It was both novelty and oddity to be seated at the long tables within the breathing flanks of the marquees, to be eating a heavy meal on hired crockery with grass underfoot, the glare of sunlight at the entrances through which the school buildings could be glimpsed. Pearly’s jacket hung on the back of his rather uncomfortable stackable chair, and he slid his hand into the inside pocket to check his speech notes were still there. Two years before, at a local government conference in Wellington, he’d inexplicably mislaid speech notes and had to get through a fifteen-minute address without reference to them. Though he’d avoided panic, it wasn’t an experience he wished to repeat. Reassured by the touch of the folded sheets, he returned to observing other diners while still appearing to listen to Mrs Hollister, who was listing the charities that made appeal to her husband’s firm. ‘Business success makes one a target,’ she insisted. ‘You’d be amazed the number of people who ask for money, and some with the presumption that it’s your duty to stump up. We do give to many deserving agencies, but some need to realise that the manner of their approach isn’t doing their cause any favours.’

‘They’re pushing for organisations they believe in so strongly, of course,’ said her husband with a conciliatory smile. ‘They’re not seeking money for themselves.’

‘Well, that’s not always true either,’ she said. ‘People who aren’t coping for some reason just come and ask for a handout. It happens often. It’s as if because you’ve been successful you need to pay for it.’

There was a tall woman at the next table who seemed familiar. Pearly didn’t think she’d ever been a client but couldn’t recall meeting her in other circumstances. It was only when he noticed the white leather handbag at her feet that he recognised her as Mrs Ransumeen. Someone to steer clear of during the evening, he decided. Often he saw or met people he should know and couldn’t remember their names, so he was pleased with recalling that of Mrs Ransumeen and their meeting. ‘I’ve recognised that woman,’ he said softly, leaning towards Helen.

‘Who and where?’ she said.

‘The dark-haired one over there. She came to my office with a gripe. She’s rung too.’

‘So? You want a medal?’

‘Well, it just came to me, that’s all. I knew I’d met her somewhere.’

‘You’ve met almost the whole town at one time or another,’ Helen said. ‘Will we be able to move around between courses? These chairs are shockers.’