The sound system pumped out a deafening dance mix but no-one was here to dance. Most of the previously empty floor space had been taken up by tables at which Birrigai’s brains trusts were gathering. Two blond-headed surfer guys were already lubricating their brain cells with beer. They hailed Marianne with a raucous cheer. ‘Chris and Brent, this is Tiffany.’ Marianne squeezed herself between the two pairs of bronzed thighs leaving Tiffany to take the chair next to Brent with a free space on her left for Miles. ‘I wonder where Miles is,’ said Marianne staring around. The place was so packed all Tiffany could see was the broad, white-shirted back and khaki clad rear end of a retiree and the front of his floral frocked wife as they settled themselves at the next table. ‘He might not come.’ Tiffany couldn’t imagine Miles turning up after reading those letters. He’d be shattered.
