Read The Winds of Marble Arch and Other Stories for Free Online

them were talking about a reunion tour,” McCord was saying. “I suppose that’s all off now.”
    “The Old Man tookus on a Beatles tour,” I said. “Has anybody seen him? He insisted we recreateall the album covers. We nearly got killed crossing Abbey Road.”
    “I don’t think he’s coming down from Cambridge till tomorrow,” McCord said. “It’s a long drive.”
    The Old Man had driven us four hundred miles to see London Bridge. I peered over their heads, trying to spot the Old Man. I couldn’t see him, but I did spot Evers, which meant Sara and Elliott were still here. Cath was over by the doorwith Marjorie.
    “It was just so
sad
about Linda McCartney,” the Gap woman said.
    I took a swig of my wine and remembered too late this was a sherry party.
    “How old was she?” McCord was asking.
    “Fifty-three.”
    “I know three women who’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer,” the Gap woman said. “
Three.
It’s dreadful.”
    “One keeps wondering who’s next,” the other woman said.
    “Or
what’s
next,” McCordsaid. “You heard about Stewart, didn’t you?”
    I handed my sherry glass to the gap woman, who looked at me, annoyed, and started through the crowd toward Cath, but now I couldn’t see her either. I stopped, craning my neck to see over the crowd.
    “
There
you are, you handsome thing!” Sara said, coming up behind me and putting her arm around my waist. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”
    She kissedme on the cheek. “Elliott’s been fretting that you were going to make us all go see
Cats
. He
loathes Cats
, and everyone who comes to visit drags us to it. And you know how he frets over things. You didn’t, did you? Get tickets for
Cats
?”
    “No,” I said, staring at her. She looked the same as always—her dark hair still tucked behind her ears, her eyebrows still arched mischievously. This was thesame old Sara who’d gone with us to
Kismet
, to Lake Havasu, to Abbey Road.
    Cath was wrong. She might pick up subliminal signals about other people, but this time she was wrong. Sara wasn’t acting guilty or uneasy, wasn’t avoiding my eyes, wasn’t avoiding Cath.
    “Where
is
Cath?” she asked, standing on tiptoe to peer over the crowd. “I have something I’ve got to tell her.”
    “What?”
    “Aboutherchina. We couldn’t find it today, did she tell you? Well, after I got home, I thought, ‘I’ll wager they have it at Selfridge’s.’ They’re always years behind the times. Oh, there she is.” She waved frantically. “I want to tell her before we leave,” she said and took off through the crowd. “Find Elliott and tell him I’ll only be a sec. And tell him we aren’t seeing
Cats
,” she called back to me.“I don’t want him stewing all night. He’s over there somewhere.” She waved vaguely in the direction of the door, and I pushed my way between people till I found him, standing by the front door.
    “You haven’t seen Sara, have you?” he said. “Evers is bringing his car round.”
    “She’s talking to Cath,” I said. “She said she’ll be here in a minute.”
    “Are you kidding? When those two get together—”He shook his head indulgently. “Sara said they had a wonderful time today.”
    “Is the Old Man here yet?” I said.
    “He called and said he couldn’t make it tonight. He said to tell you he’ll see us tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it. We’ve scarcely seen him since he moved to Cambridge. We’re down in Wimbledon, you know.”
    “And he hasn’t swooped down and kidnapped you to go see Dickens’ elbow orsomething?”
    “Not lately. Oh, God, do you remember that time Sara mentioned Arthur Conan Doyle, and he dragged us up and down Baker Street, looking for Sherlock Holmes’s missing flat?”
    I laughed, remembering him knocking on doors, demanding, “What have you done with 221B, madam?” deciding we needed to call in Scotland Yard.
    “And then demanding to know what they’d done with the yard,”