"Right." I was rather shocked. It had taken me years to finally get my head round that. Christina, too. "Right. Good. Well, good for you. As long as you know. As long as you're — you know — informed." I got up and made us both a very large gin.

Later that night, in bed, I lay there thinking about Belinda. About her colossal confidence, her chutzpah. She'd been ghastly to me, just as she was foul to Christina, and I'd been a girl. Christina was a girl. Belinda hadn't even come to my wedding. Surely she should have been delighted? Welcomed me, particularly at that age and stage of Hugo's life, with open arms? But I knew about Belinda: knew about her hubris, about her ambition. I knew that she felt she'd comprehensively cracked that nut; that fourteen year-old one, in the bedroom, with her bare hands. She'd moved on. I believe she honestly thought that particular crisis was over. That's what I mean by hubris. And that now she'd straightened her son out, whilst I might be fine for an initial bunk-up in the hay barn — she might even encourage it to get all that nonsense out of his head — as a wife for her son, I didn't match up. Christina, I knew, she was happier about because Christina's father was a surgeon and the family lived in Holland Park. But she wasn't glamorous enough for Belinda. Didn't dress up. Did too much sport. Had taken up rowing. Spent a lot of time in a three-woman scull down on the river, in Putney. Belinda didn't like that. She wanted her daughter-in-law on the committee of Save the Children, floral and fragrant. Dressed up to the nines at the Chelsea Flower Show, having ladies’ lunches. Christina had ladies’ lunches. Dinners, too. I turned over and shut my eyes. Just not the sort Belinda had in mind.

Chapter 31

The following morning, when I woke, I instinctively reached for my phone on the bedside table. There were three messages from Ted.

“I am so sorry. Obviously feel dreadful and will of course put on hold my plans for exposure. I had no idea he'd do a thing like that.”

I sat up. My thumbs tapped back:

“It’s a long and complicated story, Ted. And not entirely your fault, you were just the catalyst. But thank you for holding off. I have an idea you won't need to expose. Have a feeling he'll do it himself.”

He came straight back.

“OK. I haven't spoken to Shona.”

I frowned down at my screen. This was open to misinterpretation. I rang him. He answered immediately.

"You mean, you haven't told Shona in case she publishes it? I don't think she will.”