Guns in the Gallery by Simon Brett

home. No doubt spending the night here with lover-boy .’ She infused the word with an infinity of contempt.
    â€˜I’ll drive you home,’ said Jude.
    â€˜I didn’t know you could drive.’
    â€˜Why shouldn’t I be able to?’
    â€˜Well, you haven’t got a car.’
    â€˜I haven’t got a swimming pool, but that doesn’t mean I can’t swim.’
    Carole had noticed Jude’s absence fairly soon after she’d left. Her first instinct, to hurry out after her, she curbed. How embarrassing it would be, she thought, if she left the Cornelian Gallery and found Jude outside with some man draped around her. Carole knew that her neighbour’s sex life had been much more varied and adventurous than her own, but in her mind she did sometimes overestimate Jude’s powers as a man-magnet. Still, having witnessed a New Year’s Eve party that had led to a one-night stand, she wouldn’t put anything past her.
    It wasn’t as if Jude was dependent on Carole for transport that evening, as had sometimes been the case. They were both within a short walk of their homes. And they weren’t joined at the hip, for heaven’s sake, Carole told herself. They were both grown-up women, capable of making their own decisions and deciding the right moment to leave a Private View. But she couldn’t stop feeling that Jude’s departing without telling her was a slight – a slight slight perhaps, but still a slight.
    â€˜We meet again.’
    She turned at the sound of a hesitant voice and saw that Ned and Sheena Whittaker had joined her. ‘Yes. Nice to see you.’
    Ned raised his glass. ‘Very acceptable red wine. An Argentinian Malbec. In fact we drink quite a lot of this at home.’
    â€˜The Crown and Anchor has a very good wine list.’
    He looked puzzled so Carole elucidated. ‘This is being catered by the Crown and Anchor pub, here in Fethering.’
    â€˜Ah.’
    â€˜How’s the glamping going?’
    â€˜We don’t officially open till tomorrow evening,’ replied Sheena. ‘First guests are supposed to be arriving about four, I think.’ She giggled nervously. ‘Thank goodness Chervil’s in charge. I’d be sweating cobs if it was me.’
    â€˜You’d do it fine, love,’ said her husband. But his reassurance sounded automatic, not convinced that she would.
    Carole, whose antennae were very sensitive to deficiencies in the self-esteem department, was once again struck by the Whittakers’ insecurity. All that money and they never seemed quite at ease, always pretending to be people they weren’t.
    â€˜Anyway,’ Ned went on, ‘Walden’s Chervil’s baby, so you don’t have to worry.’
    â€˜Yes, but suppose she was away one night and you weren’t there either and someone from the site came up to the big house wanting me to sort something out for them . . .?’
    â€˜It won’t happen, love,’ he said, with a new harshness in his voice, and Carole realized that this was the type of argument they had had time and time again in the course of their marriage. She wondered what level of resentment Ned felt for his wife’s pussy-footedness.
    â€˜Anyway, Carole,’ Ned went on, ‘it wasn’t Chervil I wanted to talk about. I wanted to apologize for her sister’s behaviour.’
    â€˜Oh, I didn’t really notice it,’ Carole responded fatuously.
    â€˜The fact is . . .’ A look was exchanged between husband and wife. Sheena was clearly urging Ned to stop, but he still proceeded. ‘The fact is that Fennel does have some mental health issues . . .’
    â€˜I had heard that, yes.’
    â€˜. . . and when she has too much to drink, she does things . . . well, you’ve seen what she does.’
    â€˜Yes. Sounded like it was something she wanted to get off her