Now Pansy was kneeling on the seats in front of them, smiling at Stephen. Her hair was freshly washed and her face was bare of make-up. She looked very pretty and very young. Suddenly Chloe was aware of the difference in their ages and the two or three fine lines, still invisible to everyone but herself, that were showing at the corners of her eyes. ‘Come back to supper at Follies, won’t you, Stephen? Everyone else is. Bring him, Chloe.’

‘Well, no …’ Chloe began, but Stephen cut her short.

‘Why not? Thank you, Pansy.’

Chloe felt a protest rising in her throat but she bit it back.

‘Wonderful.’ Pansy’s smile was for Stephen alone, and his eyes followed her as she ran back to the stage. He saw nothing of the irritation and the quick flicker of anxiety that showed in Chloe’s face.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked easily.

Yes. Yes, she longed to say. I can’t bear to share you with anyone. But she only said, ‘I suppose not,’ and knew that her sulky expression didn’t suit her.

Pansy’s elegant little flat in Follies House was crowded with people. The scene was familiar to Chloe. Pansy hated to be alone and it reassured her to fill empty rooms with noisy people. Almost invariably she prevailed on someone else to do the cooking in her compact little kitchen, and tonight it was Rose. Her bulk was pressed against the oven as she stirred a bubbling pot of goulash.

Chloe had often joined in these informal suppers but tonight the atmosphere grated on her. Stephen didn’t belong in this free-for-all.

Pansy jumped up as soon as she saw them. In her jeans and striped sweatshirt, she looked like an excited boy.

‘She’s perfect for Rosalind,’ Stephen murmured. ‘Hart’s luckier than he knows.’

‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ Pansy told him simply as soon as she reached them. Her vivid face was serious for an instant and Stephen’s conventional greeting died in his throat. He saw the unblemished apricot skin and the exotic palette of blues in her eyes. She was perfect. Unthinkingly he leaned forward and kissed her cheek and for an instant he could have bitten into her as if she was a ripe summer fruit.

Beside them Chloe went stiff and cold. Her careful, expert make-up felt like a mask and her expensive suede tunic weighed on her like a vulgar declaration.

Pansy took Stephen’s arm to lead him away but Chloe cut in, her voice unnaturally sharp.

‘I’ll look after him, Pansy. We can’t stay long anyway.’

Pansy half turned and the two women looked at each other. The complicity that Helen had once seen and envied evaporated. In the new appraisal there was a challenge, and defiance.