‘And Lottie, I understand you’re engaged to be married to a member of the Butterworth family, so you’re marrying into a wine dynasty?’ Fiona announced teasingly, obviously keen to lighten the mood.

‘Um.’ Dynasty was pushing it a bit, I thought, with a rush of affection towards Betsy and Starsky. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Congratulations! Can I see the ring while Olivia uncorks the first bottle?’

I held out my trembly hand with my Topshop sparkler on it.

‘Start with the Blanc de Noir,’ I muttered as Oliva unzipped the cool bag.

‘Oh what an exquisite piece of jewellery,’ Fiona gushed. ‘He’s a keeper, for sure.’

I pictured Jensen’s face listening in and grinning about his bargain ring being mistaken for precious stones. Meanwhile, Olivia removed the first cork with a practised twist and Thomas held glasses as she poured.

‘Talk us through it,’ said Fiona to me, taking a glass.

Like Olivia’s had been, my mouth was now completely desiccated. I took a big swig of the wine and looked round for somewhere to spit it out. There was nothing and with cheeks like a hamster I sent Olivia a frantic look.

‘Do you have a spittoon?’ she asked Fiona, quickly understanding my problem.

Fiona looked appalled and shook her head. ‘I don’t think spitting will translate well on air, nobody wants to listen to that sort of noise. You’ll have to swallow it.’

I felt my face go red and shook my head.

Thomas roared with sarcastic laughter. ‘Not much of an endorsement; even she doesn’t want to swallow it.’

My eyes blazed at him as I gulped the wine down. ‘That is not the case at all, I happen to be pregnant.’

I clapped a hand over my mouth; I hadn’t intended for that to come out.

‘A pregnant English winemaker,’ Thomas hooted, slapping his thigh. ‘You couldn’t make it up.’

‘Congratulations!’ Fiona beamed. ‘When is it due?’

My heart thumped. This wasn’t in the script. Not that there was a script as such but no one had warned me the questions might get personal. ‘February,’ I said hurriedly, reaching for the cool bag again. ‘I’ll get the next bottle ready.’

‘A winter baby, how lovely!’ Fiona cried. ‘Let’s all toast to Lottie and Jensen.’

‘Thank you,’ I said quietly. I didn’t like lying and I had a bad feeling about this. I also hadn’t mentioned any of this ruse to my family, who I knew were listening in – even Dad and Agnes in Germany.

Olivia saw my discomfort and took over, swirling the wine in the glass and inhaling it. ‘This has a slightly pinky hue, Fiona, and can you smell the red fruit?’

Thomas and Fiona both sniffed loudly. Olivia slurped it, sucking air in over her tongue to release the flavours. ‘Mmm, mmm.’ She swallowed it and smacked her lips like all good professionals do. ‘It’s got a complex toasted palate, with a lovely balanced finish.’

‘I like it,’ said Fiona simply, holding up her glass for a refill. ‘Thomas?’