‘Ah, yes. And his part in all this is …?’

‘It’s his friend who wants the anniversary cake and might be willing to supply some paving in exchange.’

‘I see. I can’t say I’ve ever been paid in concrete before.’

This time Prue did see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of Miss Parker’s lips.

‘Have you always been a baker, Emily? Because this cake is delicious. My mother makes cakes, but yours is in a different league. I can certainly tell you’re no beginner.’

‘Oh, thank you. Yes, I suppose you could say I was a professional, of sorts. I had a little café, you see. Close to the West End. Hidden away, but its reputation made sure they came. For speciality teas, home-made scones, a slice of cake … I didn’t open in the evenings, when the riff-raff descend, looking for chips and alcohol, making all their mess and noise. Oh no, I preferred the more respectful afternoon trade. All the best people knew where I was. Popping in after a matinee, or when out shopping. Some of them quite well-known …’

‘Oh, really? That sounds exciting.’ Prue finished her cake, wiping a stray crumb from her mouth, and laid the empty plate down on the small, ornate table beside her. ‘Anyone I might have heard of?’

‘Oh, I don’t gossip, dear. The secrets of the rich and famous are safe with me. And I knew quite a few, believe me. But, yes, I have always baked. Not so much these days, with nobody to eat it but myself, but I will relish the challenge. And a silver wedding, I think you said. Little bells, some silver ribbon. You see, I already have ideas. So, you speak to this Simon and his friend and let me know what’s required. You know where to find me. I don’t get out much these days. I’m always here.’

Prue found herself ushered quietly out, the door closed behind her. Stan was hovering in the hall, fiddling with the latest batch of pizza leaflets and tutting to himself over little Carrie’s buggy, parked unobtrusively in the corner. He turned his back and pretended not to have seen her, which suited Prue just fine. Miserable old devil!

‘I have to go home.’

Aaron had answered the door wearing nothing but pyjama bottoms.

‘What?’ He looked at her through sleepy eyes, not quite with-it enough to be sure what was going on. ‘Slow down. Calm down. And say that again.’

‘I have to leave. Today. Now.’

‘But your month isn’t up yet. And what about the garden? You haven’t even told me about your visit to Miss Nosey Parker yet.’

‘I’m sorry about that. Maybe you can do it. Take over the garden, I mean. Or we can just forget the whole thing.’

‘What? Of course we can’t.’

‘Well, maybe I could come back. I don’t know. For now, I just have to go. It’s my cat, Flo. She’s been in an accident, hit by a car.’