Although she loved them dearly, they could be a bit of a handful sometimes. Her best friend Frances told her she’d spoilt them rotten, but what did Frances know? Her own kids didn’t like her one little bit! At least Juliet was fond of her, and Jasper adored her. So what if they had a reputation for being a little wild? When she was young, she’d been a bit reckless too. That was what youth was for – to enjoy.

She met her satisfied reflection in the normal-sized mirror over the sink and regarded her face hopefully. Even without her make-up she didn’t look her true age, she was sure. Everybody said so! Having the fair skin that came with red hair helped, but she leaned forward closer to the mirror to check for crow’s feet either side of her eyes and found none. Well, not obvious ones, anyway.

She’d been barely out of nappies before she’d learned that her jade-green eyes were her best feature, along with the dark red (definitely not ginger) hair, which she kept stubbornly long, even now. Who said it was girlish? With long hair you could do wonderful things – French pleats, chignons, all sorts. Only middle-aged women who couldn’t be bothered to make the effort anymore cut their hair short, and she was definitely not that over the hill yet.

Pleased to see that the cold cream she smoothed on her face every night seemed to be working, she tied up her long hair into a topknot to keep it dry and ran the taps for a hot bath, happily contemplating the glorious evening to come.

And most of all, thinking of Terry – tall, dark, good-looking Terry. Terry – who was more than ten years her junior.

But really, what did that matter in this day and age? she mused. Angry with herself for thinking negative thoughts about their age difference yet again, she poured her favourite, prohibitively expensive, jasmine-scented bath salts into the water, and after slipping off her peach satin negligee, sank with a sigh of bliss into the scented water.

The hairdresser was coming at four, and would be putting up her hair in a delightfully ‘messy’ chignon that left attractive curls ‘straggling’ around her ears and neck. The very latest thing – she’d seen the style in a magazine from France that autumn. Her newest dress, acquired from Harrods earlier in the month just for the occasion, hung waiting for her in the wardrobe. The cleaners would arrive soon and make sure that her house, a fine, gracious five-bedroom, white-stuccoed mansion in a desirable leafy street just off the bottom end of Banbury Road, was spic and span and sparkling.