Hugo's twins — “IVF, I bet,” Celia would always say darkly — clearly bored with waiting, had got down to play with Truffle and Flurry the Border terrier, but now dutifully returned to the table. I went round to say hello and shake their ten-year-old hands. Their eyes were wide at this rare sighting of their adored elder brother's mother. The bad one. Peter had once laughingly told me that when they were younger, he'd read them Snow White, and Ibby had pointed at the Wicked Queen and asked if it was me.

“You see!” I'd gasped in horror. “That's what they tell them!”

“No, Mum, it's not,” he'd insisted. “It's because you won't ever let them be around.”

“Be around? What d’you mean — be around?”

“Well, they're my brother and sister. They'd like to see my school, where I live, that sort of thing.”

I'd had to clutch the furniture and breathe.

Obviously it was me. Obviously. Clearly I should be able to play happy, disparate families: have them all to lunch, go to Christmas parties with them, and perhaps, it occurred to me now, as I felt their fascinated blue gazes, so like Hugo's, rest upon me, perhaps Peter had even engineered this? Or, at least, been sparing with the truth. Not informing me of the sudden change in his father's plans. Of the revised guest list for my summer. I wanted to be furious with him, to call him right now, protest in the strongest possible terms, but I knew the fault lay with me. Instead, I sat dumbly between Roger and Janey and opposite Hugo and prepared to behave. Hugo leaned across to chat and I even managed to commiserate with him over his canceled trip: listened, as he told me that of course, if they'd booked a house in France, say, or Italy, it would have been fine, but sailing around the Ionian did not guarantee good Wi-Fi, or indeed any Wi-Fi at all. He knew it would be a stressful trip, trying to respond to emails and phone calls.

“You shouldn't be so indispensable,” I told him with a smile.

“Oh, I don't know about that. I think it's more about being around for moral support for the managers. It doesn't look great to say, 'sorry, folks, can't talk, I'm on a yacht for the summer.’ And anyway, I never spend enough time down here.”

“And don't you dare add with the aged P's! Who aren't getting any younger!" interjected Roger.

“Wouldn't dream of it, Pa. And anyway, you're a million miles from being decrepit. I saw you leaning out on your boat this morning. Very agile.” Hugo smiled, his eyes disappearing like Peter's. I had to look away.