Andi took a big gulp, sighing in pleasure. ‘You make the best coffee.’ She slid onto a bar stool. ‘So – what’s wrong?’

‘Did you tell the press about Jez Winter buying the house next door?’ Sophie watched her daughter’s mouth fall open, then saw the soft lips clamp together hard and those baby-blue eyes shutter over in a way that was all too familiar from the rebellious teenage years. ‘You did, didn’t you?’

Andi shrugged. ‘Why not? They paid me really well for the information, and it’d have come out one way or another, so why shouldn’t I be the one to benefit?’

‘Because I asked you to keep quiet about it.’

Another shrug.

‘How could you betray a confidence?’

‘If you will keep me short of money, I have to find other ways to get some, and I do not fancy going on social security, thank you very much, and being forced to go for interviews for jobs I don’t want. I shouldn’t have to, either, with a rich mother.’

‘What makes you think you have a right to my money?’

‘The years you vanished into your office, typing away. The years Dad and I hardly saw you at weekends.’

Sophie opened her mouth to protest then closed it again. She hadn’t realised Andi had resented it so much. ‘Bill understood my need to write.’

‘He might have understood but he still missed you. And mothers are supposed to be there for their children. You weren’t.’

‘I was most of the time. Do you mean I should have given up my life to support yours?’

‘Other mothers do.’

‘Your father still kept his job. Should he have given it up?’

‘It’s different for men.’

‘You have a very old-fashioned attitude to life. And I deeply resent your selfishness.’

Andi drained her mug, thumped it down and held out one hand. ‘You owe me twenty quid for the taxi. And another twenty to get back. I’ve got things to do.’

Sophie didn’t try to continue the discussion. She got her purse, taking forty pounds out and thrusting the money into the outstretched hand of this hard-eyed alien who had taken the place of her daughter.

Andi left without a word of farewell, didn’t even turn round as she strode down the drive. She was dialling a number on her mobile phone as she walked.

After Sophie closed the front door, Donna came out of hiding and returned to the kitchen. ‘Sorry. I thought it might be better if you faced her on your own.’

‘Yes. And you got the information you wanted. I apologise for what my daughter did, and for my own carelessness in letting her know about Jez.’ Sophie blinked, but the tears wouldn’t be held back for much longer. ‘I’d like to be alone now, if you don’t mind.’

‘I’m sorry about this. I’ll – um, tell Jez what happened.’

‘Do what you want.’ She escorted Donna to the door then walked back, tears running down her cheeks, wondering where she’d gone wrong with her children. Blindly she walked into the meditation room, her refuge in times of trouble. Once she would have walked into Bill’s arms. Wished she still could.