What happened a couple of hours later wasn’t eavesdropping because Lily was in the back taking cutlery out of the washer and rolling it into napkins when Isaac came to sit in the alcove, opening his laptop. He didn’t ask her to give him a minute so she continued, aware of him but keeping her attention on her work.

Then there was a be boop from the computer and Isaac said, ‘Hi, Tubb.’

Surprised, Lily glanced up and caught a glimpse of her brother, looking round-faced as people tended to on-screen.

Without preamble, Tubb asked Isaac if he’d take the pub on permanently. ‘The freehold’s available if you want it,’ he sighed wistfully. ‘Or you could manage it for me on a profit-share basis. I’ll be in the UK for my appointment with my consultant in January, maybe even back for good, but I don’t think my health’s ever going to allow me to return to The Three Fishes full-time.’

Lily found she was holding her breath. A part of her was registering with dismay that Tubb having to admit his heart condition wasn’t going to go away but the largest part wanted to know …

Would Isaac say yes?

But Isaac, without even a tiny pause to consider, replied, ‘I’m really grateful for the opportunity but I’m definitely getting out of the hospitality business. You shouldn’t have any trouble selling. It’s a great pub with a guaranteed clientele as the only one in the village. I can stick around for a bit while you get someone else or put it on the market but my decision’s made regarding my career change.’

OK. Lily knew that. She’d always known. There was no reason for her fingers to shake while she rolled a knife, fork and spoon into a paper napkin and stacked it with the others. No reason for a slow, leaching disappointment that turned her evening grey.

Then Flora called through, ‘Lily, are you free to serve?’

Lily called back, ‘Coming,’ and strode perfectly normally to where Flora was grappling with a rush of thirsty people. Lily smiled and took orders and gave no indication of inner emptiness.

Monday morning and Lily felt distinctly Monday morningish. ‘Crap,’ she said dismally at the contents of her inbox.

One of the two exhibitors she thought she’d be working with for the London Book Fair had decided they now couldn’t attend owing to the fabled unforeseen circumstances. They understood if she felt herself unable to return the retainer already paid. Sparks of anger whirling inside her she typed, RETAINer means I get to keep it if you welch! Then, feeling slightly better after she’d added a few swearwords she deleted everything and replied courteously that she understood the situation and did intend to keep the retainer as originally agreed.