A sidelong glance at Sir William revealed him sitting bolt upright, a very worried man.

“Do those forty shares make so much difference to us?”

“All the difference in the world, now we know Richard Hurlingford sold out a month ago.” Sir William sighed. “And it explains why the mystery buyer thinks he has sufficient clout to call an extraordinary meeting tomorrow.”

“The little fool!” snarled Alicia. “How could Missy be such a little fool?”

“I think we’re the fools, Alicia. I for one never even noticed Missy Wright, but I see now that I should have. And been more attentive to all the ladies of Missalonghi. Did you take in how she looked this morning? As if she’d got to the cream ahead of every other cat in the district. And did she say she had an appointment to be married, or was that my imagination?”

Alicia snorted. “Oh, she said it, but I suspect it was her imagination.” A more urgent grievance came to mind. “Silly old Auntie Cornie!” she muttered savagely. “Oh, how I wish I could have had the satisfaction this morning of sacking her when she came prattling about her shares and the time she was going to take off for her operation!”

“Well, why didn’t you sack her?”

“Because I can’t, that’s why! My hat shop may well end up my only source of income, if things at the plant keep going from bad to worse. And I’ll never find anyone else half so good to run the salon end of it, even if I paid them ten times what I pay Auntie Cornie. She’s – indispensable.”

“You’d better pray she never realises it, or she’ll ask for ten times what you currently pay her.” A tinge of satisfaction coloured his voice as he added, “And then, my dear, if you can’t afford it, you’ll have to go into the shop as your own sales dame. You’d be even better at it than Cornie.”

“I can’t do that!” gasped Alicia. “It would ruin my social standing! It’s one thing to be the creative genius behind a business of that nature, but quite another to have to peddle my wares in person.” She tugged at the lapels of her pale pink coat, her lovely face set into the lines of sullen discontent its construction made fatally easy. “Oh, Uncle Billy, suddenly I feel as if I’m walking on ice, and it’s going to crack any minute, and I’m going to go under!”

“We’re in a pickle, it’s true. But don’t give up, we’re  not finished yet. Pounds to peanuts, when the mystery buyer turns up to his extraordinary meeting tomorrow, he’ll turn out to be some self-made yokel easily manipulated by his betters. And for that sort of exercise, you will come in very handy.”

Alicia did not reply, merely flicked him a glance of mingled doubt and dislike; her eyes reverted to the back of the chauffeur’s head, a far nicer prospect than Sir William’s choleric countenance.

When Missy walked into the library she fully expected to find Una, even though it was not one of Una’s days. And sure enough, there was Una.

“Oh, Missy, I’m so glad to see you!” she cried, jumping up. “I have a surprise for you.”

“I have a few surprises for you too,” said Missy.

“Wait right there, I’ll be back in two flicks of a dead lamb’s tail.” Una vanished into the tea cubicle, and came out bearing a large white box and hatbox, each tied up with white ribbon. “Happy anything, dearest Missy.”

They smiled at each other in complete understanding and great affection.

“It’s a scarlet lace dress and hat,” said Missy.

“It’s a scarlet lace dress and hat,” agreed Una.

“I shall wear it to my wedding.”

“John Smith! You’ve picked exactly the right man.”

“I had to resort to trickery and deception to get him.”

“If you couldn’t get him any other way, why not?”

“I told him I was dying of heart trouble.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“That,” said Missy, “is splitting hairs. Can you come to my wedding?”

“I’d love to, but no.”

“Why?”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Because of your divorce? But we’re not getting married in a church, so who can object?”

“It has nothing to do with divorce, darling. I don’t think John Smith would appreciate a face from the past at his wedding.”

That made sense, therefore Missy left it alone. And there was nothing really left to say; her gratitude was quite beyond words, her need to go quickly was great. Una stood watching her painfully, as if with her she was taking something so precious the quality of Una’s life would suffer ever afterwards – and that something was not so tangible as a scarlet lace dress and hat. On an impulse she didn’t understand, Missy returned to the desk, leaned over it and put her arm about Una’s shoulders, her lips against Una’s cheek. So frail, so cold, so weightless!

“Goodbye, Una.”

“Goodbye, my best and dearest friend. Be happy!”

Missy made the train with a minute to spare, and saw John Smith on the platform in Katoomba before the train came to a standstill. Thank God for that. He hadn’t changed his mind during his slow amble along the highway, then. And in fact when he saw her alight from her carriage, he even looked quite glad to see her!

“They’ll issue us with a licence and marry us today,” he said, taking Missy’s boxes from her.

“And I don’t have to be married in brown,” said Missy, retrieving her boxes. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll pop into the platform toilet and change into my wedding dress.”

“Wedding dress?” He looked down at his grey flannel work shirt and his old moleskin trousers in comical dismay.

She laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not traditional. In fact, I guarantee that you’re going to look a great deal more appropriate than I am.”

Her dress fitted perfectly. What an eye for size Una had! And what a wonderful colour! Her eyes swam with the strain of looking at it. Where on earth had Una managed to find a garment so elegant in style yet so wanton in colour?

The mirror on the wall seemed to own a touch of magic, for whoever it reflected, it lent a slight patina of beauty; adjusting her preposterous scarlet hat, Missy decided she looked very well. Her darkness was suddenly interesting, her thin body was suddenly merely slender as a young tree. Yes, very well! And certainly not spinsterish.

Once he recovered from the shock of that red, John Smith thought she looked very well too. “Now this is my sort of wedding! I look like a hayseed, and you look like a madam.” He tucked her arm through his gleefully. “Come on, woman, let’s get the deed over before I change my mind.”

They strolled into Katoomba Street, the cynosure of all eyes, and actually quite pleased with the sensation they were creating.

“That was easy,” said Missy after the deed was done and they were sitting together in John Smith’s cart. She held out her hand to see her ring. “I am now Mrs. John Smith. How nice it sounds!”

“I must say this time was a lot better than the last.”

“Was your first wedding a big affair, then?”

“It could have passed for a circus. Two hundred and fifty guests, the bride with a thirty-foot train that needed a whole regiment of runny-nosed little boys to lift it, twelve or fourteen bridesmaids, all of the men stuffed into tails, the archbishop of something presiding, a massed choir – God Jesus, at the time it was a nightmare! But compared to what followed, it was an idyll in paradise.” He looked sideways at her, one eyebrow raised. “Do you want to hear this?”

“I think I’d better. They say the second wife always has to contend with the ghost of the first, and that it’s a lot harder to fight a ghost than a living person.” She paused to gather her courage. “Was she – dear to you?”

“She may have been when I married her, I honestly can’t remember. I didn’t know her, you see. I only knew of her. She must have meant to have me, because I’m sure I didn’t do the proposing. I’m obviously the sort of bloke women propose to! Only I didn’t mind your way of proposing, at least it was honest and above-board. But her – one minute she was all over me like a rash, the next minute she was acting as if I had the plague. Blowing hot and cold, they call it. I think women think it’s expected of them, that if they don’t do it, they’re going to make life too easy for the bloke. Now that’s where I like you very much, Mrs. Smith. You don’t blow hot and cold at all.”