“What’s that written on it?” she asked as she busied herself with the food.

“On what?”

“On the lighter.”

“You mean the instruction sheet? I don’t know. I threw it away. Surely you don’t need instructions for a lighter?”

“No, not that! I mean, what’s that written on the lighter itself!”

“I don’t remember. Let me have a look . . .”

But she got there first and started reciting by heart: “If you strike me three times, your wish will be granted. Am I right?”

Architect David Senenmut was dumbfounded for the second time that evening. He could not for the life of him recall when he had stolen the lighter from the lingerie store salesgirl. Yet, if it wasn’t hers, how on earth could she have known what was written on it? He knew he had stolen the size 6 nightdress, but that he’d taken the lighter, too—that he couldn’t fathom.

It was clear that this business of presents was going haywire. He must do something to stop the evening turning into a complete catastrophe. So he said the first thing that came into his head, “I know your name!”

“Really?” answered the lingerie store salesgirl. “How come?”

“I don’t know. I just do. Your name’s Hatshepsut.”

“Well, that’s the first time anyone’s called me that!” she countered and set the glass snail down on a little silver plate in the center of the table.