‘Yes,’ said the old lady, and it was a sigh rather than a word. ‘Let’s go in and get it over with.’

*

‘Oh Juliet’s gone in, she could’ve waited, there’s no point in her being grand with us.’ Frances Kitson’s make-up was a little heavy perhaps but immaculate, certainly not put on in a long mirror from middle distance; her yellow linen dress was cut to reveal her magnificent bosom although she had finally decided it wasn’t necessary today to wear the padded bra and startle the people who used to know her. She caught at something on the dress with her manicured nails, careful not to let her rings snag the material and her auburn hair fell forward, shone in the sunshine.

Her best friend, Emmy Louise Brown, who had no bosom at all and was dressed in blue as instructed by Frances earlier, was made up in exactly that same immaculate way. But for Emmy Lou the make-up couldn’t cover any longer the way her skin drooped slightly, the way her mouth turned down at the corners in disappointment, or despair.

‘Why ever did we come?’ said Emmy Lou in her blue dress as she too stared up at the carved stone figures. ‘Back here after all these years – what’s the point?’

‘We agreed on the phone Em, you never know who you might meet,’ said Frances firmly, ‘we agreed Em. Oh look, oh look, for God’s sake are my eyes deceiving me? Look it’s Terence!’ And Terence Blue, in his red convertible BMW, cruised slowly towards them.

‘Terence,’ they cried joyfully waving their arms, like gaily coloured birds on the pavement, ‘Terence!’ And leant upon each other for a moment, giggling like the young girls they once were, like the young girls they were when they first knew Terence Blue.

The red car pulled up beside them, motor still running, and Terence gave them his famous, wide film-star smile, his amazing eyes crinkled, he pushed at his greying but thick and curly hair.

‘It is actually being held here is it?’ he called to them. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

‘Well of course darling,’ cried Frances, ‘where else did you think?’

‘I didn’t know if the place was still standing!’ he said, ‘OK, I’ll just go and park,’ and Terence waved again and roared off round a corner into a side-street.

‘He’s still driving a red one I see,’ said a voice dryly behind them. ‘You know what they say about men who drive red convertibles. God my darlings isn’t it hot, who’d believe it was the end of August! I phoned you Frances but you must’ve already left—’

‘You said you’d phone at ten Harry,’ interrupted Frances crossly. ‘I’ve been talking to your answering machine all morning.’

‘Yes I know darling, sorry, but I didn’t get to bed till five.’