'Of course you can,' I said staunchly, 'because he's a complete and utter honey, I've always said so'

'You have,' she agreed humbly. 'And I didn't listen.'

'Oh Jess, how wonderful. So everything's worked out.' I meant it, it was wonderful. So why did I feel a pang of jealousy? Surely my life was wonderful too? Of course it was. I had my Charlie! I suddenly remembered why I'd called and told her the wheeze. Where I would be. Where I was supposed to be i.e. with her.

'What so you want me to lie?' she asked coldly.

'No! Not lie, Jess, no one's going to ask you, for heaven's sake. I'm just covering my back here. Just in case. But noone's actually going to come round banging on your door demanding to see me.'

'This isn't like you, Luce. Sneaking around. Being deceitful.'

'Isn't like... oh for G.o.d's sake, Jess, don't go all pi on me! I told you, it's not going to happen. It's just well you know, if the boys need me. I thought, if they rang, you could say I'd just popped out or something. I didn't want Ben ringing for some reason and you saying you had no idea where I was, that's all.' I felt hot, sweaty. Awful suddenly. Why had I rung her? Ben was unlikely to ring, why had I bothered? All she was going to do was throw cold water on my lovely plans.

'Never mind, Jess,' I said hurriedly. 'I can see it puts you in a difficult position' I drew up outside the church. 'Forget it.'

'Of course I won't forget it. Of course I wouldn't let Ben be scared and upset and wonder where you are. If he rings, I'll say you've popped out, but listen, Luce...'

I listened. But held the phone quite a long way from my ear. Didn't actually hear too much. When she'd finished, I brought it back. 'OK?' She was reasoning. 'You do see that, don't you?'

'Of course I do,' I agreed.

'So just be careful.'

'Of course I b.l.o.o.d.y will!' I seethed. G.o.d, what was I, a six year old?

'Well, I know you, and oh. Must go, that's the front door. Jamie's popped back for some lunch and well ...' she giggled. 'You know. Speak to you soon, Luce, OK? Lots of love'

I nodded miserably. 'Lots of love.'

I snapped the mobile shut. Stared at it. G.o.d, who needs friends, I thought bitterly. Who needs them?

I hunched my shoulders and walked up the narrow gravel path to the church door. Inside, that evocative smell of damp stone, waxed wood and candles prevailed, and the inevitable sadness I always feel when I enter a church descended. I waited for the heavy, studded door to gently close behind me, and took a deep breath. Up near the altar, Mimsy Compton-Burrell was already busy, carefully collecting vases of nearly dead flowers in greenish water, and bustling across with them to a side room.

'Sorry I'm late,' I called, pulling myself together and hastening down the aisle. I followed her into the little whitewashed vestry with its high, latticed window and long table, laden with vases and green foam. 'This is just so sweet of you to come and give me a hand. I'd have been absolutely hopeless on my own.'

She grinned at me from behind the table and pushed her heavy blonde fringe out of her eyes. 'You wouldn't, you'd be fine. But it's not a problem, I wasn't doing anything today so good grief.' She stopped short. 'Whatever have you got there!'

'Oh,' I grimaced and dumped them on the floor. 'Rose's entire collection of Amaryllis plants.'

'Well, I can see that but heavens. Bit extreme, surely!' She gazed down, astounded. 'How come?'

'Max picked them,' I sighed. 'Thought he was being helpful. Doing his bit for G.o.d.'

'Oh!' Her hand flew to her mouth. 'Rose must have gone bananas! She'd grown them from bulb, hadn't she?'

'Don't,' I groaned, shaking my head wearily. 'I have no idea. And being a complete wimp, I didn't even witness hergoing "bananas", either. I left that to David Mortimer, who thought it might be prudent to let him and Max do the explaining. Pathetic, actually. I should have faced her. I don't know what's happened to my moral fibre recently,' I said miserably, 'it's seriously frayed.' I picked up a few of the wretched plants and spread them out on the table.

'Nonsense,' she said staunchly, 'you were quite right not to get involved. You know what Rose is like where little boys are concerned, particularly yours. No, much better to let young Max do the talking. It was the same when Ned and Hector were young, they could do no wrong, and Lavinia and Pinkie might just as well have not existed as far as she was concerned, except to help Joan lay the table. Where is Lavinia, by the way? She sounded awfully breathless on the phone'

'Hot date,' I said wryly, watching admiringly as she dealt deftly with the towering plants, arranged them in concentric circles in a crystal vase.

'Oh!' She stopped. 'Who with? Not that ghastly Rochester-Clarke buffoon?'

'No, someone called Roddy Taylor?'

'Oh, Roddy Taylor! Oh G.o.d, I was about to scoff, but actually he's rather sweet. Rochester-Clarke's ghastly. I made the mistake of going out with him once well, a few times actually, must have been desperate and he kept taking me to all these really sw.a.n.ky restaurants. It was in the old London days when I was perpetually poor and hungry. I didn't fancy him, but in the end I felt so guilty about taking his scoff, I thought I ought to well, you know.'

'Oh G.o.d,' I giggled. 'I remember that feeling. Awful! So did you?'

'Well, I invited him round to the flat one evening and I think we both tacitly understood there might be some action. I even offered to cook him supper - madness. Anyway, he appeared, complete with an overnight bag, which I thought was a bit rich, and inside it was a pair of pyjamas, a toothbrush, slippers, a packet of All Bran, and - I kid you not - a disposable loo-seat cover.'

'No!' I shrieked. 'For a night of pa.s.sion?'

'Well, of course it never happened. I simply couldn't face it.' She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. 'I think it was the combination of the All Bran and the loo-seat cover that did it. As if one would inexorably lead to the other. I think I imagined myself hosing down the entire bathroom by the time he'd finished exploding in there. Not a s.e.xy thought.'

We shrieked with horror, then hastily covered our mouths. It sounded wrong, somehow, laughing like drains in a church, but lovely, too. The familiar, cosy, companionable sound of women's laughter. I glanced at her as she expertly lined up the crystal vases, deftly aiming long stems at the back, short at the front, a droopy one here, an erect one there, making it look so easy and effortless. But then by all accounts she ran a flourishing business doing exactly this, for society weddings. Her blonde hair flopped into her merry green eyes as she worked. It was good to see her again. I should see more of her. Meet her friends. Bet she had loads, I thought enviously.

'So what do you do down here for entertainment then, Lucy?' she said, almost reading my thoughts. 'I heard you were working up at Kit Alexander's place, but that's not going to offer much in the way of a social life, is it? I should think you're bored out of your skull, after London, aren't you?'

'Well, not yet,' I said carefully. 'After all, I haven't been here long, but I can see that it might - well. Be on the quiet side.'

'Quiet side! Listen,' she said, pausing to wave a flower under my nose. 'Take it from one who knows her patch, there's absolutely zilch going on down here. Unless you're into frightfully formal dinner parties where the ladies leave the table before the port, or bridge fours, or whist drives, it's hopeless. Your only hope is the local disco in Portaberry.'

'Good?'

'If you like spotty boys under seventeen, it's excellent. I tell you Lucy, you'll never meet a man down here. You'll have to dash back to London periodically, to ferret.'

'Oh, but I already have,' I said happily, unable to resist. 'I mean, met somebody. And he's absolutely gorgeous, but I must admit, I did meet him in London first.'

'Really?' Her eyes widened. She abandoned her arrangement for a moment and gazed at me admiringly. 'Quick work. I'm impressed. And when I know you better and we're sharing a bottle of wine I'll probe a little more,' she teased. 'But for the moment, please tell me it's not Kit Alexander?'

I stared. 'No, it's not,' I said slowly. 'But actually, for one very brief moment, I did kind of flirt with the idea of him. In a very abstract way, of course. I thought he was terribly nice, and terrifically eligible, too. What's wrong with him?'

'Oh nothing,' she said hastily, picking up her ferns again. 'You're quite right, he is lovely. And as you've already gathered, a complete sweetie. It's just ...' she hesitated. 'Well, he has a little personal problem, which I'm afraid, being a mate of Julia's, I was always privy to. I can't divulge.'

'Julia?'

'His wife. Or ex, I suppose.'

'Oh. Right!' I put my flowers down, rapt. 'G.o.d, I always wondered about her. What d'you mean you can't divulge? What was she like? Did she really leave him for the plumber?'

'Oh yes, she really did, but only after years of trying not to. You see,' she wrestled with her conscience, 'well, I probably shouldn't say. But then again, Julia took so much flak when she ran off everyone thought she was a complete hussy and it was so unfair because she wasn't the one with the problem. The thing is Kit's impotent.'

'Oh!' I gazed. Then frowned. 'Oh, hang on, I can never remember. Does that mean he can't have children, or he can't get it up?'

'Delicately put, but the latter, which of course does preclude the former. Having said that though, they did manage two boys in the early years.'

'Oh dear. But in the later years ... no s.e.x?'

'No s.e.x, exactly, though not for want of trying. On both parts. Poor Julia moved h.e.l.l and high water to become a s.e.x kitten and steam Kit up, and it wasn't really her scene. At heart, she's a strident, horsey sort of girl, and likes nothing better than mucking out stables in jeans and wellies, but when she realised that did nothing for him turned him right off, apparently she went to the gym instead. She got all toned up, acquired an all-over tan, had her nails done, and if you rang her, she was always out, not on her horse, but riffling through the negligee rails in John Lewis. Oh G.o.d, did she dress up for him. Baby doll, vamp, Miss Whip Lash you name it, she wore it, and then she'd shimmy out of the en suite bathroom,with Kit, in an agony of antic.i.p.ation on the bed, dancing and high kicking for him, all ready for Kit to unleash the rod of iron that lay rigid in his underpants when oh. Oh dear.' She held up a crooked little finger.

'Oh Lord' I suppressed a giggle. 'How depressing. So it never actually happened?'

'Well yes, it did, very occasionally, but always at the most inopportune moments. Julia used to joke that she'd be quietly ambling round Sainsbury's and suddenly get Kit on her mobile, yelling, "I've got one! Darling, quick, I've got one!" And she'd abandon her trolley and dash out hissing, "Strap it to my riding crop, I'll be right there!" ' She sighed. 'Oh no, no one could say Julia didn't try, and actually, they both went to terrific lengths to save that marriage. Ten out of ten for creativity.' She narrowed her eyes into the distance. 'Yes, naked croquet was a big theme, as I remember, at one time. Although Julia didn't go in for it much. Bit chilly, in the buff, she said, on a cold and frosty lawn, particularly when Frampton's overlooked by half the village. Kit insisted though, that the stance, and the swing of the mallet, did wonders for his libido.'

'I'm not surprised. If that didn't work, nothing would! G.o.d, it's no wonder she opted for some boring straight s.e.x with a blue-collar worker then.'

'Well, quite. He arrived one day in his overalls, did masterful things with a ballc.o.c.k, and she never looked back. And as you say, can't really blame her.' She sighed. 'So no, not a great bet, our Kit, although a more likeable chap you couldn't wish to meet.' She grinned. 'And of course, some women would go weak at the knees at the idea of no s.e.x. What ever?

Promise? But not our Julia. She was quite physical.' She glanced at me slyly. 'So go on, then. Not Kit, happily, so who is it?'

I flushed and grabbed a handy Amaryllis for support. Hesitated as I twirled it in my hands. Under normal circ.u.mstances, yes, of course I'd tell her, she was so nice and jolly, but for obvious reasons ... I bit my lip.

She nudged me. 'Don't worry, I can see it's all still beautifully new and precious and not available for scrutiny yet. I'm just being nosy as usual. I get it from my mother. She's the one who had her binoculars trained on Frampton's croquet lawn. Oh h.e.l.lo.' She paused as a car horn tooted urgently from outside. 'That'll be for me.' She stepped around the table, and with her hands full of greenery, kicked the vestry door wide open so we could see into the church. Outside, a car door slammed. There were voices, another cheery toot, and then running footsteps.

'At last.' Mimsy looked at her watch. 'She's been to a party,' she explained, 'and I knew I'd be here giving you a hand, so I asked one of the mums to drop her off.'

'Drop who off?' I asked as the church door flew open and a sharp gust of wind blew in.

'Oh, didn't I say? My daughter. h.e.l.lo, darling!'

The church door slammed shut behind her, and the accompanying wind blew all the service sheets and papers on the back pews up into the air, like a flurry of confetti. A moment later, a child's running footsteps echoed noisily on the flags, as hurtling down the aisle, pigtails flying, and dragging her fleece came Ellen.

Chapter Twenty-four.

'Hi darling, how was it?' Mimsy smiled as Ellen ran into the vestry.

'Really cool, actually.' She skidded to a halt on the other side of the trestle table, grabbing it to steady herself. 'I thought it was going to be babyish, all sort of pa.s.s the parcel and stuff, but it wasn't. We had a totally brilliant conjurer who had rabbits and white mice, and then Polly's dad did a barbecue with a pig on a spit. Oh, and we got wicked party bags too, look!' She pulled a huge gob-stopper out of a plastic bag and popped it into her mouth with a grin. Then she looked at me, and popped it out again, into her hand. 'Oh, hi!' she said, surprised, blinking behind her spectacles.

'Hi,' I breathed back, wanting to vomit. I'd seriously considered leaping the table and beating her to the door, actually, when I'd seen her clattering down the aisle. I could have pa.s.sed her quite neatly, a moment ago, sprinted away into the distance, but there was no escape now. She'd recognised me, and here I was, trapped in the vestry with her and oh my G.o.d. I turned horrified eyes on Mimsy, or should I say Miranda. I stared. Couldn't help it. Boggled, actually. Was this really her, then? The wife? The apprentice nun? The sanctimonious religious fanatic, with the floppy blonde hair, the merry green eyes and infectious giggle? Where was the hair shirt, for heaven's sake? The incense burner? G.o.d this girl had a turquoise vest and Capri pants on, looked more like Kate Winslet than a bride of Christ!

'You two know each other?' Mimsy said, surprised.

I gazed stupefied. Opened my mouth, but couldn't speak.

'Yes, we met in London, with Daddy. She works with him, don't you? You're a researcher or something, aren't you?' Ellen's beady blue eyes peered up at me.

'That's right,' I breathed, finally finding my tongue but hardly daring to use it. Sweaty hands were clenched by my sides. 'But I, I hadn't made the connection,' I faltered, bafflement briefly getting the better of fear. 'Lavinia said you were Compton-Burrell, and Ellen's father is-'

'Fletcher, yes that's right, and that's my married name, but I hardly ever use it. Compton-Burrell's always been my professional name and let me tell you, it gets me far more bookings at smart weddings than Fletcher ever would.' She grinned. 'They like the Mimsy bit too, frightfully U and nursery, you see, particularly since they're all called things like Spanker and Crumpet. Charlie can't bear it though, thinks it's too twee for words, so he's always called me Miranda. But how extraordinary that you know each other! He didn't say.'

'Well, he probably didn't make the connection either,' I mumbled, p.r.i.c.kly with sweat now, a panic attack imminent. I looked longingly at the door.

'Yes, but I still don't quite understand. You met Ellen in London?''Yes, at Dad's flat,' piped up her daughter.

'At your house, in Chelsea, that's right,' I gabbled quickly. Less of the Dad's flat, please. 'It was a research meeting. The BBC organised it, you see.' I inched gingerly round the side of the table and glanced warily at the child, who was studying me rather too closely, and blocking my way to the door.

'Research! Golly, Charlie is getting highfalutin. I remember the days when he just sat down at the kitchen table and scribbled out a script. What sort of research material did he need?'

'Oh, Mum, it's totally cool, she does animal stuff, don't you?' Ellen beamed up at me eagerly. 'Works on a sort of Pet Rescue-type thing!'

Mimsy's eyes widened, as well they might. 'Really! Gosh, I had no idea. Lavinia said antiques, and you're working at Kit's so I a.s.sumed ...'

'It's a sideline,' I broke in breathlessly.

'What, the antiques? Or researching for the BBC?'

I stared at her. My mouth dried. 'The antiques. I mean the research. Both. Both are well, they're both about the same, really. You see, I could never decide which I preferred, so I sort of troubleshoot, between the two'

'Troubleshoot!' She laid down an Amaryllis in wonder. 'Heavens, how glamorous. But I wouldn't have thought that was possible. Antiques and animals don't seem to mix, do they?'

Fear was filling every vein now; every crevice of my body was popping and fizzing with it.

'Oh, you'd be surprised,' I croaked. 'Some things make the strangest bedfellows.' I almost fell over with fright as that came out. Bedfellows! Had I really said that? How awful, but Mimsy had moved on, captivated by my scintillating career.

'But how fascinating. So how does that work then? One week you do one, and the next week the other? Sounds awfully peripatetic. Or are they somehow connected?'

I waited. Yes. Yes, perhaps they were connected. And perhaps, if I waited long enough, she'd tell me how. She seemed to have all the answers. Because if I tried and failed, failed miserably, to explain exactly how I boomeranged back and forth between Broadcasting House and the auction rooms, and if she suspected, in reality, that I was simply bonking her husband, what might she do to me? Might she bash me over the head, for instance, with that handy crystal vase? Finish the job off with a blow to the cranium with that Gothic candlestick? Make a sacrifice of me, and offer me up to the Almighty on a bed of Amaryllis?

'What, you mean, are animals and antiques connected?' I faltered, seizing a handful of greenery and busily arranging it. 'Yes, I just can't imagine-'

'Oh! Antiques Roadshow!' I dropped the leaves.

'Sorry?'

'Well you know, antique animals,' I gabbled with relief, trying not to sound as if I'd just thought of it. 'Ha! Sony, I thought you realised. Yes, you see, what happens is, if, for instance, Hugh Scully, or one of the other presenters on the show, comes across a Chinese lion from the Ming Dynasty, or or, I don't know, a Tibetan lead horse from the fourteenth century, then they come to me for advice.'

'Do they really? Gosh, and I always thought they knew theironions on that programme. You mean, they're just regurgitating what you tell them?'

'Well, some of them,' I said uneasily, burying my face in the greenery. 'Not all of them, of course. Some of them are very clued up. It's just the odd one or two, the glamour ones, who don't know their Ca.n.a.lettos from their Sevres and that's where I come in.'

'But so hang on. How does Charlie fit into all this? Antiques sounds a bit stuffy for him, and he never writes animals into his scripts. Says the actors curse him for it, hate working with them.'

'Yes.' I felt faint. 'Yes, I can imagine. They might. Not relish it.' I licked my lips. Swallowed. 'Well, Charlie comes into it because,' I was interested to hear how my voice would go on, marvelled at its brazenness. 'Because, well . .

'I know!' Ellen suddenly seized my arm. 'It's prehistoric animals, isn't it? Really antique ones!'

I gazed at her. It wasn't, but the trouble was, I didn't have a better idea.

Mimsy laughed. 'Oh Ellen, don't be silly!'

'No,' I hastened, 'not so silly, actually. But the thing is, I can't really say anything at the moment. Can't divulge' What a handy little phrase that was. Why hadn't I thought of it earlier? I tapped my nose conspiratorially. It was dripping wet. 'It's all a bit, you know, hush hush. Early stages, you see'