But it wasn’t Todd who joined her first in the kitchen, it was Flora. Judging from the dark smudges under her eyes she hadn’t had any more sleep than Clare.

She paused in the doorway, saw that only Clare was downstairs and seemed to consider whether she should turn and leave again.

Clare felt terrible. She’d been thinking about herself, and Becca, and all the previous holidays they’d spent here. She’d felt as if she was betraying her friend by having Flora in the house, which made no sense at all now she thought about it. What was she going to do? Bar Jack and the girls from visiting again? Hardly.

She, who had always been so shy as a child and had frequently felt like an outsider, had made Flora feel like an outsider.

She felt ashamed of herself. Her mother would have welcomed a guest into her home regardless of the history or her personal feelings.

“Good morning! Did you sleep? Can I interest you in coffee?” Compensating like mad, Clare filled a mug to the brim and handed it to her. It was all very well deciding to be warm and friendly, but she didn’t know Flora at all. What was she supposed to talk about? She’d never been that good at small talk. Where was Todd? He was never far from the coffeepot in the mornings, but he seemed to have vanished.

She just had to hope that Jack would join them soon. Presumably he and Flora hadn’t shared a room.

Flora took the coffee gratefully. “Thank you. And I’m definitely a coffee drinker. When I start my day at the flower market coffee is the only thing that keeps me going. That and picking up roses by their thorns.”

Flowers! Of course! That was something they had in common.

“Jack says you’re a florist. How wonderful. I can’t think of anything better than working with flowers all day.” She winced as she heard her unnaturally cheerful voice.

To try to find some degree of normality, she busied herself in the kitchen. Whatever mood people were in today after the alcohol and tension of the night before, a good breakfast would surely help, and her kitchen always calmed and soothed her. “You have your own business?” She threw baby tomatoes into a baking tray, tossed them in olive oil and slid them into the oven to roast while she whipped up a bowl of frothy eggs ready for omelets.

“No, nothing so grand. I work for someone else, which means that they can worry about the income and the market.” Flora slid her hands round the mug, warming her hands even though the room wasn’t cold. “That probably sounds sadly unambitious to you.”