‘Some days you get by fine, others it’s really not at all OK. That painful fear of an unknown future, when you thought you had it all worked out.’ Frances laid down her electronic cigarette, tore off a morsel of Theresa’s croissant and popped it into her mouth. ‘I think it’s the double whammy. You realise you are old and past it, and at the same moment you see that you are no longer desirable to the man who’d always loved you. And, for us women, that starts rolling on into visions of a future sitting alone in a dark empty house, knitting, darning or some other boring pastime resting on your lap, a couple of cats curled around your feet, and that’s it . . . for ever.’

Theresa knew Frances spoke utter sense. She couldn’t imagine anything so soul-destroying.

‘I think also that when you’re one of those socially ambitious women, like Cynthia,’ Frances continued, ‘it all gets muddled up with so many kinds of anxiety which I never had to deal with – like “How will they think of me at the golf club?”’ She gave a bitter laugh and picked up the electronic cigarette.

‘Could they get back together, do you think?’

‘They ought to.’ Frances shrugged. ‘But I have a feeling they’re also too stupid, not to mention conceited and self-righteous, for it to ever happen.’

‘Poor Neil.’ Theresa thought back to his absolute embarrassment last night, as he sat cringing at his father’s behaviour. ‘He does seem to be a very nice boy.’

‘He’s impulsive. Like them! Doesn’t really think ahead. Gets an idea and runs away with it without considering anything even nearly related to reality. It’s all great, that kind of thing, in the drama classes but, oh, so utterly totally hopeless in real life.’

A shadow fell over Theresa.

‘Bonjour, Theresa!’ It was Cyril. ‘Vous avez reçu mes cadeaux?’

Theresa shrank back in her seat.

Cyril tapped the bridge of his nose. ‘Je comprends! Pas de problème.’

As though seeing her discomfort, Marcel was suddenly beside Cyril, calling him by his name, inviting him into the brasserie.

‘Bonne journée, mesdames,’ Cyril called over his shoulder as he was dragged inside. ‘Et, Theresa, à tout à l’heure. See you soon!’

When Theresa turned back, Imogen was coming on to the terrace, with Chloe beside her.

‘So this is where you are! I’ve been ringing your flat and your mobile for hours.’

Theresa saw that Imogen was grasping Chloe’s wrist.

‘I wasn’t at home . . . my mobile had . . .’

‘I’m not interested, Mum. This child has been sitting in the hotel breakfast room in the company of that boy, Neil. Frances? Did you know he and his father were actually still staying there in our hotel?’

Frances said no, but Theresa couldn’t miss the blush blooming on her neck.