food!’
‘I know, I know,’ he said soothingly. ‘Sweetheart, I can’t tell you how bad I feel about this. But you’ve got a few hours to go ... that’s why I rang as soon as I could. If you organise your own buffet you can bring it down here yourself. I checked with the health inspector and he said that would be fine.’
‘Oh terrific. Hooray for the health inspector,’ howled Dulcie. ‘Maybe he’d like to whip up a couple of dozen quiches in his tea break.’
But it didn’t matter how sympathetic Eddie Hammond was to her plight, there was nothing he could do to help.
So Dulcie did the only thing she could do. She phoned Liza and Pru.
Liza was out. She had driven up to London to meet her editor, Dulcie remembered as soon as she got the answering machine, and wouldn’t be back before seven. Typical.
But Pru was at home, thank God. Pru with the best-stocked kitchen cupboards in Bath.
‘How many guests?’ she asked, cutting through Dulcie’s anguished wailings.
‘About a hundred.’
‘Right, I’ll make a start here. I can rustle up rice salad, pasta salad, stuffed baked potatoes, that kind of thing —’
‘That won’t be enough.’ Dulcie knew she sounded ungrateful. She didn’t mean to, but her heart was in her boots already. Any minute now it was going to start burrowing through the carpet.
‘Of course it won’t. That’s why I’m doing it. Leaving you free to shop. Got a pen and paper?’
said Pm, admirably unfazed by the crisis. But that was because it was all right for Pru, thought Dulcie, it wasn’t her crisis. ‘Now, start making a list. I’ll tell you what to buy.’
God bless M&S, thought Dulcie an hour later as she steered her trolley expertly past an old dear with a basket-on-wheels. This was okay, this was fine, her heart was back in its rightful place and she was actually beginning to enjoy herself.
Buying up Marks & Spencer’s food department was far more fun, too, than simply dropping in to pick up a couple of chicken tikkas and a lemon drizzle cake. Cramming a trolley with baguettes, boxes of hors d’oeuvres, bags of prawns, packets of Parma ham and twenty different kinds of cheeses was an exhilarating experience. No longer panicking, Dulcie meandered happily amongst the fresh fruit and veg, choosing the ripest Charentais melons, the reddest, glossiest strawberries .. .
A male voice in her ear made her jump.
‘Can I come?’
Dulcie spun round. Good grief, it was James.
‘James!’
Three lemons and a bottle of tonic were rolling around in the bottom of his wire basket. Dulcie remembered that he and Bibi had guests for dinner themselves.
James, meanwhile, was studying the contents of her overloaded trolley with interest. Grinning, he said again, ‘Can I come’?’
‘Come where?’ Dulcie prayed she wasn’t blushing.
‘Well, call it spooky intuition if you like, but something tells me you’re having a party.’ His eyes twinkled; he and Dulcie had always got on like a house on fire. ‘Either that or an attack of rampant bulimia.’
Dithering mentally, she decided it would be safe to tell him the truth. He and Bibi were otherwise engaged tonight, after all.
‘It’s a surprise party for Patrick,’ Dulcie explained. ‘At Brunton Manor. All very last minute,’
she added hastily, so as not to offend him. ‘I only decided to do it yesterday. And yes, of course you’re both invited. Eight o’clock tonight, it’s going to be great ... Patrick doesn’t have a clue ...’
She beamed up at James, waiting for him to frown and say, ‘Damn, we won’t be able to make it.’
Instead, beaming back at her, he said, ‘That’s terrific. Look, we’ve got a couple of dinner guests but they’ll be gone by ten. They have to catch the last train to Oxford. What we’ll do is drop them at the station and drive straight over. Better late than never, eh?’
Dulcie was by this time dithering in earnest. If she was going to conjure up a plausible excuse –
a reason why James and Bibi couldn’t possibly come to Patrick’s party – she had to do it in the next few milliseconds.
She stared up at James, wide-eyed and in desperate need of inspiration .. .
Bong. Too late.
James looked concerned.
