Antonia sometimes calls the office more times in one day than she does her own child (a tall and gawky boy called Bart) and Becky knows this because Antonia tells her this. She calls Becky to co-ordinate stuff or just to remind her that she needs to usher Matthew out of the office on time because they are popping down to the Deal cottage for the weekend and want to miss the worst of the weekend traffic. Antonia gets Pucci scarves and spa weekends for her birthday from Matthew that have been researched and paid for on his credit card, by Becky, and Antonia knows this because Becky needs to check in advance that Antonia doesn’t have allergic skin reactions to mud wraps and whether she – discreetly, of course – would like Becky to secure her an appointment with that special Botox man everyone always raves about.

Antonia enters the room in a cloud of expensive perfume. Her black and silver hair is tangled in a bun and strands have escaped everywhere. The shape it makes, tested through time to work with the curve of her face, is both messy and yet impossibly stylish. Her hairstyle works with the linen dress (a tailored and loose cut, only a few crumples) which in turn works with her leather sandals (one gold strip across the place where fine foot bones fan) and buffed sandstone calves. She is expensive and lovely and perfectly curated for a warm spring day.

She is also, most definitely, feeling harassed. Her face is drawn and her words quick. ‘Becky. Siobhan. Where is he? He’s not picking up the phone to me.’

Becky answers. ‘He’s in his office. On a call. Won’t be long. Can I make you a coffee while you wait?’

‘No, thank you, I need to talk to him.’

‘I don’t think he’ll be long.’

‘I mean now.’

Becky feels an instinctive need to give Matthew the space and privacy for his call with DB. It’s what she’s paid to do. But Antonia is glaring at her.

‘OK, sure,’ she says. ‘Let me pop in and get him off the phone.’

Becky moves quickly, perhaps to get ahead of anything Antonia might be planning on doing, like bursting into the office. She pushes Matthew’s door open and hears the words, ‘She misinterpreted that. That’s not what happened at all.’

He looks up, cheeks flushed a deep pink.

Becky just has time to mouth the word ‘Antonia’ and for Matthew’s face to arrange itself in a way that Becky has never seen before. Something almost childish: both beseeching and perturbed. But before she has a chance to enquire, Antonia moves past her. ‘Thank you, Becky. I’ll take it from here. What the fuck are you playing at? In our house?’

Becky backs out quickly and sees the door is shut firmly behind her.