‘It’s not at all the same. My friends aren’t famous.’

To Sophie’s relief, the baby started to cry lustily and Kerry first tried rocking the stroller, then picked up the baby, who obliged by a loud burp and spat a mouthful of regurgitated milk down her mother’s front.

‘She’s always doing that!’ Kerry gave her little daughter a dirty look, thrust the baby into Sophie’s hands and rushed to wipe herself down. ‘Jordan was much easier to look after. I’m not having any more children.’

Sophie wondered what she was supposed to say to that and could think of nothing. She jiggled the baby, who, to give Kerry her due, looked rosy and well-cared for. But Jordan always seemed subdued for a two-year-old, and no doubt this little one would be nagged into submission too as soon as she was old enough to understand English.

‘I must say I think you’re being very mean, keeping Jez Winter to yourself,’ Kerry grumbled.

‘He’s not a parcel to be passed round.’

‘You do say some strange things. I hope you don’t write like that. I must get round to reading one of your books one day, when I’m not so busy, though they’re probably meant for older women.’ Kerry looked at the clock. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better be going.’

‘It was lovely to see the children, but I’m afraid mornings are my best working time, so could you make it the afternoon next time you visit?’ She’d asked the same thing dozens of times before, to no avail.

Kerry flapped one hand. ‘Oh, family don’t count.’

Sophie deliberately blocked her path. ‘Yes, they do. I’m a working woman, not a lady of leisure. If you come in the morning again, I’ll not answer the door.’

The frost around Kerry went colder by several degrees.

When she’d waved goodbye to little Jordan and checked that the gate had closed properly, Sophie went into her meditation room with a groan of frustration and it was a while before she calmed down again enough to write.

Chapter Twelve

Even though he was feeling better by the day, Jez was weary by the time they’d moved in. But once people stopped asking him things, he couldn’t resist wandering down to his studio. It was full of boxes, sound equipment, his keyboard and the rest of his guitars, newly out of storage, and his computer, which had music-recording software on it. Everything needed unpacking and setting up, and he was looking forward to doing that … but not today.

Tom peered round the door. ‘Donna said you’d be in here. Hey, this is going to make a fantastic studio.’ He walked to the window and back, whistling softly as he saw the make of keyboard, then went over to his father. ‘You look tired. Why don’t you go and have a lie-down?’

‘I seem to have spent the past few months lying down.’ Jez was unable to keep the sharp edge from his voice. ‘What I want to do – need to do – is make music. It’s inside my head and aching to be let out. But all this has to be set up first.’ He waved one hand at the jumble surrounding him.