‘Do let’s do it again soon. We don’t see nearly enough of you girls. And bring the children next time, don’t you think, Henry?’

‘Oh yes, let’s make a party of Mrs Cummings’ summonses. So much jollier,’ he chuckled.

‘Oh no, we don’t want her,’ frowned my mother. ‘Dismal old witch. If I didn’t dislike her so much I’d give her a voucher for Elizabeth Arden. If only she knew how a little rouge would improve her.’ She attempted to get to her feet.

‘Don’t get up, Mum,’ Helena told her gently. ‘Dad will see us to the door.’

She demurred and sank back into her armchair, and my father did just that. Once we were outside in the drive, well out of earshot, he assured us quietly that all was well. And sweet though it was of us to worry, there was really no cause for alarm. And no, they absolutely didn’t need any more help. None at all. He wouldn’t meet my eye, though, when he kissed me goodbye, and he didn’t see us off as he usually would, smiling and waving in the drive. Instead, he hastened back inside, to Mum. Except it was more of a shuffle than a hasten.

Helena sighed as the door closed softly behind him. She opened her mouth to opine, then shut it again, defeated.

‘How’s everything with you, anyway?’ I asked quickly, before she could get second wind.

‘Oh, fine,’ she said in surprise, wrong-footed. ‘Non-stop as ever. I’ve got an associate director starring in a white-collar fraud trial on Monday and he hasn’t quite decided if he’s pleading guilty or not, which is a minor wrinkle. But other than that, yes, fine. Up to my eyes and single-handedly keeping the wheels on a highly expensive domestic bus. Business as usual.’

‘Ant’s ill?’ I asked sympathetically, managing not to add, ‘again’.

Helena’s husband, a delightfully shambolic, charming actor who of course didn’t get paid when not working, suffered a bit from hypochondria, which sometimes meant even longer stretches of inactivity. It drove Helena insane.

‘He’s currently got a lump on his leg which naturally he thinks is bone cancer, even though every clinician tells him otherwise. He’s supposed to be auditioning for Richard III at the National, so I told him to bloody well get on with it and do it with a limp as well as a hunchback. No director’s going to mind that. But, of course, he won’t. Needs a fourth opinion. And how’s Michael?’

‘Oh yes.’ I made myself smile but delved quickly in my bag for my car keys. ‘He’s on good form.’