It was disappointing but at least there was a tiny glimmer of hope. Theresa put her faith in this new optimism.

Meanwhile they tried to think of ways to enhance the restaurant’s profile, and at the same time to make more money through it. Priority number one was to get more five-star reviews on the FaveEats website. They already had many, but, obviously, the more the merrier. By branching out into out-of-house catering, they hoped to fill the financial gap which had been caused by the drop in tourism.

As people fired more ideas into the air, Benjamin uncorked another bottle.

Even William was now laughing at the wild suggestions proffered by Carol.

‘Seriously, though,’ she grabbed one of the petits fours and ate it with flair. ‘Even when we offload the property, we must be able to find a way to make a living out of something related to hospitality. We have the equipment and the expertise.’

‘Equipment?’

‘Pots and pans. Spoons. You know what I mean.’

‘And what expertise do you have, exactly, Carol?’

Carol ignored William’s remark and took another sip of wine.

‘You could always go on the game, Carol,’ quipped Benjamin.

‘You, too, for that matter, sweetie,’ she replied with a tart smile.

‘Poke and Rogers,’ said Theresa, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. ‘You’ve certainly got the right names for it.’

‘I’ll buy fifty per cent of the shares in that one,’ said Zoe, trying to grin through her latest application of Botox. ‘I’m in!’ She pulled out her chequebook. ‘Seriously. I am in. When does the brothel open?’

‘Rogers and Poke sounds better,’ said Theresa, earnestly repeating the name to herself. ‘Rogers and Poke.’

‘We could do sailors.’ Sally sank down on to a leather pouf, her back banging against the wall. ‘Sailors Are Us.’

‘I’m astonished at you, Sally,’ said William. ‘I thought that you, of all people, would take this matter more seriously.’

‘Shouldn’t it be Sailors Are We?’ asked Zoe.

‘I am taking it sherioushly,’ Sally slurred and blinked her eyes a few times. ‘As sherioushly as anything. What I meant was – we could make packed lunches, cater for dinner parties, picnics, all that jazz, for all those vishiting those horrible big gin palaces. I doubt they want to cook themselves. So it would be a sort of meals on wheels . . . only without the wheels.’

‘Mulls on hulls?’ said Zoe. ‘Mails under sails?’

‘But, look, I’ve got the little boat. You lot can cook and pack and I’ll ship it out to them, direct to their boats.’

‘Shore to ship, rather than ship to shore.’ Theresa grabbed a chocolate and popped it in her mouth, savouring every morsel of flavour. ‘That’s a good idea. It could work.’

‘While we’re at it we could all dress up as French maids,’ said Benjamin. ‘They’d love that.’

Theresa snatched the pad which lay in the centre of the table and added ‘Shore-to-Ship Catering’ to the list.

‘Obviously we’ll have to put in extra man-hours in the mornings – I imagine people going out on boats for day trips will need the provisions delivered early. And we’ll have to take someone out of the dining room to pack up the home deliveries during the evening service.’