False Alarm (34 page)

Maggie dried her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Can't we have a party just for ourselves? I know we're not proper family, exactly—'

‘We are more
proper
family than most I can think of. Our family has more to celebrate than most at this time of the year, so I thought we'd invite lots of people who are not in a position to give a party themselves. I was thinking about CJ, for instance; he's a widower, and lonely now his son has moved out; then there's Piers, my ex, who has no family to speak of unless it's me and Max. Next on the list is you, Oliver. How would you like to invite some of your university friends? Ones who have nowhere else to go in the holidays? They can bring sleeping bags and doss down upstairs in your quarters. Maggie; the same applies to you. Your boyfriend must come, of course. Then who would you like to invite? Old friends or new? Customers who have become friends?'

Maggie gulped. Her eyes were enormous. ‘You'll scream, but . . . could I invite my mother and the Professor? I mean, they probably wouldn't want to come, and if they did come, they'd probably look down on everyone else but . . . I'd like to give them the chance.'

‘Why not?' said Bea. ‘I have a couple of old friends who are going to be on their own as well. Let's do the whole thing in slap-up style. There's always chefs and waiters on the agency books who want to work over the holidays; we'll have all the food and drink brought in and served for us, and cleaners to restore the place to normal afterwards. We won't even do the washing up ourselves. We'll have gifts for everyone who comes; nothing too expensive, possibly vouchers from Harrods food hall? We can invite as many people as we like, the only proviso being that we have enough chairs to seat them all. Any other suggestions?'

Oliver said, ‘I think Carrie Kempton might find it too much—'

‘She's going into sheltered accommodation, poor thing,' said Maggie.

Oliver gave Bea a wicked look. ‘How about we invite Carmela Lessbury?'

Bea ironed out a smile. ‘Hospitable I may be. Stupid I am not. She'd have Piers and CJ asking if they might call on her in five minutes flat.'

Oliver grinned. ‘That's rather uncharitable of you, isn't it?'

‘I've been taking lessons from a mistress in the art of being a cow. Carmela gets an invite over my dead body. Besides which, she owes me fifty quid for finding out who put her phone number on the call-girl cards, not to mention the fact that I ruined two perfectly good pairs of boots in the course of duty.'

Oliver's grin widened. ‘Wasn't Sir Lucas happy to reimburse you?'

‘He sent me a nice cheque by way of a thank you, and I've seen just the pair of boots I want in Harvey Nicholls. With killer heels. And no, Maggie; he doesn't get an invite, either. And that, my dear ones, is my last word on the subject.'

Maggie giggled. ‘Mother Hen is a cow!'

Oliver aimed a blow at her and missed. He was laughing, too.

‘Enough!' said Bea, trying to look stern. ‘Now, back to work!'