‘Not so much of the old. You’re a good five years older than me, remember? Nice to meet you, Madi. The lady staying at Prue’s, I assume?’ He held out his hand and shook hers firmly. ‘I’ve heard all about you from my son Ralph. The vet.’

‘Oh, of course. He’s been so incredibly kind, looking after little Flo.’

‘He’s a good lad. Sensible head on his shoulders. Can I buy you both a drink? A coffee maybe, and a brandy to go in it?’

Madi made to object but held her tongue. What harm could a drop of brandy do? A little of what you fancy …

Ken returned a few minutes later, with a drink in his hand and another man in tow.

‘Madi, this is Stuart.’ Tom did the introductions as Ken pulled up a couple of spare chairs. ‘Ralph’s business partner and fellow vet, and of course young Prue’s dad. And one of those many drinking friends our Ken here swears he doesn’t have!’

‘Pleased to meet you, my dear. Not often we get any new faces around here.’ Stuart sat down heavily and turned his chair to face her. ‘And my wife tells me you’re quite famous. Star of stage and screen, I hear.’

‘A huge exaggeration!’ Madi could feel herself reddening. Her hand went to her hair, as if to check it was still there. ‘But where is Faith tonight? Not with you?’

‘Oh, she and her friend Patty are up at the village hall. Well, it’s more of a large wooden shack, to tell you the truth. Still, it serves its purpose well enough. Big enough to squeeze us all in when needed, although it can get mighty chilly in there, with no proper heating system. They’re getting set up for one of their W.I. events tomorrow. It’s one of those produce affairs where women flaunt their best fruitcakes and daffodils and what have you. I’m sure half the competitors buy the stuff in Tesco’s and pass it off as their own, but it’s all good fun, isn’t it? They even have men’s categories nowadays. Supposed to bring in a cake made with apples, or a homemade wine. Stuff and nonsense. You won’t find me in the kitchen. And I prefer the real deal myself.’ He lifted the glass of whisky he’d brought over with him and downed it in one.

‘Well, I always enter. I’ve made a lovely mango wine this year. From pulp in a tin, obviously. We don’t grow a lot of mangoes around here! You should pop along there, Madi,’ Ken chipped in. ‘Starts around twelve. I believe. You might enjoy it. Being as it’s fine weather, and Mother’s Day as well, there should be a good turnout. Bring your coat though. As I say, it can get a bit draughty. They do lunches too, and a mean cream tea, at the back of the hall, with scones and all. Worth going, just for that.’

Madi sat back, savouring the brandy-laced coffee the waitress had just delivered to the table, and listened to the three old friends chatting. Having just told Tom about her time playing King Lear had put her in mind of some unusual cross-gender castings and it was not difficult to imagine them as the three witches from Macbeth, heads close together, hubbling and bubbling away nineteen to the dozen.