the loss of his adored wife.
Hmm, thought Florence, studying the photograph once more and noting with approval the twinkle in her old friendâs eye, it looked like heâd done that, all right. And heâd brought his young bride-to-be back to Hampstead, had he? She wondered idly if he was still living in the same house, in which caseâ¦
On an impulse, Florence rifled through her bedside drawer until she found her old flip-up phone directory. Within seconds she was dialing Tomâs number.
âI donât believe it,â Tom exclaimed, âa call from the Dancing Queen herself! I swear, the phone hasnât stopped ringing today. Do you have any idea how many long-lost friends have come crawling out of the woodwork since that piece appeared in the paper? Not that youâd ever crawl, my darling,â he went on with habitual gallantry. âYouâd shimmy.â
Florence laughed.
âMy shimmying years are over. These days, Iâm afraid, I definitely crawl.â
âArthritis still playing up?â Tom sounded sympathetic.
âOh, you know, the odd twinge.â
âAnd am I delighted to hear from you?â Florence heard the note of caution in his voice. âOr have you rung to tell me Iâm off my rocker?â
âIs that what everyone else has been doing?â
âCome on. What dâyou think?â
Florence glanced at the article spread across her lap.
âYou saw her in a mail-order catalogue and met her how long ago?â
âThree months.â
âSheâs from Thailand,â said Florence. âAre you sure she isnât a boy?â
Much gravelly laughter at the other end of the phone.
Finally Tom managed to say, âOh yes.â
âThatâs a start. Do you love her?â
âI do,â Tom replied.
âDoes she love you?â
âI think so.â
âAre you ridiculously happy?â
âSo happy it would make you sick.â
âOh well,â said Florence, âin that case youâre absolutely barking mad and I couldnât be happier for you. Go for it, prove those miserable doubters wrong, have a ball. And donât forget to invite me to the wedding.â
âYou can be a bridesmaid if you want.â Tomâs relief was audible. âDear Florence. So you donât think Iâm making the biggest mistake of my life?â
âIf youâre having fun, how can it be a mistake? The last thing I ordered from a mail-order catalogue was a non-stick saucepan,â Florence told him, âand after a week the bloody handle dropped off.â
âChrist, I hope mine doesnât.â
She had to ask.
âHow does Jennifer feel about all this?â
Jennifer was Tomâs daughter. And Tom was a wealthy man. It was bound to concern her.
âOh, Jenniferâs a diamond. Sheâs fine about it, behind me all the way. Says if Iâm happy, sheâs happy. Look,â Tom spoke with enthusiasm, âwe must get together again, itâs been too long. Come to dinner next week, Flo. I want you to meet Maria.â
Hanging up the phone some minutes later, Florence sank back against the pillows and flipped through a few more pages of the paper. For want of anything better to do, she read her horoscope:
Oh dear, youâve got yourself into a rut, havenât you? Time to do something about it. A bored person is a boring personâ¦
âBlah blah blah,â said Florence, chucking the paper on to the floor. Honestly, talk about cheering you up. It was a good job she didnât believe in horoscopes.
Except there was no getting away from the fact thatâwhether she believed in them or notâthis one was depressingly true.
Lucky Tom, she thought. Okay, so what he was doing might not work out, but at least he was giving it a go.
And even luckier Tom, Florence idly mused, to have a daughter who backed him all the way. Jennifer, after all, was the one who