The shopping elevated her spirits to the necessary pitch to meet Lalage with a fair degree of calm, arriving for lunch a calculated ten minutes late.

‘Darling, you are late! What on earth have you got on your feet?’ Lalage kissed the side of Matilda’s face, managing to look her over from head to foot. ‘Darling, come in. I see you’ve been to Paul’s. His prices are getting more astronomical every week.’

‘Pretty steep,’ Matilda agreed. ‘How does it feel to be blonde then?’

‘Oh sweetie, it’s my natural colour. You must remember that. Your father used to call me Blondie.’

‘That ’thirties cartoon?’

‘Don’t be naughty. Come in and tell all.’

Over lunch Matilda listened. Lalage chattered, her mouth full, about herself. In the time spent on drinks and the first course she told Matilda in immense detail about her face lift, each stitch, each pleat, and the price.

‘I thought after the last lot you would not need to have it done again. That’s what you said.’

‘It didn’t work out that way. I had a gallop. Swear you won’t tell? It got damaged.’

‘Who should I tell?’

‘You might tell John, you’re staying with him.’

‘I won’t if you don’t want me to.’

‘I don’t mind really. It’s just who I had the gallop with. After what he did my face fell so I had to have it pulled up again.’

‘Who was the galloping Major then?’

‘Not the Major, sweetie, the brother. The one who killed his mother. You must know him – Warner.’

Matilda swallowed her soup and laughed.

‘Lalage, come off it. He murdered his mother four weeks ago. You can’t have been sleeping with him, had your face done and recovered in that short time.’

‘You’ve got your dates mixed. How do you know, anyway?’ Lalage, her expression limited by the amount of slack taken in, managed to look cross.

‘I read the papers, watch the box, listen to the radio.’

Lalage, not put out, grinned. ‘I’ll use that one in a few months. All right, it was someone else. I did meet Hugh Warner once. I thought him very dishy. The huge nose is so sexy. Have you ever met him? His brother’s a bit of a bore.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I fear he’s dead, must be or he would have been caught.’

‘They don’t catch them all.’ Matilda was pleased by the steadiness of her voice. ‘They never caught Jack the Ripper.’

‘Well, he went for tarts, that was different. I don’t suppose they really bothered. One’s mother is different.’

Matilda grunted. ‘Who were you galloping with then?’

‘Ah, he’s at the German embassy. He knows Anabel.’ Lalage’s glance was barbed.

‘Lots of people know Anabel. She hasn’t necessarily slept with them. She isn’t a tart.’

‘Steady on, love, I never said she was.’