‘Jean-Philippe?’ Phoo was doing that wise-old nodding act again, all sympathy. ‘Is he your beard?’

‘He has a beard, yes.’

‘No. I meant is he your “beard”. I believe that’s the expression, among the LGBTV community – you know, when you need to keep something about your private life covered up . . .’ Phoo started inclining her head now, bobbing her scalp in Marianne’s direction. ‘When the family is around the place. You know.’ She was bouncing her head so regularly she was giving a fair impression of a toy dog in a car rear window. ‘When . . . family . . . is nearby . . .’

Nod, nod, nod.

‘Why would I need to cover it up from Marianne? She knows all about the restaurant . . .’

‘No. I’m not talking about the restaurant.’ Phoo laughed, still shaking her head. ‘I mean . . . you know . . . The L word.’

Phoo now wiggled her eyes back and forth between Sally and Theresa.

When Sally looked to Theresa for some support, all she got back was the same wide-eyed stare. This time it said: ‘You got yourself into this; you can get yourself out of it.’

Sally wondered if this was anything to do with Carol. Had Carol spoken to Theresa about her being stuck up in the hilltop village with Eggy? Did Theresa believe that she and Eggy were at it, and so now she was spinning some lie which she had told Phoo to cover for her? Or did Theresa, for some reason of her own, need to make Phoo believe that they were lovers? She wished that someone had let her into the rules of whichever charade everyone was playing. She would then willingly join in.

Suddenly Marianne’s date had crossed the room and was looming over her.

‘I know who you are now,’ bellowed Roger. ‘You’re that bloody delivery-woman with the stuck-up health food which lost me my girlfriends.’

Sally glanced past the man and could see his son shaking his head, making ‘Sorry’ gestures.

‘If I needed a lecture on healthy eating I’d buy a book by Jamie Oliver.’

She saw the thick twists of dark hair curling over the top of his shirt collar and remembered where she knew him from.

It was ‘Snooky’ from the yacht with the long and ghastly name which she couldn’t quite remember. ‘The Wife Got The House?’

‘Oh, so the bitch has been speaking to you, has she?’

Sally’s question seemed to have popped his bubble somewhat.

‘I heard she was coming over here.’

‘No, I . . .’

Marianne arrived on the scene.

‘Come on, Roger, let’s not make a fuss, now, eh?’

Marianne took his arm and led him back to their table, where Neil sat hunched up, his face in his hands.

‘Our first and only Shore-to-Ship delivery. It was a disaster.’ Sally said it more for something to say than to explain herself. ‘We gave him a delicate fish, and a cheese platter, when he really wanted baked beans on toast and chips.’