She sat down, drew her chair to the mirror.

‘Where’s my handbag?’ Merle screamed. ‘I left my handbag here! Someone’s stolen my handbag. Daphne, Daphne, someone’s stolen my handbag!’

The oyster satin sofa sagged under Merle’s weight. Daphne smoothed back the golden curls and put another pad of cottonwool soaked in cologne on the red corrugated forehead.

‘Bit better now?’

‘I’m quite all right. I’m not one of your neurotic women to get into a state over a thing like that. Thank God I’d left my spare key with the porter and I hadn’t locked the mortice.’

‘You’ll have to have both locks changed, Merle.’

‘Of course I will, eventually. I’ll see to it next week. Nobody can get in here, can they? They don’t know who I am. I mean, they don’t know whose keys they’ve got.’

‘They’ve got your handbag.’

‘Daphne dear, I do wish you wouldn’t keep stating the obvious. I know they have got my handbag. The point is, there was nothing in my handbag to show who I am.’

‘There was your cheque book with your name on it.’

‘My name, dear, in case it’s escaped your notice, is M Smith. I haven’t gone about changing it all my life like you.’ Merle sat up and took a gulp of walnut brown sherry. ‘The store manager was charming, wasn’t he, and the police? I daresay they’ll find it, you know. It’s a most distinctive handbag, not like that great black thing you cart about with you. My little red one could have gone inside yours. I wish I’d thought to put it there.’

‘I wish you had,’ said Daphne.

Daphne’s phone rang. It was half-past nine and she was finishing her breakfast, sitting in front of her little electric fire.

Merle sounded very excited. ‘What do you think? Isn’t it marvellous? The store manager’s just phoned to say they’ve found my bag. Well, it wasn’t him, it was his secretary, stupid-sounding woman with one of those put-on accents. However, that’s no concern of mine. They found my bag fallen down behind a radiator in that cloakroom. Isn’t it an absolute miracle? Of course the money had gone, but my cheque book was there and the keys. I’m very glad I didn’t take your advice and change those locks yesterday. It never does to act on impulse, Daphne.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘I’ve arranged to go down and collect my bag at eleven. As soon as I ring off, I’m going to phone for a taxi and I want you to come with me, dear. I’ll have a bath and see to my plants – I’ve managed to catch a bluebottle for Venus – and then the taxi will be here.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t come,’ said Daphne.

‘Why on earth not?’

Daphne hesitated. Then she said, ‘I said I hardly know anybody in London but I do know this one man, this – well, he was a friend of my second husband, and he’s a widower now and he’s coming to lunch with me, Merle. He’s coming at twelve and I must be here to see to things.’