No-one was surprised that Celia had conspired to ruin Frank’s dinner party, but it was notable that David had helped her. The pair sat, twisted into one another, in a corner. They whispered loudly about the rest of them – the young women who would, in a few years, be swapped for other young women; the difficult publisher; the lonely academic. When the time came to eat they moved Frank’s place setting so they could continue their collusion without interference. They sniggered over spaghetti and then, before pudding, made their excuses and left. Frank had baked an apple crumble – Celia’s favourite.
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