The tent had been a big hit over the summer. They called it a tent, but it was big enough for elephants and tightropes: a big top as big as a ballroom and just as plush, lined and interlined like a lush pair of curtains, certainly ridiculous, but pretty and practical. Our friends from LA had been back here for summer. They pitched it in their garden in June and didn’t strike it until September, more or less living in it on rugs and cushions for the whole time they were here, in the garden but out of the rain. We’d been to two parties in it, parties where everyone agreed it was a brilliant tent, and wanted one, especially when we found out how much they’d paid for it. It seemed a remarkable bargain — less to buy than to hire.
They left a couple of weeks ago — back to LA to boss impossible actresses around.
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