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her out in one lie, absolutely caught her out mind, with no possible doubt, then nobody will quite believe her about anything ever again.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said in a tone of pleasurable anticipation, beaming at him admiringly.
    Sensing the waves of positive sentiment that were washing in his direction, he allowed himself a little smile and an extra splash from the decanter.
    So it was that Lucia was summoned to the telephone that evening at Mallards by Grosvenor with the words, ‘Mrs Mapp-Flint, madam.’
    ‘Elizabeth, dear,’ Lucia said breezily. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
    ‘Lucia, dear, only just seen the newspapers. I’ve been so busy. Thought I should call.’
    Mapp paused.
    ‘Ah yes, the newspapers,’ Lucia said in a matter-of fact way. ‘The
Telegraph
, wasn’t it? I only got around to it quite late, you know, after the financial papers. Georgie with Olga, Noël and John, you mean? So wonderful they could have a nice time. Only a shame I couldn’t get away to join them, but you know how much I have on my plate. But surely we talked about it this morning,
non é vero
?’
    ‘Oh, but haven’t you seen the
Mirror
?’ Mapp enquired innocently.
    ‘The
Mirror
? Surely you don’t read that dreadful rag, do you?’
    ‘No, of course not,’ Mapp said smoothly, ‘but Withers does and she showed it to us. Not too upsetting for you, I trust?’
    ‘You’ll have to enlighten me, I’m afraid, dear.’ Now it was Lucia’s turn for innocence. ‘To what exactly are you alluding?’
    ‘Why the picture of Georgie and Olga Bracely, of course. Surprised you haven’t seen it. I would have thought someone would have shown it to you.’
    Not for the first time, Elizabeth deeply regretted the loss of her vantage point at Mallards, from the garden room of which she used to able to observe the comings and goings of all her friends and neighbours. How vexing not to be able to know for certain who had visited Lucia today.
    ‘Is it a nice picture?’ Lucia asked absently, as if scanning the financial pages and trying to attend to her telephone conversation at the same time.
    ‘Rather depends on your definition of “nice”,’ Elizabeth replied with what was supposed to be a friendly giggle but sounded awfully like a Jack Russell launching itself in pursuit of a rat. ‘They are sharing an intimate moment, according to the newspaper. Kissing, in fact, not to put too fine a point on it.’
    ‘You must remember, Elizabeth,’ Lucia replied coolly, ‘that Georgie and Olga are very old friends, and it is customary, I believe, for old friends to kiss each other when they meet.’
    There was a noise at the other end, which signified scepticism.
    ‘So, will Mr Georgie be away for long, I wonder? Like that time in Le Touquet? Oh, let me see, that was with Miss Bracely as well, wasn’t it? How nice for you, dear one, that he has someone to occupy his time while you are so busy coming amongst us and doing good works.’
    Lucia resisted a strong impulse to say something nasty and put the phone down. It would never do to sink to poor Elizabeth’s level of petty jealousy.
    ‘Both coming here tomorrow, dear,’ she informed her former Lady Mayoress, ‘as I have just learned by telegram. How sweet of Olga to think of us while she is so busy in town, but how very much like her, don’t you think?’
    There came an indeterminate noise which might have been indicating shared joy and rapture at Lucia’s news but almost certainly was not.
    ‘I thought, naturally, Elizabeth, as I said,’ Lucia ploughed on, rather like an elegant but powerful ocean liner breasting the waves and nonchalantly shoving aside the odd iceberg in the process, ‘that you were referring to the picture in the
Telegraph
of Olga and Georgie with Noël and John – so nice they were able to get together as I suggested.’
    ‘Yes, so nice of Olga to introduce her friends to Mr Georgie,’ Mapp purred, all sweetness once again.
    ‘Our friends too,