And my mood wasn’t lifted by a call from my mother.

‘Ellen, I’ve just had a call from Kenneth.’ Her husband. ‘As he was driving into Chichester just now, he was sure he saw Ben.’

No point in denying it. ‘Yes. He was down at the weekend.’

I knew what she was going to say so well that I could have joined in. ‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘No, Fleur. It was spur of the moment on his part. I didn’t know he was coming until he arrived.’

‘Some crisis?’

That, too, was predictable. I’d never openly discussed Ben’s mental health with my mother, but she’d somehow got an inkling of it. As she had with Oliver when I started seeing him. Back then she had thought my new boyfriend was ‘unstable’ and that I had taken a risk in marrying him. The wisdom of that opinion was, to her mind, vindicated by Oliver’s suicide. These things were never said aloud between us, but the implication was always there. Perhaps it was part of her acting skill that made Fleur such a mistress of implication.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I lied. ‘Just fancied seeing his old mum.’

‘Didn’t fancy seeing his grandmother,’ she said, piqued. And absolutely in character for her not to repeat the word ‘old’.

‘He’s under pressure with an animation project he has to deliver.’

‘Oh yes?’ she almost snorted. ‘Well, fortunately, his sister is not so remiss in making contact. Have you heard from her recently?’

‘Not for a while.’

‘No, I thought not,’ said Fleur with satisfaction. ‘We had quite a long call on Sunday.’

‘Good.’

‘Nothing important. Just girlie chat, you know.’

‘Mm. And she’s all right?’

‘Oh, absolutely fine. So busy. How she manages to cram in so many fashion shows and brand launches and … I just don’t know. And her work as an influencer seems to be expanding too.’

‘Good for her.’

‘Oh yes. Funny, once we two get chatting, we could go on for hours. It’s often the case, though, isn’t it? That closeness in family relationships can skip a generation.’

This was deliberately offensive, but I was practised in not rising to such remarks. I let it pass.

‘And of course, Jools reiterated her invitation for me to stay with her if I was up in London. Did I mention that to you?’

‘You did, yes.’

‘I don’t suppose you fancy a spot of lunch at Goodwood …?’

‘Thanks for the thought, Fleur, but I do have things to do. I am quite busy at the moment.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘A cleaner’s work is never done, eh?’

As I said, the call did not improve my mood.

And it did get me thinking about mother/daughter relationships. Which, of course, took me back to Ingrid and Alexandra. And, nearer home, my relationship with my own daughter.

‘Hello?’ Jools’s voice sounded warm and welcoming.

‘Hi, it’s Ellen.’ I don’t know when I got into the habit of using my first name with my daughter, rather as I had with Fleur. I’d rather be ‘Mum’, but Jools somehow doesn’t seem to like that. And she’d never called me ‘Ma’. That was a kind of private joke between me and Ben.