I was exhausted by the time I stepped back to admire my handiwork. The table looked fabulous. A deep red damask tablecloth and matching napkins. Crystal and silver. And in the centre, a vase of lily of the valley. Their delicate blossoms perfumed the air.
Back in the kitchen, I strained the soup into two saucepans, tasted it and added a little extra salt and herbs. As I worked, I cleared up after myself. I hate an untidy kitchen. Finally, I opened the oven, threw a handful of rosemary needles over the lamb, then took off my apron and went upstairs to check my appearance.
Hair newly washed, conditioned and brightened with yarrow flower. A new dress. I'd never be as beautiful as Fiona but I'd learned to make the most of my natural assets. And looks weren't everything, were they? After all, I had Larry. Fiona had no-one, no-one I'd been told about anyway. I wondered who she would bring to dinner tonight.
A car door slammed. The cab had arrived. I walked downstairs to greet my guests.

"Brrr ..." Fiona rubbed her hands together. "I'd forgotten how cold it is here." She offered her cheek and a gift-wrapped box. I kissed her and put the box aside to open later.
I looked around, ready to greet her escort. But she'd come alone.
Larry hovered in the doorway behind Fiona, looking uncomfortable. I threw my arms around him and gave him a long and loving kiss.
"Bella." He took my hand and drew me into my small, cosy sitting room. "Before anyone else comes, we need to talk."
"In a minute." I gave him a push towards the fireplace. "Just throw another log on, will you, then pour yourselves a drink? I have to check on something in the kitchen."
"Can't it wait?" Fiona was pale, with dark circles around her eyes.
"You don't look well," I answered. "Remind me to give you some of my special brew. It'll perk you up."
"Bella!" Larry said impatiently, but I interrupted him: "If I don't go now, we won't eat until midnight."
I escaped into the kitchen, closing the door behind me with a determined bang. I didn't want them to follow me. I like to work alone.
I leaned my flushed cheek momentarily against the wall, enjoying its coolness. Fresh herbs stood ready in a jar beside a small posy of lily of the valley. I chopped them up, seasoned the soup, and set both pots on a low light to heat. The sound of the doorbell. Voices. I went to the door to greet everyone.
"Happy birthday, Belladonna." My mother hugged me.
Belladonna. One of life's little ironies. The name is Italian, and means 'beautiful woman'. My mother was ever the optimist! I led them through to the sitting room, and found myself blinking back sudden tears as my mother linked hands with Larry and me and said: "I'm so looking forward to the wedding. I wish you two would hurry up and set the date."
Fiona's parents came forward then, pressing their gift into my arms as they both kissed me. Fiona looked stunned. I hadn't told her who else was coming. She hadn't expected to see her parents.
"Our birthday girl." Fiona's father, Peter Kennedy, or 'PK' as he liked to be known. He put his arm around me and gave me an affectionate squeeze, before turning to his daughter. "We'll be celebrating your birthday next, Fiona. What are you looking forward to - a career in the city, or marriage to a successful businessman like Larry here?"
She stared at him, stony-faced.
"Everything looks wonderful as usual." My mother still clutched Larry's arm. He moved away and offered to pour the drinks.
My guests split into groups then: Fiona and her father; the two mothers talking weddings, while I collared Larry. Fiona and PK seemed to be having a heated argument. As I watched, Fiona thrust her drink into his hands and rushed upstairs. I debated going after her, but decided I should stay to look after my guests. PK was left standing alone, holding the two drinks. It was too warm in the room. His face was flushed, he was perspiring freely. He looked as though he was about to have a heart attack. I waited for him to take his medication. Sure enough, he put down the drinks, pulled out a small gold box, and popped a pill into his mouth. Then he picked up the glasses and moved towards us. "So what's new in the city?" he asked Larry.
As they talked high finance, Fiona came down the stairs looking pink-eyed and shiny-nosed. She'd been crying, and I knew why.
Her father patted her shoulder, obviously concerned. She grabbed her drink and gulped it down.
"Why don't you go through to the table?" A smell of garlic came from the kitchen; the soup was ready. "Larry, will you pour the wine, please?"
I took away the dirty glasses and placed them in hot water. Then I served the soup into bowls and took it through, along with a loaf of crusty home-made bread and a pot of herb butter.
After we'd finished, I left them to talk while I prepared the second course. I washed the saucepans, which I re-used to steam the vegetables. While I waited for the peas and baby carrots to cook, I washed the soup bowls, gave the gravy a final stir, then started carving the meat.
I heard the sudden tinkle of shattering glass. It was followed by a frightened scream. I dropped everything and raced back to the dining room, to find Fiona vomiting helplessly over my beautiful tablecloth. I put my arm around her and tried to help her upstairs, but she was beyond caring. She bent over, clutching her stomach and gasping for air. "You ..." she panted. "You ..."
Peppermint? It was all I could think of, but Fiona was too far gone for that. "Call an ambulance!" I shouted, as I tried to support her. But it was too late for any medical assistance. She fell forward and lay motionless among the broken glass and flowers.
"Fiona?" Larry's face was ashen. He shook her hard, as if the movement could waken her back to life. Frantically, he felt for a pulse, but I knew he wouldn't find one. He gave up then and stumbled over to the window.
"My baby. My baby." Fiona's father picked her up. He rocked her in his arms, murmuring the words like a dirge. Fiona's mother started crying. My mother looked stunned and helpless. Larry stood at the window with his back to us all. I knew I'd have to take charge.
"I'll phone for an ambulance." I glanced at Fiona cradled in her father's arms, and felt a dreadful sorrow as I remembered our childhood friendship. We'd shared everything through the years: toys, books, clothes, make-up - everything. There'd been no secrets between us. I'd never be so close to anyone ever again.
I wondered what Larry was thinking as he stared out into the darkness.

The evening was one long nightmare. The ambulance came, and so did the police. They poked around my house and took photographs of everything. It was awful. Like a personal invasion.
We'd retreated to the sitting room but we could hear everything. The cops were particularly thorough in the kitchen. Then the guy in charge wandered through to talk to us. He seemed annoyed that I'd already done some washing up.
"Bella's always been meticulous!" my mother pointed out, leaping to my defence against an, as yet, unspecified charge. "Besides, we all ate the soup and none of us has been taken ill."
"Fiona wasn't looking at all well when she arrived. In fact, I was worried about her." Anne Kennedy scrubbed her wet eyes with a soggy handkerchief.
"Does she have a history of heart problems?" The pathologist finished his examination of Fiona and came to join us in the sitting room.
"No." Her mother shook her head. She looked over at PK. "Unless she inherited ..?"
"Don't be stupid!" he growled.
"You have a heart problem?" The pathologist's eyes flickered with interest.
"He takes digitalis." Anne Kennedy sniffed, then blew her nose hard.
"Do you have your pills with you?" The pathologist held out his hand.
"Now look here, what's this all about? Am I being accused of something?" PK lumbered to his feet, flush-faced and belligerent.
"Don't be silly, PK. Give them to the doctor."
PK glared at his wife.
"Are you saying Fiona's death was heart-related, doctor?" I asked.
He nodded. "Preliminary signs show an overdose of a cardiac glycoside like digoxin - or digitalis. I need to see those pills."
There was absolute silence as PK reluctantly pulled out his gold pillbox.
"Did your daughter have access to these?" The cop in charge had been watching with interest, and now he took over.
"No! Not at all." PK scowled at him. "Our daughter lived in the city. We hardly ever saw her."
"She didn't often have time to visit us," Anne Kennedy added. "They worked her very hard at her new job."
Just as Larry's firm worked him very hard. I kept my head bent so no-one could see my expression.
"In fact, this evening is the first time we've seen her in nearly six months," Anne Kennedy continued. "We were hoping she'd stay up here with us for ... for the weekend." Her face crumpled. She collapsed back against the sofa and started to weep again. I sat down beside her and took her hand, feeling her pain. I too had loved Fiona.
The detective didn't seem to be listening. "What about during the evening?" he pressed on. "Did your daughter mention any problems? Did she take one of your pills?"
"Of course not!"
I remembered the argument between Fiona and her father; how she'd fled upstairs, leaving him holding her drink. He'd taken a pill then. I ought to mention it.
"What about you, Mr Kennedy? Did you take any pills tonight?"
"No!"
"Yes, you did. You took a pill after Fiona ran upstairs, after your argument." I wondered what motivated Anne Kennedy to tell the truth so relentlessly. Stupidity? Or revenge?
"You were holding Fiona's drink at the time," she added helpfully.
After that, it was only a matter of time before the police finished looking over my house and took PK off for further questioning. I wasn't sorry. As I watched them go, I thought he deserved everything he got.
But my mother was devastated. "I can't believe it!" she wailed, taking Anne Kennedy's hand. "I'm so sorry, my dear, but I'm sure they'll soon realise their mistake. How could they think PK capable of doing any such thing! He adored Fiona!"
"Yes," Anne Kennedy said shortly. "He did."
I glanced at her quickly. How much did she know? How much had she guessed?
"Fiona and PK were very close - too close," she told my mother. "That's why Fiona decided to move to the city. PK was furious when he found out she'd gone." Her voice cracked. She began to cry again.
My mother is very naive. I don't know if she realised what Anne Kennedy was talking about. But I did. Fiona's father had been after her for years. After me too, but Fiona was always his favourite. It was the reason we'd both found it so hard to form a loving relationship with anyone else. But I'd been lucky. I'd found Larry.
Fiona had finally got lucky too. But Larry was mine. My salvation. My only prospect of happiness. Larry was the one thing - the only thing - I wouldn't share with my friend.
I looked at him. He'd been silent while we were talking, but I was sure he knew exactly what Anne Kennedy meant. I'd told Larry all about PK after we'd made love for the first time. I'd told him because I trusted him, because for the first time I'd been able to give myself to a man with love. No fear. No disgust. Only joy.
Larry had made no move to come near me, or comfort me during the hours following Fiona's death. And I knew why.
He and Fiona had tried to confront me with the truth - but I wouldn't let them because I already knew what they were going to say. On those trips to the city, I'd acted on my suspicions. I'd seen them together, loving and intimate as once Larry and I had been loving and intimate.
I knew. But they didn't know I knew. No-one suspected anything. It looked like my plan had worked.
There were still questions to be resolved, of course - like where we would live after our marriage. I was determined not to leave my beloved mountains. But now that Fiona was gone, I was sure I could woo Larry from the city.
Besides, why should I move? My work was here, growing around me. Larry knew nothing about plants, but I did. Especially the toxic ones. My name, 'beautiful lady' is shared with the most deadly of all.
The scent of lily of the valley wafted through from the dining room. I would never pick them again, never have them in my house. But they'd served their purpose. Often mistaken for wild garlic, every part of lily of the valley is a lethal poison which acts on the heart like an overdose of digitalis.
If necessary, I would have pleaded ignorance. But as a herbalist, it's my job to know about these things, just as it's my job, as Larry's fiancee, to help him get over the grief of Fiona's death.
And I will.