The sounds faded. She waiting,wristwatch ticking. There was the sound of footfalls on the stairs again, and in rushed— Martina.Martina came to halt ...efore her at a respectful distance, and bobbed a quite decentcurtsey. Claire regarded with mocking curiosity the figure before her. The pink chiffonheadscarf, low on the forehead and tied behind the ears; the hastily-applied eyebrowpencil, rouge and lipstick; the skimpy, scanty pink frock, generously trimmed with whitelace, its skirt only just long. Maybe this is why Ibecame a writer - it's easier for me to communicate with others whenseparated by time and distance, letting my static words do the talkingfor me.It would make a better story if I said that I walked through the doorof Cassandra's Knightsbridge flat and was enchanted, all myreservations and shyness falling away. Sadly, this was not the case.I looked around at the mass of smartly dressed and generally beautifulpeople and I panicked. As I ran off to the bathroom to vomit I. More

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