There was silence, then, ‘I’m afraid not. I’m busy.’

‘Doing what? Something interesting?’

‘Just staying in with a friend – chilling out, don’t you call it?’

‘Oh.’

‘Another time, Andi.’

She put down the phone, wondering who her mother’s friend was. Probably another oldie. These middle-aged women certainly stuck together. Her mother had probably forgotten what it was like to go out with a guy but at least she hadn’t remarried. Andi hoped she never would. It’d be – wrong. That was the one thing she agreed with her brother about. No one could live up to their dad and anyway, neither of them wanted a stepfather spending all Mum’s money, which would be theirs one day.

What a boring life her mother was leading, though, staring at a computer day after day! What was the point of earning big time if you didn’t go to glamorous parties, hobnob with celebrities or jet around the world? Actually, Andi didn’t really enjoy the books her mother wrote. They weren’t at all like real life. Ordinary people didn’t meet Prince Charmings. The breed was extinct. Frogs had completely overrun the male world, frogs who pestered you for sex when you didn’t want it.

Sighing, she finished cooking and called the others down to eat. Not even a bottle of wine to take the edge off the evening. Ross and Ginny only drank occasionally, so booze didn’t come out of the housekeeping budget, and Andi couldn’t afford to buy any this week.

Life sucked lately, absolutely sucked, had done ever since her father died.

When she was too tired to write any more, Sophie ate a simple meal and sat down to enjoy a book she’d been meaning to read for ages.

The phone rang and she checked the caller ID, relaxing when she saw it was William. He usually rang once or twice a week and popped across to see her sometimes at the weekend with Kerry and the children. He was so like his father physically it hurt sometimes to look at him, but he was more like Sophie’s father than Bill, clever but tight with his money and watchful for the best advantage whatever the situation. She had no doubt he’d already calculated what she was worth, what he’d inherit one day.

As for her daughter-in-law, try as she might Sophie couldn’t like her, or the way she was bringing up their children. The oldest girl was nearly three, a quiet little thing, too quiet if you asked Sophie. The new baby was only two months old, so the family visits hadn’t been as frequent as usual lately. Which was a relief.

‘Hi, William. How lovely to—’

‘Are you all right, Mum?’

‘Yes, of course. Why do you ask in that tone?’

‘Did you know you were on the television news tonight?’

‘Oh, no! They didn’t!’

‘Are you really having an affair with Jez Winter?’

‘Of course not!’

‘I didn’t think you were, but that’s what they implied. You’re not his type, not glamorous enough, and anyway, you’re a bit old for him.’