“There’s not much that could induce a woman to leave behind a successful business,” said Maeve. “Women are practical like that. So, either he cheated, or she did.”

Gemma slapped her head. “Maeve!” said Gemma. “This is why you don’t get invited to parties.”

“He cheated,” said Annie. “And I left.”

At the lull in the conversation, Annie looked around the room. The pictures on the walls—framed posters of old 1920s and ’30s adverts for ice cream, cocoa, and soap—had cobwebs swung between their frames like lace hammocks. A copy of Country Life lay on the longest table as though just read and discarded. Annie ran her thumb across the dusty cover to reveal the date: 1992.

“How old is Mari?” Annie asked.

Maeve sucked air in through her teeth and frowned as she mentally calculated.

“Ooh, she’s got to be in her nineties,” she said. “Well into them too, I’d say.”

“Good lord,” said Annie. “She doesn’t seem it.”

“Never had children,” said Maeve by way of explanation. “Except her nephew, John, he was as near as hers, dammit. But none of her own. It’s the kids that kill you!”

“Charming!” said Annie. “And how many have you got?”

“Five,” said Maeve. “Two daughters and three sons. The youngest one’s thirty now, but it’s still like herding cattle when they’re all together. I reckon they’ve taken five years each off my life.”

“What a bastion of parenting you are!” said Gemma.

“This one has her kids in bed with her and her husband,” said Maeve with a nod of her head in Gemma’s direction.

“It’s called attached parenting,” said Gemma.

“It’s called a rod for your own back!” said Maeve.

“What about you, Annie?” asked Gemma. “Any children? Is that okay to ask? I never know if it’s an insensitive question. You know? Not very feminist.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” said Maeve. “She’s either got them or she hasn’t. And if she hasn’t, she either didn’t want them, couldn’t have them, or left it too late.”

“I swear to God, Maeve, you’re going to get us banned from places one of these days,” said Gemma.

“I’ve got two grown-up boys; twins,” said Annie quickly to try to stop the situation from escalating. “I started early,” she added, smiling at Gemma in a way she hoped would put her at ease.

Maeve and Gemma continued to verbally spar with each other as they took chairs down from tables. Given the good-naturedness of their arguing, Annie sensed a deep affection between the two women.

A gust of wind rattled the shutters, and the rain followed with renewed gusto, sounding like a thousand tiny hands smacking the paintwork. Annie shivered and remembered that she was still soaked through. Rain dripped steadily off the ends of her hair and onto her sweater.