By the time she reached the registration table, Lindsay had chatted to half a dozen old acquaintances who were, in a triumph of hope over experience, still union activists. She’d also studiously pretended not to have seen a couple of others she’d hoped never to encounter again. As the queue snaked forward, she spotted one or two familiar faces among the union clerical staff who were dishing out the delegate packs. Even though the full Afro had been replaced by a sharp Grace Jones flattop, Lindsay instantly recognized Pauline Hardy. The black woman looked astonished. “Lindsay Gordon!” she exclaimed. “I thought you’d abandoned us for good. Hey, it’s good to see you!” The warmth in her voice was genuine, there was no mistaking that.

“You really thought I could stay away? And never feast my eyes on you again?” Lindsay replied, falling straight back into the old teasing habit of years ago. She and Pauline had always flirted, each knowing that it was nothing more than a game. Pauline’s devotion to her husband and son was legendary, but that didn’t stop her enjoying a joke that had shocked dozens of prejudiced union hacks over the years.

“I didn’t think my humble attractions could drag you back from California,” Pauline replied archly.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Lindsay said, taking the bulky plastic wallet of information that Pauline handed her. “Not from you, or from the delights of conference. I tell you, though, it’s depressing how many of the old familiar faces are kicking around. Hasn’t anyone moved forward?”

“Oh, there are always plenty of old stagers around. They can’t stay away, just like you,” Pauline teased.

“Are you two going to stand there blathering all afternoon, or what?” the Irishman behind Lindsay interrupted. “Some of us have got delegation meetings to go to, you know, so. Women,” he added under his breath.

“Sorry, pal,” Lindsay said. She turned back to Pauline. “We’ll have to have a drink later, catch up on all the gossip.”

Pauline smiled. “Have a read of Conference Chronicle,” she said with a throaty laugh. “That should bring you bang up to date. I’ll be in the main bar about eight, provided we’ve finished tomorrow’s order-papers.”