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man had such an air of professional confidence that immediately Derek Payne looked a little silly.
    ‘And mine,’ the tall figure said, ‘is Matthew Sawyer. And I am the Director of Museums and Civic Leisure Resources.’
    A second surprise: this must be Olivia Passmore’s new boss. The big man, Derek, was allowing himself to be drawn to one side and Sara, overhearing the persuasive baritone of appeasement, guessed that he was being skilfully brought round. It would be fun to relate this little drama to Olivia. She would catch her at the Pump Room later, although if she saw her here they could perhaps walk down together. Olivia was almost a friend, more accurately one of those close acquaintances that are so easy to collect in a place like Bath. Sara knew that after nearly three years as Acting Director of Museums, during which the council had tortuously restructured all its departments, Olivia had dropped gratefully back into her post as deputy director when Matthew Sawyer had been appointed about three months ago.
    Derek’s little woman friend was shuffling awkwardly some distance away in the vestibule, picking up leaflets from the Healing Arts registration desk in an attempt to conceal her embarrassment. Sara suddenly felt embarrassed too, feeling that she had been much too obvious in her observation of events. It was not as if this couple held any real interest for her, it was just that having seen Derek in the supermarket it had been amusing to watch the episode unfold, and it was funny, that man looking for a moment so like Matteo, and being called Matthew. She moved away and rejoined Sue, who had finished deliberating and had signed herself up for the first evening session on effective mind and body communication.
    ‘Sounds brilliant. It’s all about mind and body circuitry, how to talk to your body, get it to heal itself. Attitude, really. Being
aware
,’ Sue said grandly. ‘You interested?’
    ‘Er, another time,’ Sara said. ‘Look, you go and find out about your natural healing circuitry. I’ll just have a bit of a wander here, have a look at the stalls. You don’t mind, do you?’
    In less than half an hour it would be time for the official welcome, which Sara was certain would amount to a glass of warm organic wine, some turgid phrases from the platform and polite applause. Then she could get off to the Pump Room while Sue delivered herself up wholeheartedly to her – what had she been saying? – ‘
simple light tapping on the skull to isolate the problem area and stimulate the
brain
’. She smiled. ‘It’s nice to see you really happy,’ she said, touching Sue’s arm. ‘You must make it last, this time. Get that Paul to behave himself.’
    ‘I’m going to do my very best,’ Sue said seriously, and then sighed. ‘I wish I could be like you. I’m so up and down all the time. I’d love to be more like you. You don’t ever change, do you? You’re always the same.’
    Sara, giving Sue a smile which concealed how much this remark depressed her, made for the Ballroom. It was a relief to get away from all that young enthusiasm, and from the embarrassment of the episode in the vestibule. She worried that she might be turning into one of those barking, lugubrious spinsters who stare at people in public. She was going to have to watch it. If she wasn’t careful she would soon be muttering in the street and taking her clothes off in Waitrose. She wandered on, browsing desultorily at the stalls promising holistic massage enabling healing, psychic readings enabling spiritual growth, and something called overtone singing, enabling the finding of one’s voice, which were settled in alongside palmistry, aromatherapy and authentic Guatamalan handicrafts. There was nothing, as far as she could see, that approximated to essential deep relaxation enabling international concert cellists to resume their careers, so she had to settle for some tea tree bath gel. She walked slowly across to the Tea Room.