Over coffee the story unfolded. Maria, not wanting to intrude on Erica and Christopher’s catching up had gone upstairs to continue her cleaning. They sat at either side of the kitchen table, Christopher toying with a Duchy biscuit and Erica explaining her acquaintanceship with his temporary domestic help.

‘My two are a bit older than Maria’s but they were good friends for a while when they were little. Then as soon as they went to different schools they drifted apart. I bump into Maria occasionally at the supermarket so we manage to keep up on what they’re all doing.

‘So she’s married?’ asked Christopher, doing his best to sound polite rather than curious.

‘Divorced.’

‘Oh?’

Erica read the question mark. ‘Bit of a naughty boy really, Charlie Spicer. A Tarmac sailor.’

‘A what?’

‘A long-distance lorry driver.’

‘Oh, I see. A girl in every port?’

‘Well, not every port. But certainly a few of them.’ She lowered her voice and turned to make sure the door was securely closed. ‘I don’t know. You know what gossip is. He was just a free spirit I suppose.’

‘I bet Luisa had a thing or two to say about that.’

‘She did. Then she never mentioned his name again. I never felt Charlie was quite bright enough for Maria, but I may have been unfair. Anyway they were apart enough for it not to work. That must have been four or five years ago now.’

‘And is…’ Christopher got no further with his question.

‘No. There’s nobody else from what I can gather. Or did I guess the wrong question?’

Christopher looked slightly embarrassed and Erica felt that she had overstepped the mark. ‘Sorry.’

‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ said Christopher, hoping to move the conversation on.

Erica changed tack. ‘I just came to see how you were. I haven’t seen you for ages and wondered how you were getting on.’

‘Oh, I’m managing.’ Christopher smiled rather wanly. ‘I shall be glad when summer comes, and the better weather. Then I can get outside a bit more. Do a bit more gardening.’ He looked out of the window. ‘At the moment there’s either a bitter east wind or it’s chucking it down. This sunny spell’s a rarity. I should really be out there now.’

Erica made to get up.

‘No. That wasn’t an invitation for you to leave. Stay for a bit of lunch. Maria is a much better cook than her mum. I don’t know why it is that we expect all Italian women to be wonderful cooks. It’s every bit as ridiculous as expecting every English woman to be able to make a perfect steak and kidney pie. Luisa makes the most dreadful pasta you have ever tasted. It would stick wallpaper to absolutely anything and it tastes just like glue.’

Erica laughed. ‘So Maria’s offerings are more palatable?’