The din of suits and sluts resumed with the merengue segueing into Barry Manilow’s ode to showgirl Lola and her lover, Tony: ‘Copacabana.’ ‘Aw...w, awww,’ Antoine was still groaning. Before actual words could travel from his brain to his lips, Janine trotted back to the fated table to the beat of Manilow’s disco cowbells. Slinking her sixtyish figure down toward Antoine, she lowered her eyes to groin and sang, ‘At the Copa … we fell in love.’ ‘Awww, awww, no. Nooo,’ he said, moaning and diverting. I tried to keep out of her way as she was so cross she was just looking for trouble. During dinner that evening Auntie told Kate & I that her friends Alison, Sue and Helen were coming over for coffee and a chat after lunch the next day and to make sure that we didn’t mess up the place as she wanted everything to look right. When we didn’t say anything, she added “Is that understood?” looking at each of us in turn. “Yes Auntie” “Yes Mum.” The following morning I went out exploring and. More

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