Why was Ben was still there when, if he’d had an iota of tact, he would have left Thea to allow herself a short, violent display of emotion? As it was, she had to keep up with the small talk. ‘I said the Chinese Dragon. Rory and I are going to get rat-arsed. I think we deserve it, don’t you?’

There was a flicker of something in Ben’s expression, but it was probably just shock that she’d used such a vulgar expression. He didn’t speak again, but steered his woman out of the gallery into the warm summer night.

There were nearly twenty of them in all at the Chinese Dragon, although they had only booked for twelve. Several of the party were drunk on Molly’s champagne. There were a few men who’d been at art school with Rory, a couple of journalists who, being young, now wanted to drink on and get to know the star, and several other men and girls Thea couldn’t connect with anyone. The Chinese Dragon was courteous and welcoming, and moved tables about, found chairs and chopsticks.

Thea didn’t sit next to Rory, although he invited her to. He was very excited, high on his success, which had been extraordinary by any standards. The art-buying public, most of whom had been at the show, had, in Thea’s opinion, lost their heads completely. Once the first red sticker went on, others followed, everyone desperate to get a piece of this exciting new talent, notwithstanding the enormous prices Thea and Rory had decided on. It was doubtful if most of the buyers really loved the pictures as Thea felt they should be loved, but they saw them as an investment. Not one of them objected when Thea told them that the paintings were possibly to be shown in London, and that they might not be able to get their hands on their prize for months. This was after Edward had told her he still wanted Rory to exhibit and would she not let any of the work be taken away before he’d had a chance to decide what he wanted.

Rory would always be able to make his living from his work from now on, especially as the television producer he had met had been so impressed. Thea had met her too and had wondered if she should give a few hints that Rory might not be a great presenter. She decided against it. Rory could probably read an autocue and could be trained into being more relaxed in front of an audience.

Thea had no appetite. Her heart was thumping, she felt she had drunk twenty cups of strong coffee when all she’d had was the single glass of champagne that Rory thrust on her and several pints of mineral water. When people eventually began ordering, she just agreed to share a set menu someone else had decided was good.