As Penny said

"Barnaby stepped out of the shadows, carrying a coil of thick, red velvet rope. In the dim basement light, he looked even more ridiculous—and handsome—than usual. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt that struggled to contain his shoulders, which seemed to have their own postcode.

"The sandbags are just the appetizer," Barnaby said softly, kneeling beside me. Unlike Hardrind’s clinical glare, his eyes were warm, the colour of expensive whiskey. "Now, we bind."

"The Colonel requires a diamond-hitch pattern to support the main platter," Hardrind instructed, tapping the crop against her thigh. Thwap. Thwap. "And remember, Plumb: We stick to the classics. Hard cheeses. Stable cheeses. We do not improvise."

She stopped pacing and fixed me with a haunted look.

"We tried a tropical theme in the summer of '04," she whispered darkly.

Barnaby flinched visibly, his hands pausing on the rope. "The Pineapple Incident."

"We do not speak of the Pineapple," Hardrind hissed, clutching her crop tighter. "The spikes... the uneven center of gravity... the juice leakage. It took three weeks to get the stickiness out of the velvet. The maid was never the same."

"She moved to swindon," Barnaby muttered. "Became a librarian. Said she needed silence."