That night they heard no noises. But either in his dreams or out of them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing run­ning in his mind;1 a song that seemed to come like a pale light be-hind a grey rain-curtain.The vision melted into waking;2 and there was Tom whistling; and the sun was already slanting down the hill and through the open window.After breakfast they made ready to say farewell, as nearly heavy of heart3 as was possible on such a morning; cool, bright, and clean under a washed autumn sky of thin blue. The air came fresh from the North-West.They rode off along a path and looked out from the hill-top over lands under the morning. It was now as clear and far-seen as it had been veiled and misty when they stood upon the knoll in the Forest. They took a deep draught of the air.4

green-coloured

platinum

blue

fibreglass

primrose

tall

impatient

inwardly

tiring

navy

strawberry

convincingly

red-haired

magic

untidy

At Hyde Park Corner the car stopped suddenly, the driver swo­re and Sayako opened her eyes. The bodyguard turned around to face her.'A demonstration,' he said. 'Nothing to fear.'She looked out of the window and saw a long line of mid­dle-aged people crossing the road in front of the car. Many of them were wearing beige anoraks that Sayako, a devoted shopper, identified as coming from Marks and Spencer.12 A few were car­rying signs on sticks.Nobody appeared to take any notice of them, apart from a few impatient motorists.

Sayako sat in the back of the limousine and looked at London and its people. How funny English people are, she thought, with their wobbly faces and big noses and their skin! She laughed behind her hand. So white and pink and red. What bodies they had! So tall. It wasn't necessary to have so much height, was it. Her father was a small man and he was an Emperor.As the car set off on its journey towards Windsor, where she was staying at the newly opened Royal Castle Hotel, Sayako's eyes closed. Shopping was so tiring. She had started at 10.30 in Harrod's lingerie department9 and now it was 6.15 and she had only taken an hour off for lunch. And when she got home she had that puzzling book to read, Three Men in a Boat. She had promised her father she would read at least five pages a day. It would improve her English, he said, and help her to understand the English psyche.She had already ploughed through The Wind in the Willows,10 Alice in Wonderland and most of Jemima Puddleduck11 but she had found these books very difficult, full of talking animals dressed in the clothes of human beings.

'What other colours do you have this in?' asked Sayako of the assistants, who were packing her suits, loafers, bags and wig.'Just one other colour,' said an assistant (who thought, Jesus, we'll have a drink after work tonight).She hurried to the back of the shop and quickly returned with a toffee-brown version of the sumptuous coat.8'Yes,' said Sayako. 'I take both and, of course, boots to match, size four.' She pointed to the boots worn by the red-haired manne­quin.The pile on the counter grew. Her bodyguard standing inside the shop door shifted impatiently.When the Princess and her purchases had been driven away, the manageress and her assistants screamed and yelled and hugged each other for joy.

As the manageress tapped in the magic numbers from the card,7 Sayako tried on a soft green-coloured suede coat which was also be­ing worn by a red-haired mannequin. The suede coat cost one penny less than a thousand pounds.

'That colour's very good on you,' she said, smiling professio­nally.Sayako said, 'I take it and also I take it in strawberry and navy and primrose.'3The manageress inwardly rejoiced. She would now reach this week's target.4 Her job would be safe for at least another month. God bless the Japanese!Sayako walked over on stockinged feet5 to a display of suede loafers.'And these shoes to match all suits in size four,' she said. Her role model was the fibreglass mannequin6 which lolled convincingly against the shop counter, wearing the same cream suit that Sayako was wearing, the loafers that Sayako had just ordered and a bag that Sayako was about to order in navy, strawberry, cream and primrose. The mannequin's blonde nylon wig shone under the spotlights. Her blue eyes were half closed as though she were encaptured by her own beauty.She is so beautiful, thought Sayako. She took the wig from the mannequin's head and placed it on her own. It fitted perfectly.'And I take this,' she said.She then handed over a platinum card which bore the name of her father, the Emperor of Japan.

Sayako came out of the changing room in Sloane Street1 wear­ing this season's suit, as featured on the cover of English Vogue.2 Last season's suit lay on the changing room floor in an untidy heap. She surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. The manageress, svelte in black, stood behind her.

Sayako came out of the changing room in Sloane Street1 wear­ing this season's suit, as featured on the cover of English Vogue.2 Last season's suit lay on the changing room floor in an untidy heap. She surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. The manageress, svelte in black, stood behind her.

So what did you say?' Jean heard the blonde woman in front of her talking to her friend.'Well,' the darker woman began, 'I said I'm not having that woman there. I don't see why I should. I mean I'm not being old-fashioned but I don't see why I should have to put up with her at family occasions. After all...'Jean noticed the other woman giving an accompaniment of nods and headshaking at the appropriate parts. They fell into si­lence and the queue moved forward a couple of steps.Jean felt her patience beginning to itch. Looking into her wire basket she counted ten items. That meant she couldn't go through the quick till but simply had to wait behind elephantine shopping loads; giant bottles of coke crammed in beside twenty-pound bags of potatoes and 'special offer' drums of bleach. Somewhere at the bottom, Jean thought, there was always a plastic carton of eggs or a see-through tray of tomatoes which fell casualty to the rest. There was nothing else for it — she'd just have to wait.'After all,' the dark woman resumed her conversation, 'how would it look if she w

'After all,' the dark woman resumed her conversation, 'how would it look if she was there when I turned up?' Her friend shook her head slowly from side to side and ended with a quick nod.Should she have got such a small size salad cream? Jean wasn't sure. She was sick of throwing away half-used bottles of stuff.'He came back to you after all,' the blonde woman suddenly said. Jean looked up quickly and immediately felt her cheeks flush. She bent over and began to rearrange the items in her shopping basket.'On his hands and knees,' the dark woman spoke in a trium­phant voice. 'Begged me take him back.'She gritted her teeth together. Should she go and change it for a larger size? Jean looked behind and saw that she was hemmed in by three large trollies. She'd lose her place in the queue. There was something so pitiful about buying small sizes of everything. It was as though everyone knew.'You can always tell a person by their shopping,' was one of her mother's favourite maxims. She looked into her shopping basket: individual fruit pies, small salad cream, yoghurt, tomatoes, cat food and a chicken quarter.

Walking out of the door she wondered what she might have for tea. Possibly chicken, she thought, with salad. Walking towards her car she thought that she should have bought the cookery book after all. She suddenly felt much better in the fresh air. She'd buy it next week. And in future she'd buy a large salad cream. After all, what if people came round unexpectedly?

Jean opened her carrier bag ready for her shopping. She turned to watch the two women as they walked off, the blonde pushing the trolley and the other seemingly carrying on with her story.The cashier was looking expectantly at her and Jean realized that she had totalled up. It was four pounds and eighty-seven pence. She had the right money, it just meant sorting her change out. She had an inclination that the people behind her were becoming impa­tient. She noticed their stack of items all lined and waiting, it seemed, for starters orders. Brown bread and peppers, olive oil and, in the centre, a packet of beefburgers.

The cashier suddenly said, 'Make it out to J. Sainsbury PLC.' She was addressing a man who had been poised and waiting to write out a cheque for a few moments. His wife was loading what looked like a gross offish fingers into a cardboard box marked "Whiskas". It was called a division of labour.Jean looked again at her basket and began to feel the familiar feeling of regret that visited her from time to time. Hemmed in be­tween family-size cartons of cornflakes and giant packets of wash­ing-powder, her individual yoghurt seemed to say it all. She looked up towards a plastic bookstand which stood beside the till. A slim glossy hardback caught her eye. The words Cooking for One screamed out from the front cover. Think of all the oriental foods you can get into, her friend had said. He was so traditional after all. Nodding in agreement with her thoughts Jean found herself eye to eye with the blonde woman, who gave her a blank, hard look and handed her what looked like a black plastic ruler with the words "Next customer please" printed on it in bold letters. She turned back to her friend. Jean put the ruler down on the conveyor belt.She thought about their shopping trips, before, when they were together. All that rushing round, he pushing the trolley dejectedly, she firing questions at him. Salmon? Toilet rolls? Coffee? Peas? She remembered he only liked the processed kind. It was all such a performance. Standing there holding her wire basket, embarrassed by its very emptiness, was like something out of a soap opera.'Of course, we've had our ups and downs,' the dark woman continued, lazily passing a few items down to her friend.Jean began to load her food on to the conveyor belt. She picked up the cookery book and felt the frustrations of indecision. It was only ninety pence but it seemed to define everything, to pinpoint her aloneness, to prescribe an empty future. She put it back in its place.'So that's why I couldn't have her there you see,' the dark woman was summing up. The friends exchanged knowing expres­sions and the blonde woman got her purse out of a neat leather bag. She peeled off three ten pound notes and handed them to the cashier.Jean opened her carrier bag ready for her shopping. She turned to watch the two women as they walked off, the blonde pushing the trolley and the other seemingly carrying on with her story.

'So what did you say?' Jean heard the blonde woman in front of her talking to her friend.'Well,' the darker woman began, 'I said I'm not having that woman there. I don't see why I should. I mean I'm not being old-fashioned but I don't see why I should have to put up with her at family occasions. After all...'Jean noticed the other woman giving an accompaniment of nods and headshaking at the appropriate parts. They fell into si­lence and the queue moved forward a couple of steps.Jean felt her patience beginning to itch. Looking into her wire basket she counted ten items. That meant she couldn't go through the quick till but simply had to wait behind elephantine shopping loads; giant bottles of coke crammed in beside twenty-pound bags of potatoes and 'special offer' drums of bleach. Somewhere at the bottom, Jean thought, there was always a plastic carton of eggs or a see-through tray of tomatoes which fell casualty to the rest. There was nothing else for it — she'd just have to wait.'After all,' the dark woman resumed her conversation, 'how would it look if she was there when I turned up?' Her friend shook her head slowly from side to side and ended with a quick nod.Should she have got such a small size salad cream? Jean wasn't sure. She was sick of throwing away half-used bottles of stuff.'He came back to you after all,' the blonde woman suddenly said. Jean looked up quickly and immediately felt her cheeks flush. She bent over and began to rearrange the items in her shopping basket.'On his hands and knees,' the dark woman spoke in a trium­phant voice. 'Begged me take him back.'She gritted her teeth together. Should she go and change it for a larger size? Jean looked behind and saw that she was hemmed in by three large trollies. She'd lose her place in the queue. There was something so pitiful about buying small sizes of everything. It was as though everyone knew.'You can always tell a person by their shopping,' was one of her mother's favourite maxims. She looked into her shopping basket: individual fruit pies, small salad cream, yoghurt, tomatoes, cat food and a chicken quarter.The cashier suddenly said, 'Make it out to J. Sainsbury PLC.' She was addressing a man who had been poised and waiting to write out a cheque for a few moments. His wife was loading what looked like a gross offish fingers into a cardboard box marked "Whiskas". It was called a division of labour.Jean looked again at her basket and began to feel the familiar feeling of regret that visited her from time to time. Hemmed in be­tween family-size cartons of cornflakes and giant packets of wash­ing-powder, her individual yoghurt seemed to say it all. She looked up towards a plastic bookstand which stood beside the till. A slim glossy hardback caught her eye. The words Cooking for One screamed out from the front cover. Think of all the oriental foods you can get into, her friend had said. He was so traditional after all. Nodding in agreement with her thoughts Jean found herself eye to eye with the blonde woman, who gave her a blank, hard look and handed her what looked like a black plastic ruler with the words "Next customer please" printed on it in bold letters. She turned back to her friend. Jean put the ruler down on the conveyor belt.She thought about their shopping trips, before, when they were together. All that rushing round, he pushing the trolley dejectedly, she firing questions at him. Salmon? Toilet rolls? Coffee? Peas? She remembered he only liked the processed kind. It was all such a performance. Standing there holding her wire basket, embarrassed by its very emptiness, was like something out of a soap opera.'Of course, we've had our ups and downs,' the dark woman continued, lazily passing a few items down to her friend.Jean began to load her food on to the conveyor belt. She picked up the cookery book and felt the frustrations of indecision. It was only ninety pence but it seemed to define everything, to pinpoint her aloneness, to prescribe an empty future. She put it back in its place.'So that's why I couldn't have her there you see,' the dark woman was summing up. The friends exchanged knowing expres­sions and the blonde woman got her purse out of a neat leather bag. She peeled off three ten pound notes and handed them to the cashier.Jean opened her carrier bag ready for her shopping. She turned to watch the two women as they walked off, the blonde pushing the trolley and the other seemingly carrying on with her story.The cashier was looking expectantly at her and Jean realized that she had totalled up. It was four pounds and eighty-seven pence. She had the right money, it just meant sorting her change out. She had an inclination that the people behind her were becoming impa­tient. She noticed their stack of items all lined and waiting, it seemed, for starters orders. Brown bread and peppers, olive oil and, in the centre, a packet of beefburgers.

Supermarkets are much the same the world over — especially the queues at check-out points. What extraordinary things other people are buying! There are odd snatches of overheard conversa­tion too. But what if one is living alone, 'Shopping for one'?

She gave over her money and picked up her carrier bag. She felt a sense of relief to be away from the mass of people. She felt out of place.

My heart sank. I had seen them in the shops, and I knew that they were horribly expensive. My mouth had often watered at the sight of them

But I have had my revenge at last. I do not believe that I am a vindictive man, but when the immortal gods take a hand in the matter it is pardonable to observe the result with complacency. Today she weighs twenty-one stone

We waited for the asparagus to be cooked

"Except white wine," she proceeded as though I had not spoken. "These French white wines are so light. They're wonderful for the digestion

No," she answered, "I never eat more than one thing unless you have a little caviare, I never mind caviare

I never eat anything for luncheon," she said."Oh, don't say that!" I answered generously."I never eat more than one thing. I think people eat far too much nowadays. A little fish, perhaps. I wonder if they have any salmon.

I had a tiny apartment in the Latin quarter overlooking a cemetery, and I was earning barely enough money to keep body and soul together. She had read a book of mine and had written to me about it. I answered, thanking her, and presently I received from her another letter saying that she was passing through Paris and would like to have a chat with me; she was spending the morning at the Luxembourg and would I give her a little luncheon at Foyot's afterwards?

The bill came and when I paid it I found that I had only enough for a quite inadequate tip. Her eyes rested for an instant on the three francs I left for the waiter, and I knew that she thought me mean. But when I walked out of the restaurant I had the whole month before me and not a penny in my pocket."Follow my example," she said as we shook hand, "and never eat more than one thing for luncheon."

But I have had my revenge at last. I do not believe that I am a vindictive man, but when the immortal gods take a hand in the matter it is pardonable to observe the result with complacency. Today she weighs twenty-one stone

Aren't you going to have any

she answered

brightly

amicable

airy

splendid

tender

I ordered them

voluptuous

absentmindedly

miserable

inadequate

Follow my example," she said as we shook hand, "and never eat more than one thing for luncheon.

immortal

I'm not in the least hungry," my guest sighed, "but if you insist I don't mindhaving some asparagus."I ordered them."Aren't you going to have any?""No, I never eat asparagus.""I know there are people who don't like them. The fact is, you ruin your palateby all the meat you eat."We waited for the asparagus to be cooked. Panic seized me. It was not aquestion now of how much money I should have left over for the rest of the month,but whether I had enough to pay the bill.The asparagus appeared. They were enormous, succulent, and appetising. Thesmell of the melted butter tickled my nostrils. I watched the abandoned woman thrustthem down her throat in large voluptuous mouthfuls, and in my polite way Idiscoursed on the condition of the drama in the Balkans. At last she finished.

I was startled when the bill of fare was brought, for the prices were a great dealhigher than I had anticipated. But she reassured me."I never eat anything for luncheon," she said."Oh, don't say that!" I answered generously."I never eat more than one thing. I think people eat far too much nowadays. Alittle fish, perhaps. I wonder if they have any salmon."I ordered it for my guest. The waiter asked her if she would have somethingwhile it was being cooked

Then a terrible thing happened. While we were waiting for the coffee, the headwaiter came up to us bearing a large basket full of huge peaches. But surely peacheswere not in season then. Lord knew what they cost. I knew too – a little later, for myguest, going on with her conversation, absentmindedly took one."You see, you've filled your stomach with a lot of meat" – my one miserablelittle chop – "and you can't eat any more. But I've just had a snack and I shall enjoy apeach

The bill came and when I paid it I found that I had only enough for a quiteinadequate tip. Her eyes rested for an instant on the three francs I left for the waiter,and I knew that she thought me mean. But when I walked out of the restaurant I hadthe whole month before me and not a penny in my pocket."Follow my example," she said as we shook hand, "and never eat more thanone thing for luncheon.""I'll do better than that," I retorted. "I'll eat nothing for dinner tonight.""Humorist!" she cried gaily, jumping into a cab. "You're quite a humorist!"But I have had my revenge at last. I do not believe that I am a vindictive man,but when the immortal gods take a hand in the matter it is pardonable to observe theresult with complacency. Today she weighs twenty-one stone

The Luncheon(Story by W. S. Maugham. Abridged)I caught sight of her at the play, and in answer to her beckoning, I went overduring the interval and sat down beside her. She addressed me brightly."Well, it's many years since we first met. Do you remember the first time I sawyou? You asked me to luncheon.”Did I remember?It was twenty years ago and I was living in Paris. I had a tiny apartment in theLatin quarter overlooking a cemetery, and I was earning barely enough money tokeep body and soul together. She had read a book of mine and had written to meabout it. I answered, thanking her, and presently I received from her another lettersaying that she was passing through Paris and would like to have a chat with me; shewas spending the morning at the Luxembourg and would I give her a little luncheonat Foyot's afterwards? Foyot's is a restaurant at which the French senators eat, and itwas so far beyond my means that I had never even thought of going there. But I wasflattered, and I was too young to have learned to say no to a woman. I answered that I would meet my friend – by correspondence – at Foyot's onThursday at half-past twelve. She was not so young as I expected and in appearanceimposing rather than attractive. She was, in fact, a woman of forty. She was talkative,but since she seemed inclined to talk about me I was prepared to be an attentivelistener

The Luncheon(Story by W. S. Maugham. Abridged)I caught sight of her at the play, and in answer to her beckoning, I went overduring the interval and sat down beside her. She addressed me brightly."Well, it's many years since we first met. Do you remember the first time I sawyou? You asked me to luncheon.”Did I remember?

The Luncheon(Story by W. S. Maugham. Abridged)

The Luncheon