"You didn't say whether you liked my hair." Gertrude watched her husband's distorted features through her brandy snifter. Dinner finished, they sat in the classically furnished living room, facing one another across a solid mahogany coffee table; an antique Tiffany lamp on the formal writing desk against one wall, the only source of light.

"Aah, sorry dear. Hair's bully. Very bully." Ivan shifted uncomfortably, stretching his back and massaging a leg.

"Something wrong?"

"No. No. Just a few labour related pains. Can't seem to organize the damned shed the way I want it." He winced, trying a new position.

Gertrude swirled the dark liquid in her glass and tasted a sip. "Maybe I should have a look, see if I can't offer some suggestions."

"Aaaah no. Don't think you want to bother yourself there, dear. Man's thing... you know... nothing I can't sort through myself." The garden shed was the last place he wanted his wife to see.

"You're sure?" A placid face accompanied her question.

"Absolutely, but bully for asking, dear. Bully." She took a larger sip and rested the glass stem on her lap.

"Carmela still busily harvesting Antonio's grapes?"

"Hah, yes. Endless chore, that. Poor woman always looks exhausted. You'd think one of the men in the family would give her a hand." He absently rubbed his leg.

"Well I'm a little tired too." Gertrude finished her brandy and rose, carrying the glass as she crossed to her husband and kissed his head good night.

*****

Antonio handed his jacket and tie to Carmela without taking his eyes from the mirror. In its reflection, he watched her hang them in the appropriate place, smoothing the material with care. When she returned, he faced her, sitting on the stool by a tall boy, and held up his feet for her to remove his shoes.

"I'll need those cleaned for the morning." Off came his trousers, sailing in a crumpled heap on the bed.

Carmela collected his pants, hung them on a hanger and took his shoes downstairs. She took the polish and brush from a drawer in the kitchen and began smoothing the brown wax over their slick surface, careful to cover every nook and cranny. Antonio appeared a moment later in his nightshirt, fetching a glass from the cupboard, and a bottle of spring water from the refrigerator.

"Be careful of the laces," he instructed, swallowing the whole glassful in one gulp. "Take them out before you polish." He scratched his stomach, nodded gruffly and headed off to bed.

Carmela sighed and leaned on the edge of the sink, looking out at the dark garden, her eyes longingly seeking the outline of Ivan's shed. Absently, she wrapped a lace about her finger and began swinging it with a slapping rhythm against the counter top.

******

It was the Monday before the weekend of the anniversary celebration. The town was awash in tourists and the merchants were going full bore with 'specially reduced sales' of aging inventory. One of the hot new items that found favour was a pair of red and black souvenir masks of the theatre's, comedy and drama faces on a stick. Every child had to have a set, as did most of the adults. At two-fifty a pop, Carl Fetters was ecstatic, complimenting the design and decorating committee for their entrepreneurial ingenuity.

The Jubilee was on track to make a tidy profit.

The ten carriages chosen were stored behind the paisley hotel in the parking lot where the decorating was taking place. From there, they would move to the funeral parlour parking lot at the other end of town. Owners huddled on the fringe, watching every step with protective intensity, while back on their properties the horses and tack were being washed, polished, and shined for the big event. The process even attracted crowds of tourists and townspeople, all chattering and offering the workers suggestions, creating a carnival atmosphere which Carl exploited by bullying Harvey into setting up a food and drink stand.

"These people are animals," Harvey whinged to Henry, who had volunteered to help, figuring that a good dose of cholesterol in some of their customers might just give his own business a boost.

"It's all grist for the mill, Harvey. You make it, they'll eat it." He tousled the head of a small boy, staggering away under a load of Danish pastries. "See what I mean."

"Disgusting. These creations are to be savoured, nibbled delicately, so as to release the subtle flavours, not jammed into a gaping maw and drowned in, for God's sake, Coca-Cola!" He loosened his blazer and adjusted his tie with finicky perfection.

Henry smiled and turned away, waving to Tiffany who was tottering across the parking lot on her thick-heeled sandals. She waved back, tugging the pink tube top up around her impossible chest. Henry leaned on the counter and looked down; afraid his smile would seem lascivious. She slipped her handbag over her shoulder and strutted up to the stand, sky blue, skintight Capri pants, valiantly holding their own against the wiggling body.

"Hi boys," she said, airily. "Seen Ross anywhere?"

"Not unless his is one of the faces buried in one of my French cream croissants." Harvey scowled.

"He might be over at the wagons," Henry laughed, tilting his head toward Harvey.

"God, don't call them wagons if Milo's around. He prefers coach." She rolled her eyes, waved goodbye, and jiggled off to the decorating area.

"That woman is a walking- a walking... Gelato cone."

Henry fell backward laughing through his nose as Harvey sniffed disdainfully, rubbing a dab of sunscreen into his forehead.

"Hi girls. Anyone seen Ross- oh never mind, there he is." She walked between the rows of carriages and came up behind Ross. "Lunch break is over, sweetie. I need you to watch the shop while I run some errands."

"Yeah, okay. Where's Allen?" He turned away, saying goodbye to Jean, mouthing the word, 'later'.

Tiffany waited until Jean was out of earshot and poked Ross's arm. "Are you playing hanky panky with the boss's wife?"

"You forget, we're on a committee together."

"What a fortunate excuse to spend so much time with the lovely Jean." She teased.

"Not to the extent you do with the boss." He softened the comment with a charming wink.

"You're a smug bugger, Rossy."

"So where is Allen? I've only been away forty minutes."

"A productive forty, I might add."

"Tiffany!"

She nudged his arm and bent closer. "He's up in the stockroom. We're going to have lunch together." She batted her long false lashes coyly.

"Aw Christ..."

"Be a pet, Rossy... for Ti, please?"

"Yeah, okay." He let her take his arm and quickstep him back to the store.