Freya was all angles, an earnest arrangement of knees, elbows and long expressive fingers. ‘What you must understand is that Mumma is the sweetest soul. We knew she had gone to rehab but I don’t remember her ever being…whatever the word is—out of it? Stoned? High?’

Ah here. ‘Ever?’ I asked.

‘Sincerely, no. She was so much fun and so sweet, always. I’ve always felt very loved by her. So have Hugo and Gerald. We adore her.’

Funnily enough, I believed her on that.

Bronte blew kisses across the room. ‘Bisous,’ she said, tears in her eyes.

‘What-oo?’ Dennis whispered, leaning sideways into Chalkie.

‘French word for “kisses”.’ Chalkie rolled his eyes.

Not everyone with an addict for a parent was messed up. Maybe Freya was damaged in less obvious ways but I was certain that she loved her mother.

‘I’m horse-mad,’ Freya offered. ‘We both are. We—she and I—Our horses are the loves of our lives.’

‘Will you get to see Bubble while you’re here?’ Bronte interrupted.

‘Yes!’ Freya squeaked, suddenly animated. ‘I’ll pop home for a little love-in if there’s time after this.’ She glanced at Eden, who nodded.

He’d told me they were going straight to the airport from here.

‘Give her a kiss from me,’ Bronte said.

‘Of course. And I’ll visit Merryweather, shall I?’

‘Oh, please!’

Something about all this horse-love made me wonder about Freya’s career choice. ‘In San Francisco?’ I asked. ‘You’re working in a bank?’

‘Investment bank. Just for a year, before I start uni.’

‘Are you planning on being a banker? Wouldn’t you prefer to work with horses?’

‘Yah, yes. But no.’ She flicked a furtive glance at her father. ‘It’s not a career.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Surely there were all kinds of jobs in the horsey world?

‘No, not financially. No.’

I wanted to press her further but she wasn’t my client, it wasn’t my business.

‘How did you feel,’ I asked, ‘when you heard your mum had relapsed?’

‘I—’ Freya’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

After a long silence, I asked, ‘Were you surprised?’

‘Well, yes, because I’d never seen her…what should I say? Being an addict? But she’s fragile. I think she finds life more painful than others.’

‘Do you want her to stop using heroin?’

After another pause, she said, ‘I want her to be happy. Hugo and Gerald also want it for her. Above anything.’

‘Freya.’ I tried to be gentle. ‘You love your mother, you want to protect her from pain. But heroin is a very dangerous drug, with a high fatality rate.’

This really wasn’t fair, Freya was young and innocent. But I’d been hoodwinked by Eden, who’d made Freya fly five thousand miles to say unpalatable truths so that he wouldn’t have to.