A carriage bowled past the scatter of tables on the pavement beside the square garden while they were still enjoying the joke and they took no notice when it drew to a halt a few yards farther down the street. Guy jumped down, paid the driver, and stood for a moment regarding the three laughing women with a slightly puzzled expression. What on earth could have caused three adult women to collapse in giggles in the middle of the street? He was on his way home, finding that he had little appetite for company after his uncomfortable meeting with Clothilde, and had seen the women out of the corner of his eye as the hackney passed. He stopped the carriage on impulse, intending to join them for a few minutes, but now, seeing their closeness, he felt somehow that they had thrown up a wall of exclusion around themselves and he was reluctant to intrude.

He decided to avoid them by walking through the garden to his house on the other side of the square but Petra, wiping her streaming eyes, glanced in his direction. Instantly she raised a hand, waving vigorously. “Guy, come and join us.”

So much for discretion. He strolled toward them. “Something has amused you, ladies. Dare I ask what?” He reached for a spare chair at a neighboring table and swung it around to join theirs.

“I doubt you’d find it funny,” Petra said.

“Yes, we were just being a bit silly,” Fenella added.

“It comes from knowing one another for so long,” Diana explained. “We were schoolgirls together and there was a time when the silliest of things would reduce us to tears of laughter.”

“Would you like champagne, Guy? I think there’s a drop left in the bottle.” Petra made to lift the bottle out of the ice bucket.

“No, thank you. I prefer cognac.” He waved at a waiter standing in the doorway of the tea shop and gave his order. “So, what happened to Lohengrin?”

“I felt rather faint in the first interval.” Petra passed a hand across her brow.

“I’m glad to find you in such rude health now,” Guy said solemnly. “How unfortunate you could only manage the first act.”

“Yes, wasn’t it?” Petra agreed blandly. “But fortunately my strange turns don’t last very long.”

“That is certainly a blessing.” He nodded his thanks to the waiter, who set a brandy goblet in front of him.

“How was your evening, Guy?” Petra asked. “It’s rather early to call it a night, isn’t it?”

“I found I was not in the mood for blackjack,” he told her. “I thought I’d have a return engagement with Mr. Pickwick.” He gave her a conspiratorial smile over his goblet.

“Guy’s very fond of Dickens,” Petra said airily. “He likes Miss Austen too.”

“I wish Edward did,” Fenella lamented. “He says her subjects are inconsequential. Perhaps you could change his mind, Guy.”