Chapter Eleven
On the last night of the trip all the ladies were having dinner together on the hotel terrace. Large platters of seafood were placed in the middle of the two tables they occupied.
“Ouch,” Isabelle exclaimed. “I think this langoustine is still alive, it’s fighting so hard against being peeled.”
Diane laughed. “You’re just afraid of damaging your manicure.” That morning Isabelle had declared she’d had enough of playing golf, after three days of it, and she’d gone off for a day of pampering at the hotel spa.
“Of course I am,” Isabelle said. “Aren’t my nails pretty?” She held out her hands in front of Diane again.
“Yes, yes, dear.” Diane patted her arm. “For the fifth time, your nails look exquisite.”
The sound of a piece of cutlery being tapped against a glass interrupted
