‘I’m not sure I can—’ Again she breaks off, leaving me anxious at this visible sign of a woman censoring herself – it is too familiar.

‘It’s not easy, moving to a new place, meeting new people.’

She nods vigorous agreement. ‘Absolutely. That’s what I try to explain to Zac. He travels all the time for his work, so he doesn’t understand – he’s away in Edinburgh right now – I think I told you. He’s away so often.’

There it is at last. Despite my guess about who Eliza was from the day I met her, and Maxine confirming it, to hear her finally use Zac’s name punches the air from my stomach.

I study Eliza’s beautiful face. She looks so innocent of her effect on me, though in spite of Maxine’s assurances to the contrary, I still wonder if Eliza has been cultivating me because Zac wants her to.

‘Have you and Zac been married long?’ I don’t hesitate to say his name. I won’t let myself be fearful of speaking it or thinking it. I won’t allow him that power.

‘Alice was a year old when we got married. I met him at university. I had a big crush on him then. You could probably say I was a bit in awe. But nothing happened. He barely noticed I was alive.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘We ran into each other, quite by accident, about two and a half years ago . . .’ Her face reddens. ‘That’s when Alice was conceived. I don’t usually open up about this, but Alice was a happy accident. Zac didn’t tell me until I was pretty far along that he was in a relationship. I thought— Well, until Alice was a few months old, I thought I’d be raising her alone.’

I know all too well how good Zac is at keeping secrets. Did he tell Eliza in that London hotel that he was expecting a baby with his wayward and mad girlfriend, who happened to be asleep in their room upstairs? Maybe he was making this confession as I watched the two of them from the doorway of that hushed bar.

‘It’s great when things work out.’ I am scanning for family pictures. There is nothing in this pristine kitchen, which isn’t surprising, given how Zac detests clutter. He isn’t someone who would tolerate a fridge that was covered in a child’s art or magnet photo frames, as Peggy’s used to be. In fact, I cannot see a fridge at all – it must be hidden behind the bespoke cupboards.

Eliza pushes the biscuits towards me. ‘And you? I was starting to ask you last night if there’s anyone, but then Alice sprinkled you with sweetcorn.’