Father raised his thick red hands and the girls grew instantly silent. “They do look a little silly, Celeste, I know. But is a thing only how it appears?”

“No.”

“Correct. And we know, don’t we, that, silly or not, Mother’s Dumb Suppers are effective. So we shall all go inside and keep quiet and then tomorrow we shall talk and hike and do all kinds of things.”

“You and Mother are spending the night?” cried Celeste delightedly.

“If that is acceptable to you.”

“Of course it is!” she blurted.

Father was about to grip the iron handles of the doors when revelation struck Desdemona. Panic gripped her coldly.

“Father, wait!”

He gave Desdemona an inquisitive look.

“Who is tonight’s fifth guest?” she asked.

“Your Mother hasn’t told me. Why?”

Her experience in the dining hall came gushing out of her in a frenzied, desperate torrent. Father listened calmly, stoically. “If Mother’s invitation to the Supper is an open one, we could be in danger, Father.”

“Are you frightened?” he asked her.

“I am.”

Father removed his glasses, and, with all the oily grace of an illusionist, produced a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. He cleaned the lenses and returned the spectacles to the perch of his nose.

“I understand your concern. But some things are beyond our control. Fate is fate. You recall the fable of the Appointment in Samarra?”

“Oh! That’s my favourite! Will you tell it to us? Please!” begged Celeste.

“Again?” asked Father.

Celeste clasped her hands together. “Please!”

Father gestured to the stone bench that stretched between the Grecian columns of flaking stone. They sat and he began to tell the tale.

“Once upon a time there lived a wealthy man in Baghdad. One fine morning this man sent his servant to the marketplace to purchase provisions. A little while later the servant came tearing up the lane and into his master’s palace. He was pale and trembling and he was empty-handed. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ cried the wealthy man. ‘Where are my provisions? Where is the money I gave to you?’

“‘Forgive me, Master,’ the servant pleaded. ‘I dropped your money and I made no purchase, for I have experienced something terrible!’

“‘What is it, boy? Pray tell!’

“‘I saw Death, Master. It was there, in the marketplace. I saw Death. It came in the form of a woman, all veiled in sheer black. She saw me and she howled at me and she made a threatening gesture with her awful hand! I fled, Master. I ran all the way back. But Death has found me. I beg your help, Master. I plead with you: loan me one of your horses so that I may flee my Fate.’ ‘But where shall you go?’ asked the wealthy man. ‘I shall travel all the way to Samarra. If I ride all night I should arrive there by daybreak.’