The mob paid her no heed, and stampeded into the room. The women gasped and pointed and whispered. The men nodded in admiration and took their seats, ready for free food and attentive service. Penelope gave up acting as hostess and resorted to the kitchen to find Zara standing in front of the open Kelvinator, stupefied as to where to start.
“I’ll take over from here, Z.”
“Oh, thank God,” Zara said.
“Where are Stella and Vincent?”
“Helping Paolo and Hank prepare the teapots. None of us were ready yet, you know.”
“Oh believe me, I know,” Penelope said, tying an apron around her waist . . .
