‘That’s exactly what I’m asking myself. Are you expecting me to believe it’s just a coincidence that you know him? Why didn’t you say anything?’

Suki put her hand on Petra’s arm. ‘I had no idea, darling. How was I supposed to guess? You never mentioned his name. You did tell me he was a photographer and an oddjobber, true, but there are plenty of those in this town.’

Petra scrutinised Suki’s face. In all the years they’d known each other, Suki hadn’t lied to her. She didn’t lie. If anything, she erred in stating her truth too bluntly. Petra sighed. ‘Okay. Still, it’s very weird. Anyway, if you’re besties you’ll know that he dumped me.’

Suki frowned. ‘Silly man. We’re not that close. Not the full-frontal-personal-details sort of acquaintance.’

‘But you know about Beccie.’

‘Yes.’ Suki stared out into the garden, at the run-down gazebo in the shadows, with an expression so unguarded it unsettled Petra. Autonomously, she took a sip of her champagne. ‘Well, as much as he’s told me.’ She put her hand on Petra’s forearm and squeezed. ‘Things aren’t always as haphazard as they seem.’

As Petra opened her mouth, still processing an unformulated response, but they were interrupted by two men entering the marquee. Suki stood up and Petra turned.

‘Susan, it’s good of you to come.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ Suki said, kissing Curtis Worthing on both cheeks. Next to him, Francis Picton put out his hand and Suki shook it. Petra stood, shielding herself beside Suki’s shoulder so she only needed to nod at Picton. She knew he wouldn’t recognise her.

‘Miss Orff.’ Worthing turned to her. His eyes were soft in the gaslight and the lines around his eyes made a good impression. ‘I’m desperately sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. If there’s anything I can feasibly do, anything at all, do reach out.’

Instead of saying the first several things that came into her head, Petra nodded and blushed, the docile citizen consumer in the face of imperturbable power.

When Worthing and Picton had gone back towards the house and were greeting the smoking guests on the stairs, Suki said, ‘That’s nice, isn’t it?’

‘It sounded very nice, yes. Very authentic. Just like the well-schooled men on the Parliament Channel. You’re taught Convincing Authenticity in your upper-class debate clubs, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, darling. Yes, we are. Let’s go inside.’

‘I still don’t understand why Vincent works for him,’ Petra said as they walked back to the house. ‘He could do odd jobs for anyone else.’ She paused. ‘For you, for example.’

‘He doesn’t work for me, Pet. He works with me.’