“I was having the time of my life,” I told her as she shoveled pancakes and bacon hastily on to my plate. “Had a very instructive tour of Tintagel Castle. Did you have a nice evening, Edward?” I asked innocently.

“The best.” He beamed, blinking rapidly behind his spectacles. “Celia and I had supper at this wonderful hotel. It's got all the toys — you know, swimming pool, sauna, gym.”

“Oh, splendid.”

“And we thought we'd go again tonight, didn't we, darling? To use the — you know — facilities.”

“The gym?”

“Amongst other things.”

“Work up a bit of a sweat before bed?”

“Exactly.”

Celia shot me a warning look.

"You should join one in London," I told her. "You always say it's not your thing and you can't bear all those narcissistic pumped-up gym bunnies, but I really think it might be."

"Edward's already surfed the best ones," she told me, ignoring my sarcasm. "We're going to join one in Putney, aren't we, darling?"

"We are indeed, my sweetest."

They'd locked fingers again over the bacon and were exchanging fond smiles. I'd squirted golden syrup on my pancake, folded it in half and headed inside.

Now, as I arrived back after work, some hours later, and pushed open the cottage door, I blessed the hotel spa as I realized it was yet again responsible for the empty house — and a quiet night in. It seemed quite a palaver to me. Ages ago, in London, when I'd first heard of Edward's predicament, I'd suggested to Celia that modern medicine might solve it, but she'd told me he never took a pill.

“Not ever?"

“Not even for a headache,” she'd said firmly.

“What — my body is a temple, type thing?”

“If you like.”

It was clearly going to become even more sanctified with all the attention it was receiving from the Thai girls, but mine was not to reason why. Instead, I had a long bath, flopped horizontally on the sofa in my bathrobe with a bowl of pasta, and let the cathode rays wash over me.

Later, as I went to bed, I texted Peter.

“Just wondered - is Dad OK?”

“Yes why?”

“Granny was looking for him earlier.”

“He went for a walk with Truffle and Flurry. Granny fusses.”

Didn't she just? But I was relieved. Belinda and I didn't have much in common, but our love for Hugo was a given. Then, on an impulse, but actually not that much of an impulse because I drafted the message three times, I texted Tommy.

“You looked pretty stressed today, sorry I interrupted. Hope all OK?”

You wouldn't think there were three ways of saying that, would you? But I didn't want to look too nosy, or too obviously concerned for our mutual friend. I think I hit the right note. The UN would be proud of me. The response was surprisingly quick.

“Yes all fine. I got to the bottom of it. All good. Sorry if I was short with you.”