"Not too bad," I told her as she drifted across like a stately galleon and enveloped me in her soft, velvety arms, very much a hugger. She smelled wonderful, as always. I'd once asked Hugo what scent she wore, out of interest, but disconcertingly he'd looked thrilled and given me a bottle of Chanel for Christmas. I'd conveniently lost it, not entirely sure I wanted to smell like his mother. Her beady gaze had fallen on Celia, now.

"And who is this?"

“My friend Celia, remember? I said in my email," I reminded her, coloring up. Iris took the opportunity to hobble away. "When you offered the cottage. I said I'd love to bring her, because she paints seascapes and—"

"Oh yes, yes, I remember," Belinda cut me off in midstream. She flapped her hand dismissively. "But so much is going on here I clean forgot. I'll have Yvonne make another bed up down there."

"Oh, well, no, I can do that," said Celia. “There's no need to trouble Yv—"

"No trouble," Belinda interrupted. Her face was all glittery smiles as she extended her hand. "Belinda Bellingdon," she purred.

"Celia Lonsdale. And it's lovely to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

Luckily Belinda was far too imbued with her own self-worth to spot any irony, and she smiled graciously, taking the compliment at face value. Celia was looking for somewhere to put out her cigarette, not so confident now her partner in crime had gone.

"Oh, just squish it on the gravel. I'm sure they biodegrade," Belinda told her airily.

Celia, who knew they didn't, looked dubious. But she did as she was told.

"And you've seen Iris, who's no doubt already told you we've got a houseful. Come in, my dears, let's not stand around out here."

"A . . . a houseful?" I faltered.

"Yes, so actually it's splendid you've brought Celia. The more the merrier. And thank goodness the weather's changed — it's set fair for weeks now, apparently." We were moving towards the house, but Belinda went back and stooped to pick up the cigarette stub, pocketing it. Celia reddened. "Hopefully we can have all our meals outside," she went on, as if nothing had happened.

"Oh — n-no, Belinda," I stammered. “Remember I said we'd fend for ourselves? At the cottage? Which was why I invited Celia . . .” I felt a familiar prickly heat and a general confusion to do with history always being rewritten by Belinda, who was not as sweetly vague as she seemed, and would never have forgotten I was bringing a friend and wouldn't want meals at the house.

Belinda contrived to look astonished and hurt. "Oh well. As you wish, my dear. But don't forget, you're family, and you must help yourself to anything. Don't ask. I was just saying to Tommy and his girl, for heaven's sake, don't stand on cerem—"

"Why is Tommy here?" I asked abruptly.