Excerpt from Scarlet Feather by Maeve Binchy, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"I heard a radio program saying people were never happy," she began.

"I know, I heard it too," Tom said.

"I was just thinking how lucky we were; poor Cathy and Neil can't do what they want tonight." Marcella stood in her thong and picked up a tiny red garment from the back of a chair.

"Yeah, Cathy will be there now, at her mother-in-law's house, laying up the tables. I hope she keeps her temper."

"Well she'll have to, it's work, it's professional. We all have to at work," said Marcella, who had bent over too many imperious hands already in her life, and wanted her day in the sunshine, walking down the ramp as a model.

"Neil will be there and that pup of a cousin he has, so she should be all right." Tom still sounded doubtful.

Marcella had put on the red outfit. It was actually a dress, short and tight, clinging to her and leaving nothing to the imagination.

"Marcella, are you really wearing that to the party?"

"Don't you like it?" Her face clouded over immediately.

"Well of course I like it. You look beautiful. It's just that maybe I'd like you to wear it here, for us, not for everyone else as well to see you."

"But Tom, it's a party dress," she cried, stricken.

He pulled himself together at once.

"Of course it is, and you'll be the success of the night."

"So what did you mean ...?"

"Mean? I meant nothing. I meant you were so gorgeous I didn't want to share you with people ... but take no notice. I didn't really mean that at all."

"I thought you'd be proud of me," she said.

"I am so proud you'll never know," he reassured her. And she was a beauty. He must have been insane to have had that sudden reaction.

Hannah Mitchell stood in her navy wool dress, her hair hard and lacquered from her New Year's Eve visit to Hayward's. She always dressed as if she were going out to a ladies' lunch. Cathy never remembered her wearing a pinafore or even an old skirt. But then, if you did no housework, what was the point of wearing things like that?

Hannah watched Cathy carry in all the boxes and crates, one by one, standing in her way and fussing and blocking her journey. She offered to carry nothing at all. Instead, she was hoping the crates wouldn't mark the wallpaper, and wondering where would Cathy put the van so that it would be out of the way when people came. Grimly, Cathy marched to and from the kitchen of Oaklands. She turned on the ovens, laid her tea towels on the backs of chairs, placed her bag of ice in the freezer and began to sort out the food. It would be useless asking Hannah Mitchell to leave her alone, to go upstairs and lie down. She would stay put, fuss and irritate until the guests arrived.

"Will Mr. Mitchell be home shortly?" Cathy thought she might ask him to help her unpack the glasses.

"I don't know, Cathy; really, it's not up to me to police Mr. Mitchell about what time he comes home." Cathy felt her neck redden in rage. How dare this woman be so offensive and patronizing. But she knew she stood alone in this resentment. Neil would shrug if she told him. Her mother would beg her not to annoy Mrs. Mitchell any further. Even her aunt Geraldine, who could normally be relied on for encouragement and support, would say what the hell. It just proved that Hannah Mitchell was an insecure nobody, not anyone to waste time worrying over. Cathy began to peel the foil from the dishes she had prepared.

"Is that fish? Not everyone eats it, you know." Hannah had her very concerned face on now.

"I know, Mrs. Mitchell, some people don't, which is why there's a choice, you see."

"But they mightn't know."

"I think they will. I'll tell them."

"But didn't you say it was a buffet?"

"Yes, but I'll be behind it serving, so I'll tell them."

Reprinted from Scarlet Feather by Maeve Binchy by permission of Dutton, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © 2001 by Maeve Binchy. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced without permission.