Maggie tried not to laugh at Regina’s analogy, but then the two of them burst out laughing together, making the nurse in the corner of the room glance up from her paperwork. Regina had some awful times ahead, but she was driven by her faith that boundless love would see the whole family through.

Princess’s file did not make happy reading. Her traumatic birth and significant hypoxia would more than likely result in kidney and liver damage, if not ultimate failure. And her consultant also suspected that the risk of her developing necrotising enterocolitis was high, although they wouldn’t know for sure until Princess was a few weeks older. He was monitoring her closely as it was his goal to avoid invasive bowel surgery on such a tiny body if at all possible.

But physical and emotional exhaustion, plus the exertion of concealing their true fears had made Maggie and Regina slightly hysterical, hence their current laughing fit. And for a few precious moments, the two friends allowed themselves to be happy.

*

Jack sat at a corner table, in the bar of The Fox Hunters, nursing a pint of some local bitter with a quirky name. It had an unpleasant aftertaste, but Jack’s palate was getting more accustomed with every sip. He was on the phone to Ridley, getting him up to speed with what Charlotte had just told him. While Jack had been with Charlotte at the King’s Stone, Gifford had called Ridley to tell him about their De Voe/Delgardo discovery, so now he knew everything.

Jack was careful to accentuate the positive: ‘With the resources you and DCI Hearst have got in place, in such a short space of time, we’re good to go when De Voe is. Him bringing things forwards won’t knock us off-track.’ But once he had Ridley placated, Jack threw in the curveball. ‘I’ve promised Charlotte leniency when it comes to it. She was acting for De Voe under extreme duress, and now she’s turned informant; I’ll speak up for her.’ Ridley pointed out that Charlotte was unquestionably guilty of the break-in at the Fullworths’ home. ‘I can get Elli not to press charges. I know that won’t get Charlotte off the hook completely, but it’ll help.’

Ridley was in his office sipping a tumbler of single malt. ‘None of this is your call to make, Jack,’ he said with a frown. He looked out over London which, at this time of night, was a dazzling display of dancing lights. Ridley didn’t normally indulge in whisky unless he had company but, during his telephone conversation with Hearst, she’d asked him to drink with her, so he had.