Matilda wondered whether he had heard her creeping down for Hugh’s shoes. ‘Oh, I always use Claud’s cure if I can’t sleep.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Composing letters to The Times about the Queen’s hats. You have to write a letter which is not derogatory to the Monarchy but expresses your distaste for her headgear. Without appearing unpatriotic it’s not possible. In despair you drop off and snore.’ Matilda laughed as John grinned at her.

‘Sure you won’t have a brandy? D’you mind if I do?’

‘Of course not. A brandy will suit you sitting there in your super pin-stripe. The onslaught of years has made you very distinguished, Piers.’ Matilda liked serving the occasional flattery.

‘You are looking very pretty yourself.’

‘It’s the brief whiff of London you are treating me to.’

‘Stay longer. Aren’t you lonely in your cottage all on your own?’

‘I’ve got a dog and a gander. I am a country bumpkin.’

‘But not a lonely one?’ She’s being very secretive about this chap, John thought as he ordered brandy. I expect he’s good in bed but drops his aitches.

‘Not lonely at all. I won’t mind going home on Thursday.’

He must be good, thought John. When I have the time I must find out who he is.

What a boring conversation this is. I prefer Gus any day. Matilda swallowed a yawn. It was long past her bedtime.

‘You used to have a cat.’

‘She died.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No use being sorry. Death is death. Tom’s dead and our cat’s dead. It won’t be long before I’m dead too. Most of me died when Tom died. We had planned to die together.’

‘Death control.’

‘Yes. Did Tom tell you?’

‘He must have. He wanted to go while the going was good. He got his wish.’ John sniffed his brandy. If Tom had wished to die young the heart attack in the rue Jacob was really of little consequence. If I felt guilty which I don’t, thought John, I should have no need to.

‘Well, it was our wish. I got left. It’s bloody hell,’ Matilda snapped, anger making her look rather beautiful.

Whoever fits those shoes is lucky, if you like that sort of thing, which I happen to know she does. John watched her colour rise, pleased that Matilda believed in the heart attack, that there was no need to arrange one for her.

‘You and Anabel are very alike.’ He swallowed the brandy.

‘Anabel and I? Goodness no.’

‘Not in looks perhaps. Sexually.’

‘What an extraordinary –’ Matilda paused.

‘Accusation?’

‘Yes. I never slept around.’

‘You might very easily have gone that way if Tom had let you out of his sight.’

Matilda let that pass, relieved that John was about to pay the bill.

‘I’m lunching with Anne tomorrow. I wonder what she will have to say.’