“If you need more men,” Fliss said, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of a crash in the kitchen followed by angry voices, “I’ll put my thinking cap on. Now I’d better go and find out what’s up in the paradise of my workplace.”

Left to their wine and menus, Andee said, “OK. I’m opting for the spicy lentil soup. It seems right for this miserable weather.”

With a sigh Leanne replied, “Will it ever stop raining? But at least we had a lovely August and the forecast isn’t bad for the coming weekend, thank God. We’ve promised Abby a barbecue for her seventeenth birthday party, although at the moment she’s only invited her latest best friend, Jasmine. So not too much work there, but watch this space. Actually, there’s a thought: I’m sure Jasmine mentioned something about her mother being into soft furnishings. Maybe she’s someone you could talk to about curtains?”

Ready to grasp at any straw, Andee said, “Do you have a name or number for her?”

“I know her name’s Claudia, but I’ll have to ask Abby or Jasmine for her details. I’ll text Abby now, if you like. She might get back to us by the end of lunch.”

After the message was sent, she put aside her phone and leaned in to Andee conspiratorially. “OK, to the real reason for this lunch—but you must promise not to breathe a word for now.”

Andee drew a cross over her heart.

“Tom’s asked me to marry him and I’ve accepted.”

Andee’s eyes widened. “You accepted?” she cried in mock horror. “I felt sure you’d turn him down when he finally got around to it.”

Leanne shot her a meaningful look and as they both laughed, Andee started to get up to hug her.

“No, don’t make a fuss,” Leanne cautioned, waving her back down. “I don’t want anyone to know yet, although the chances of my mother being able to hold it in are about as good as mine of fitting into the size ten wedding dress we have in the shop.”

Andee laughed. “So, when are you planning to do it?”

“We’re still discussing that, but it’ll definitely be just close friends and family, so obviously that includes you, Graeme, and your mother.”

“On behalf of us all, I accept. Will it be at the Tramonto?” She was referring to the exquisite Italianate villa on Kesterly Heights that Tom had inherited a couple of years back from an aunt and which Graeme and Andee, with their joint skills as developer and designer, had helped turn into an exclusive twelve-suite hotel.

“Probably,” Leanne replied. “It’ll depend on bookings, but . . .” She broke off as a furious-looking waif of a woman stomped out of the kitchen, banged against tables as she crossed the café, and slammed noisily out of the door.