Conversation over lunch didn’t exactly go with a swing. I tried everything I could think of, from transport politics to Greenpeace to Jack’s interests inside and outside school, without much response from Audrey. Jack and she made asides to each other, to do with conversations they had had on other occasions and opinions they both held that weren’t – I gathered – necessarily to be shared. Lola discreetly raised her eyebrows at me, but she was insulated by her own ever-pressing concerns and also by what seemed to be a sneaking interest in and even admiration for Audrey.

In spite of her reservations about my food I noticed that Audrey cleared her plate quite quickly and allowed me to top up her glass more than once.

I removed the first course and served the pudding, a lemon polenta cake that was one of Lola’s favourites. She gobbled up her helping and eased away from the table. ‘Mum, is it okay if I go to meet Jules? Leave the clearing up, I’ll do it later.’

I nodded. Lola asked Audrey as she said goodbye if she could come round some time to see the fox cub.

‘If you make sure you ring up first,’ Audrey told her. ‘I don’t like unexpected callers.’

Jack scowled at his sister’s retreating back. He didn’t want to be left at the table on his own, caught between me and Audrey, but I thought it would do him no harm to stay where he was and see it through. I was telling Audrey that we were going off next week on holiday, to stay near Grasse.

‘Grasse?’

‘Yes. Ted sent me off there to stay with a friend of his, that summer when he was, er, away.’

I looked at her and waited, but she said nothing.

‘I thought it might be interesting for Lola and Jack to see something of the industry. To give them an idea about their grandfather’s world.’

I waited again, but in the silence that followed Audrey only moistened the tip of her little finger and pressed it to the last remaining crumb of cake on her plate. She transferred the crumb daintily to her tongue, a surprisingly pink and smooth tongue. She reminded me of one of her legion of cats.

‘Would you like another little helping of my polenta cake?’

‘No, thank you. Too much foreign food doesn’t agree with me.’

‘I’ll make us some coffee, then, shall I?’

Jack began to collect plates and even went so far as to slot a few haphazardly into the dishwasher. The angle of his shoulders and the way his head hung told me how uncomfortable he was. I should have risen above my feelings and let his friendship with this prickly old woman run its natural course without intrusion from me.

And yet the circumstances gnawed in my mind.