'Oh...nothing,' she said, bleakly. 'I'm...' I heard her voice catch, '...fine.'

'You don't sound it. How was last night?'

'Well, to be honest, not quite as "special" as I'd hoped.'

'Where did he take you?'

'The Opera House.'

'But that sounds lovely.'

'Well...yes. It was. Seats in the stalls. Champagne before and after. But...'

'He didn't...?'

There was the sound of a suppressed sob. 'No. Although when I realized it was The Marriage of Figaro my hopes were right up. And at the end the singers were knee-deep in confetti, and I was just sitting there thinking... Well, you know what I was thinking.'

'Hmm.'

'Then afterwards, Nigel took me to this gorgeous little French restaurant, and I was convinced he was going to do it-at last. But we were just chatting in a perfectly normal way and he didn't look at all nervous; and then he had to take an emergency call about this merger he's working on, so he went outside. And at the next table was this couple, and I heard the guy propose to his girlfriend.'

'Really?'

'I actually heard him say the words. She just looked so radiantly happy, and then she started to cry. Then when the waiter realized what had happened he announced it and we all clapped and raised our gla.s.ses-and Nigel missed the whole thing. So when he came back to the table I told him what had happened; and instead of saying, "How romantic", or "How lovely", or even, "Will you marry me, Daisy?", he just said, "How extraordinary". Like that. As though it really puzzled him. Then he spent the rest of the evening talking about the opera.'

'Hmm.'

'And as he had to catch a very early flight to Bonn, I came home. I don't think it's ever going to happen!' she wailed.

'Well there's always his fortieth, isn't there? When's that?'

'Next month.'

'Maybe the prospect of impending middle age will do the trick.'

'But his dad didn't marry until he was forty-six.'

'It doesn't follow that Nigel will be the same.'

'Maybe, but I don't want to wait another five and a half years to find out. Christ, Miranda, I'll be thirty-nine by then! I'll have jowls and grey hair.'

'Don't be silly.'

'I'll have more lines than the London Underground.'

'You won't.'

'I'll have atomic knickers-and a stoop-and arthritis.'

'Rubbish, Daisy!'

'I'll probably have a Zimmer frame. You'll have to push me up the aisle in a b.l.o.o.d.y wheelchair!'

'You're being ridiculous now.'

'And I won't be able to have kids.'

'You will. Honestly, Daisy,' I went on, as her sobs finally subsided. 'You've got to get a grip. You've been here with Nigel enough times before, so why are you so especially upset now?'

'Because, well,' she sniffed. 'I've just done something rather...silly.'

'What?' There was silence. 'Daisy, what have you done?'

'Come to lunch and you'll see.'

When I rang Daisy's bell at twelve, I expected her to come to the door with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, but instead she seemed to have recovered some of her natural elan.

'Nige phoned me from his hotel,' she said, 'so I'm feeling a bit cheerier than I was. Ooh, what lovely flowers. Did you come by car?' she added.

'No. I got the tube.'

'Good, because I've just discovered a bottle of fizz I didn't know I had. I've had it in the freezing compartment for an hour. It should be nicely chilled by now.'

'Great.'

I followed Daisy down the narrow hallway, which was crammed with all sorts of stuff-a large rucksack, two helmets, three kagouls, several coils of rope, a pick-axe and cramponed boots. A pair of racing skis was upended against the wall next to something which looked like a huge kite.

'Sorry about all the junk,' she said. 'I don't have much storage s.p.a.ce.'

'What's this thing here?'

'A bit of my hang-glider.'

'Oh. And this netting?'

'It's a sling.'

'A sling?'

'A hammock. For sleeping in when you're halfway up a cliff face.'

'Ah.'

'They're so useful, you know. You just knock in a couple of nails, suspend one and climb in. Water for Herman?'

'Yes please.' She went to the sink and turned on the cold tap.

'Okay,' I said, as she put a bowl down for him. 'Tell me.'

'Oh,' she sighed as she straightened up. 'Right... Well, I'd actually decided, on reflection, that I wasn't going to bother you with it after all; but, okay then, what happened was...'

Then I saw it. On a chair. A stiff, expensive-looking carrier bag bearing the legend, 'Bridal Belles'. I stared at it, and then looked at her.

'Oh, Daisy.'

'Well, you see,' she began, 'I was on my way back from the Tyrolean traversing yesterday. And I was driving through Rochester and I saw this lovely wedding-dress shop, and I was feeling so happy so I just thought I'd have a little look...'

'Show me.'

She opened the bag and pulled out several layers of tissue, then a long veil, as light as gossamer and spangled with sequins. 'Oh, Daisy.'

'I know,' she shrugged. 'But I was so totally convinced that Nige was going to pop the question last night, and the shop was having a sale. And I'd just been paid and I was in such a good mood...'

'How much?'

'Ninety-five pounds. But there was twenty per cent off it,' she added.

'Well, thank G.o.d you didn't spend any more.' And now I noticed that Daisy had a very odd expression on her face. The kind dogs have when they know they're in trouble. 'Okay,' I said. 'What else?'

She sighed, then padded down the hall to her bedroom. I followed her, she opened the door, and we went in. I couldn't, at first, see anything out of the ordinary. Then she shut the door behind us and I heard a sudden swish and a light thump. I turned. Hanging on the back of the door was a claret-coloured velvet dress bag, of the kind used for ball gowns. I felt my jaw go slack.

'I just couldn't resist,' Daisy wailed. 'It was in the window. And it was just so, so beautiful. Look!' She pulled the ribbon, and the velvet bag slithered to the floor, revealing a wedding dress of, admittedly, exquisite loveliness. It was a Fairy Princess confection of white silk netting, the skirt as layered as a millefeuille, and, above, a fitted satin bodice which sparkled with tiny, hand-sewn crystals. 'It's just so beautiful,' she sniffed again. 'So I decided to try it on. And I looked so fantastic in it, Miranda. I really did. And I knew that no other dress would ever do. So I simply had to buy it. Can't you understand that?'

'No. How much?' I asked as I stared at it. 'A thousand?'

'Twelve hundred-but marked down from fifteen.'

'Twelve hundred pounds! That would pay your mortgage for three months! Daisy, please don't think me cruel, but I feel I should point out that you are not yet engaged.'

'I know that,' she whined. 'But I will be. Quite soon. I mean Nige is going to ask me, I'm sure about it. So, I do think it'll, you know...come in...handy...' her voice trailed away. 'Do you want to see the shoes?'

'No!'

'Don't be cross, Miranda.'

'I'm not cross-I'm worried.' She bagged the dress up again. 'You'd better hide it,' I added. 'In case Nigel sees it.'

'Hmm, that's true. Not that he ever comes here that much.'

'Daisy,' I said, as she hung it in the wardrobe. 'Let's talk about this.'

'Okay, but can we have lunch first? I'm starving-and I really need that gla.s.s of champagne.' As she opened the freezing compartment I looked at the snaps on her kitchen pin-board. There was one of us at Bristol, in our flat, arms round each other, laughing; and one on a Greek holiday we'd had. There were several of Nigel, looking typically solid, and a few of her mum. There were a number of Daisy in action-beaming, begoggled, into the camera; in free-fall; bungee-jumping, head first, off a bridge; white-water rafting down a raging ravine; at the controls of a glider, thumbs up. On the dresser was a framed studio portrait of her parents-Daisy looks exactly like her dad. He'd been killed, at forty-two, just crossing the road one Sunday morning to get a newspaper. That's her dilemma, I realized, as I gazed at his face. She knows how fragile life is, so she wants to take risks-but at the same time she's insecure, and needs to feel 'safe'.

'Daisy,' I said, as she twisted the cork off the bottle, 'you have got to pin Nigel down. The uncertainty is clearly driving you mad. The premature purchase of a wedding dress proves that.' I imagined her going into the shop in her climbing gear and helmet.

'Yes,' she breathed, as she got down two gla.s.ses. 'You're right. You're absolutely right.'

'You've got to talk to him. It's time.'

'Yes, it's high time,' she sighed. 'I know that.'

'You've been very patient, after all.'

She nodded dismally. 'I have. Patient Griselda, that's what I've been. But now I'm feeling a bit "Grisly"-and more than a little "Elda",' she added with a snort of dark laughter. 'So, okay, I will definitely ask him.'

'Good,' I said. 'When?'

She looked at me blankly. 'Oh. I don't really know. But...soon.'

I nodded. 'Great.'

She smiled a brave smile, then anxiety pleated her brow. 'But what if I do pin him down, and the answer is no?' She looked stricken. 'Then what would I do?'

'What would you do? Well, although it'd be horrible-for a while-I think that, ultimately, you'd be fine. And if it doesn't work out, Daisy, maybe it's because it's actually your destiny to meet someone else.' She looked at me for a moment while she absorbed this. 'Don't you ever think of that?' I asked. 'That there might be someone out there who won't take the best part of six years to make a commitment to you?'

'No,' she said, shifting slightly. 'I don't. And the reason I don't is because I want to be with Nigel.'

'But does Nigel want to be with you? That's the awful question you will have to confront, Daisy, if you do want more from him than just being his girlfriend; and if it becomes obvious that you're not going to get it, then I really think you'll have to be brave and move on.'

She looked at me, then looked away. 'I know that's true. Of course I know. And I will have to be brave,' she sighed. 'But maybe, on the other hand,' she lifted her gla.s.s, 'things with Nige will work out. Anyway, chin chin, Miranda.'

'Chin chin,' I replied. 'And chin up.'

'I mean, you were brave,' she went on thoughtfully. 'About Alexander.'

I lowered my gla.s.s. 'Brave? You think I'm brave?'

'Yes. When I think what happened to you-or rather, what he did,' she corrected herself crossly. 'But, yes, you were incredibly brave-and you're being brave now.'

'I'm not brave at all,' I said quietly. 'Far from it.' Daisy gave me a puzzled look. We sat on her patio in the warm sunshine, amongst the pots of shocking-pink geraniums, with our smoked-salmon sandwiches and bubbling Bollinger, just chatting. I felt some of my stress ebb away.

'I don't know what I'd do without you,' Daisy said, with a large sip of champagne. 'I can't discuss Nigel with anyone else-and especially not my mum because she's already so negative about him. She says he's "behaving badly".'

'Hmm.'

'You're the one person I can really talk to about my problems,' she went on, with another sip. 'You're my safety valve. You're the one person I can expose myself to-' she giggled tipsily and waved her gla.s.s at me. 'I mean, who I can really open up to without feeling I have to be careful, or that I might regret what I said. With you I don't feel I have to show you only my "good" side, but my ugly side too.'

'You don't have one,' I said as I watched the bees buzzing about in the lavender, their legs fat with pollen.

'I mean my unattractive side. When I'm feeling negative and low, like I was this morning-or desperate. Everyone else thinks I'm always upbeat-Daisy the happy party girl-but I can let my emotional hair down with you.'

'You can.'

'I feel that you'd never think badly of me, whatever I told you.'

I fiddled with the stem of my gla.s.s. 'That's right.'

'I know I can tell you anything and you won't judge me for it.'