Free B004M5HK0M EBOK by Unknown Page B

bottles of booze, a large pot of mulled wine that was being heated over a small portable gas burner, and a bowl of punch. The other was laden with dishes prepared by the hosts or brought by the guests: macaroni cheese, mince pies, quiches, pasta salads, rice salads, tuna salads, potato salads, baked potatoes, garlic bread - and an assortment of minced pork, beef and lamb products in the form of sausages, scotch eggs, a cottage pie, and chilli con carne. Everything was on the spectrum from brown to cream, and the overall effect was of a sepia-toned display that had been put together by someone nostalgic for a time before Britons had learned to cook, but after they had learned to shop at supermarkets.
    ‘What a spread!’ said Dr. Muriel, with the jovial sincerity of a popular visitor to an old people’s home or a primary school. ‘Wouldn’t it be fun to try and guess who has brought what?’
    Emily edged her cheesy potato bake onto the table next to the scotch eggs, thinking it wouldn’t be fun at all; her dish had already congealed slightly, and the top was glazing over, as if she had persisted in telling it a very dull story on the way here. From her trolley, Dr. Muriel brought a bottle of port, two dozen homemade mince pies and a large round Stilton cheese. ‘Low self-esteem is often caused by low blood sugar,’ she said, filling a plate with a selection from the buffet. ‘It’s a good idea to eat well at parties.’
    A young woman in a belted mac approached Emily. She was very, very thin with dark, short hair held back with a clip with tiny glass beads on it that nobody could possibly have mistaken for real jewels, and she came so close that Emily could smell the wardrobe smell on her coat. The flesh under her cheekbones was scooped out, like a jack o’lantern, but prettier.
    ‘My name is Elise. Can you help me? I need to get a message to our friend but I’m being watched. I have information that is vital, vital , to the success of our joint endeavour.’
    Emily looked around uncertainly, and then she looked back at Elise, who was staring at her intently.
    ‘What’s the message, m’dear?’ asked Dr. Muriel.
    ‘The message is in the suitcase.’
    ‘And who’s it for? Who’s our friend?’
    Elise looked surprised at the question. ‘Why, the gentleman who is waiting for the suitcase, of course.’ She turned to leave. Then she stopped and held up one finger. She looked at Emily. ‘Could you help me get the suitcase to the gentleman?’ she asked.
    Emily said, ‘Well, I...’ She shrugged. Then Elise shrugged – she might have been mimicking or mocking Emily. ‘Maybe later,’ Emily said.
    Elise gave her a look of such desperate longing that Emily felt embarrassed. Elise turned and walked away, moving slowly, with dignity, like someone who is used to being watched.
    Dr. Muriel looked for somewhere to put her plate down so that she could applaud as Elise walked away. There was no space on the trestle table so she held on to the plate and thumped the top of her left hand with her right, as if she were trying to knock clods of mud from her wellington boots. Marvellous!’ she said. ‘Marvellous! Bravo!’
    At the door that led to the grand hall, Elise turned and inclined her head. Then she was gone. Even though it had only been make-believe, Emily still felt involved, guilty.
    More guests came into the kitchen. Some were wearing fancy dress – but even when their costumes were hired, the guests were easily distinguishable from their hosts. Their hosts moved purposefully through the rooms like characters pouring into the party from an alternate world, obeying rules and impulses and reacting to events and objects that only they could interpret, whereas their guests were just ordinary people who were standing about, enjoying the various ‘entertainments’, but contributing nothing.
    It was somehow a metaphor for life but Emily couldn’t see what she was supposed to learn from it. She was too old to run