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can’t be positive.”
    â€œSorry. You know Fritz and I have a habit of sniping at each other. I’ll start being very polite to him.”
    â€œOh no, you mustn’t do that,” Phoebe cried, “or he’ll guess we’re up to something, and the whole plan will be ruined!”
    I took a moment to process this, and another moment to cast around for the right argument. “Phoebe, the boys have to know about the plan.”

    She was shocked. “Certainly not! That would spoil everything.”
    â€œBut of course they have to know,” I said. I saw that I had hit one of the submerged rocks of obstinacy in her gentle character, and made my voice firmer. “We’ll never marry them off unless they cooperate.”
    â€œBut darling,” Phoebe begged, “if we go and tell them, it will all be so cold and unromantic! It might make them self-conscious. They might not show their natural selves.”
    â€œWe don’t want them to show their natural selves. We want them to pretend they’re normal.”
    Phoebe giggled. “Seriously—”
    â€œI’m being very serious. Will you at least consider telling the boys what we’re up to?”
    â€œI’ll think about it,” she said. I knew she wouldn’t. Her romantic mind was made up. “Now let’s do a bit about Ben.” She turned a page of her notebook. “That really should be easy. Benedict Henry Darling—age twenty-nine—professional concert pianist.”
    How Phoebe liked that word “professional,” and how very inappropriate it was. Much as I loved Fritz and Ben, I was tempted to snatch the notebook and set the record straight. Fritz was an unemployed actor, and absolutely sex-mad. Ben was an unemployed musician, a bit of a mummy’s boy and also sex-mad. Both were best known down at the dole office in Camden Town. As far as I could see, both passed their days in idyllic idleness. How on earth was I supposed to find respectable girlfriends for these two lotus-eaters?
    Phoebe gazed pensively into the fire. “I wonder if we should put about Fritz being a doctor?”
    â€œYou could say he qualified as a doctor,” I said. “But that was only because Jimmy would’ve mashed him if he hadn’t. He’s never actually performed as a doctor—unless you count doing locum work in Cornwall so he can go surfing. I think you should leave it out altogether.”
    â€œDo you?”
    I reached for another macaroon, able to appreciate it now that I was in a state of irritation. “Look, before we go any further, what about their current love lives? Haven’t they already got girlfriends?”
    A thoughtful line indented Phoebe’s brow. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. They’re both rather secretive about who they’re seeing. I think
Fritz still goes out with Madeleine from time to time—but she’s married to someone else, and doesn’t show any sign of leaving her husband. So that means he’s technically free.”
    I was sorry to broach this painful subject, but it had to be done. “And what about Ben? Is he still entangled with that old bag?”
    She sighed. “If you mean Lavinia Appleton, he does see her sometimes. But I really don’t think it’s anything more than friendship.”
    â€œHmmm. I bet it was Lavinia who got him that ticket for Alfred Brendel.”
    â€œWell, yes, it was—but her husband hates music, and—”
    â€œFace it, Phoebe,” I said, “they’re a pair of disasters.”
    She smiled suddenly. “I left something out. We should have put it first—they’re both gorgeously handsome. You’re not going to argue with that, I hope?”
    No. It was as true as taxes. Phoebe’s boys were, indeed, gorgeously handsome. It was the greatest (perhaps the only) point in their favor. I knew that several of my female friends would