Caught in the Act by Gemma Fox

and all the cutlery. She looked at the gang. ‘It’s not big and it’s not clever,’ she said with grudging admiration.
    â€˜Oh, for goodness’ sake, lighten up. Diana said he’d be here,’ said Jan. ‘Let’s talk about something more serious, like the severe lack of alcohol.’
    â€˜We could go down to the off-licence andbuy a few more bottles of wine, Di, unless you’re up for the water trick—or is that just for weddings and the faithful few?’ Netty mimed a magician’s pass over the carafe of water on the table. Diana rolled her eyes and looked heavenwards while Netty continued, ‘It never occurred to me that the place would be dry. The backstage crew have all got the shakes from withdrawal symptoms.’
    Grateful to be rescued, Carol nodded. ‘Just tell people if they want to have wine to go and buy some.’
    Diana nodded and then very earnestly scribbled a note down on the pad beside her plate. Carol smiled. It was Netty’s turn to roll her eyes and look heavenwards.
    The instructions on the invitation were that although Burbeck House was relaxed about appearance, guests and delegates would be expected to dress smartly for dinner. Netty had taken that as a green light to drag out a sparkly cerise and silver cocktail frock from somewhere dark and dangerous that must lead straight back to the eighties, adding a pair of impossibly strappy killer-heeled sandals and a whole heap of diamanté. Everyone else had gone for smart casual or close to it—not that Nettyappeared to mind in the least. She was the kind of person who had enough front to carry off wearing a wetsuit and tiara.
    Carol had thought very carefully about the clothes she’d brought with her; she might be nearly forty but she didn’t want people to think that she had let herself go. She was wearing a long cotton jersey dress in navy, bias cut, with thin straps and a scooped neck that emphasised her narrow waist, toned body and showed off nicely tanned shoulders. She had added just enough makeup to emphasise those great big blue-green eyes and, with a hint of lipstick, she looked good. Very good.
    Earlier, drawing and smudging kohl round her eyes, hunched over the child-sized sink in the communal bathroom next to the girls’ dormitory, Carol had had to spend a while persuading herself that all this effort wasn’t for Gareth—at least it wasn’t just for Gareth. No, not just for him. She wanted to look good for herself.
    Alongside her, Netty had grinned from behind her makeup box, face contorting so that she could outline her lips with a bright pink pencil.
    â€˜Just like the good old days, eh? Us lot gettingall dolled up in the girls’ loos for a night on the town. Shame we haven’t got any panstick, re ally. You remember the stage makeup Miss Haze used to make us wear for the performances? It was like slapping on magnolia emulsion mixed with margarine.’
    â€˜I’m sure if you ask, Diana has probably got some somewhere.’
    Netty laughed. Her makeup kit had lots of lift-out layered trays that were now spread across the sink and adjoining bench; they looked like a cross between a mechanic’s tool box and an artist’s palette.
    Carol, looking down at her own small makeup bag, said, ‘I see that you’ve come prepared.’
    Netty—once she had blotted—sniffed. ‘Oh, come on, facing forty I need all the help I can get. Polyfilla, glass-fibre, sandpaper…’ She drew a hand over the trays like a market trader displaying her wares. ‘Anything you fancy, you just dive right in. I get a lot as samples from work. How about a teensy weensy bit of glitter? You’re looking a bit peaky.’
    â€˜Uh, no, I’m fine, thanks.’ Carol turned her attention back to the mirror and the kohl.
    â€˜Great to see everyone again, huh?’ Therewere the sounds of giggling coming from the dormitory,