At the Reunion Buffet Read Online Free PDF Page B

enough food.”
    “Of course they have. They’re very professional.”
    He had moved a hand down to her back. She shivered, and held him to her. Holding him was somehow the solution, or was at least part of it.
    “I need to have a shower.”
    He kissed her lightly on the brow. “So do I.” He paused for a moment, and then whispered, “
Tutti
.”
    She smiled.
    “The musical term,” he said, “for all together. In this case, just together.
Tutti
.”
    The cabal arrived first, in the shape of Eleanor Williams and a woman whom Isabel only vaguely remembered: this was the other organizer, Margaret Milne. Eleanor seemed ebullient and quizzed the caterers with a series of searching questions. Then she turned to Margaret and gave her a series of instructions. Her tone was somewhat peremptory—even high-handed, but Margaret listened meekly and went off to do as she was instructed. Isabel watched bemused: Eleanor had been very ready to accuse Barbara Grant of bullying, but she could imagine her being something of a bully herself.
    “Well now,” said Eleanor. “The means by which we shall know who’s who—just in case the years have been too ravaging.” She smiled. “You, of course, have kept your looks, Isabel.” She paused, and seemed to look intently at Isabel’s face and neck. “It’s always interesting to speculate as to whether people have submitted to the surgeon’s knife in pursuit of continued youthfulness.”
    Isabel took a deep breath. The effrontery was astonishing, but she would not allow herself to be riled by Eleanor.
    “If people feel it helps,” she said mildly, “then it’s up to them, isn’t it?” Now came the chance for a small riposte. She struggled with the temptation, and yielded. “You haven’t, have you, Eleanor?”
    Eleanor stiffened, and Isabel immediately regretted her remark. But then the other woman smiled. “Very funny!” she said, and she delved into a bag she had brought with her and took out a plastic container of name badges.
    Eleanor held up one of the badges to show Isabel. “We thought—Margaret and I—that we should all wear these name badges this evening and then not bother for the rest of the weekend. We’ll know who’s who by then.”
    Isabel indicated the hall table. “You can lay them out there. I’ll give you a hand.” She disliked name badges, particularly those that required one to peer closely to read. These, at least, were legible without the infringement of personal space; Eleanor had written out the name of each guest and had put, in brackets, the married name by which she might be known.
    She explained her system: “If they’re divorced but still using their married name, I’ve put that in square brackets. If they’re still with their husband, I’ve put it in round brackets.”
    “I see.”
    “And if they’re divorced, but have gone back to their maiden name, then that’s all that’s on the badge.”
    Isabel said that she thought that perfectly logical.
    “And as for shortenings of names,” Eleanor elaborated, “I’ve not done that. Liz is Elizabeth. Maggie is Margaret—and so on. Just like it was at school when they called the register.”
    Isabel glanced at one of the labels. There had been a girl whom everybody—even the teachers—had called Toffee Martinson. She had become Angela Martinson [Peabody], which revealed her matrimonial history, but did not identify her as most of the guests would—as Toffee, who indeed was famous for her insatiable taste for toffee.
    “Here’s Toffee,” said Isabel.
    Eleanor glanced at the badge. “Yes, that’s her. I shudder to think of the state of her teeth.”
    Isabel remembered Toffee Martinson, doubled up with embarrassment, when asked a question in a physics class, and being unable to reply because her teeth were momentarily stuck together with the clandestine toffee she had been eating. She was about to mention this incident when Eleanor pointed to another badge:
Dr. Jane