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“Explains what?” asked Clive.
“My uncle took me to Lord’s last Thursday.”
“To watch England thrash the Indians.”
“True, but I met this girl…”
“Ah, the fog is lifting,” said Victor.
“And you fancied her,” said Clive.
“Yes, and what’s more, I thought she quite liked me.”
“Then she must be dumb.”
“But when I called her the next day and asked her to dinner, she turned me down.”
“I like the sound of this woman.”
“So as we both work in the City, I suggested lunch.”
“And she still spurned you?”
“Out of hand,” said Seb. “So I asked her if she—”
“Would consider dispensing with the meals and—”
“No, if she’d like to see Laurence Olivier in The Merchant of Venice.”
“And she still turned you down?”
“She did.”
“But you can’t get tickets for that show even from touts,” said Victor.
“So I’ll ask you again. Am I ugly?”
“We’ve already established that,” said Clive, “so all that’s left to discuss is which one of us will be your date for Merchant.”
“Neither of you. I haven’t given up yet.”
* * *
“I thought you told me you liked Sebastian?”
“I did. He was wonderful company for a day I’d been dreading,” said Priya.
“So why did you turn him down?” asked her flatmate.
“It was just unfortunate that on all three days he asked me out, I already had something else on.”
“And you couldn’t rearrange any of them?” asked Jenny.
“No, my father had invited me to the ballet on Wednesday evening. Margot Fonteyn in Swan Lake.”
“OK, I’ll accept that one. Next?”
“On Thursday, my boss asked me to attend a lunch he was giving for an important client who was flying in from New Delhi.”
