It is the evening of Ralph’s birthday party.

Helen has arrived early, by prior arrangement, to help with the food preparations. Most of the serious food – the poached whole salmon, the famous cured ham on the bone, the variegated salads – had been supplied by a local catering firm, and it is already laid out in the dining room beside stacks of plates and sets of cutlery wrapped in thick paper napkins. But Carrie likes to prepare her own canapés. Helen has been entrusted with the task of chopping and slicing crudités for the savoury dips. Carrie herself is peeling fresh prawns and impaling them in toothpicks, separated by cubes of ripe pimiento, like miniature sish kebabs. In the large square hall, with its floor of black and white flags, a table has been placed to serve as a bar, with bottles of red and white wine arranged in two symmetrical phalanges, separated by a large tray of gleaming wine glasses. Shortly after Ralph has left the kitchen the two women hear the regular pop1 pop! of corks being pulled with the aid of the screwpull . More distantly the strains of cool instrumental jazz percolate from the hi-fi in the drawing room, where Emily is placing little bowls of nuts and pretzels in strategic places. The Messengers are experienced party-givers and everyone knows their function and how to perform it. The front doorbell rings.
‘The first guest’, says Helen, superfluously.
From the book ?thinks? by David Lodge