Claire rummaged in her handbag as she spoke.

"A reunion perhaps."

"Must be, although that bitch always thought herself too good to associate with the likes of us. I'm surprised that she even remembered our names."

Claire handed the card across the table, turning it so as to read it at the same time as her friend.

"There we are. Friday the eighteenth at 8 am."

"That's morning," Natalie pointed out. "Must be an error."

Claire read the invitation card again and shrugged her shoulders.

"It says 8 am but must be wrong."

"Are you going?"

Claire sat back, pausing to order two cappuccinos from the waitress hurrying past.

"Might be fun. Be good to see some of the old faces again – remember that skinny girl? Redhead she was, can't remember her name."

Natalie wasn't listening; she was totally absorbed in reading her own invitation card.

"Did you say the eighteenth?"

Claire's head turned, following the progress of a youth in a pair of tight jeans that pulled harshly across his firm backside. She sighed wistfully and giggled.

"What? Sorry, other more important things to view first."

"My invitation is for the twenty-seventh."

Claire looked at her friend quizzically and reached across to take the card.

"You're right. That's over a week later. What the hell is going on?"

"Search me, that rich bitch always was a bit dizzy, she never could count."

Claire was unconvinced, Arabella was anything but dizzy. Cold and calculating with a sharp mind and a twisted outlook on life perhaps but never dizzy. When it came to socialising Arabella had excelled, cold and aloof at times she may have been, but hugely popular at parties and gatherings. It was her charge; the time in her life when she really came alive, all of her social events were planned with almost military precision and nothing left to chance. A mistake such as this Claire couldn't see Arabella making.