‘It’s a shame,’ she had acknowledged to Jeanie, ‘and awful for his family. But I was already over him in that way. I can see now that it was just a crush,’ she had added, dismissing him as easily as a once-favourite pair of shoes that was no longer a la mode. Jeanie didn’t believe her. Vivienne had delivered the lines smoothly enough. But her nonchalance was too practised, too perfect to be credible. And something between the two of them had shifted. It seemed now as though Vivienne was more vulnerable, that she needed their friendship more than Jeanie did. These days they usually met at the flat. Vivienne had almost stopped going to her finishing school altogether and was less keen to go shopping or out to lunch.

‘What are your thoughts on the captain then?’ she asked Jeanie.

Jeanie wrinkled her nose. ‘He’s all right, I suppose. But I prefer David Cassidy.’

Vivienne got up to fetch her cigarettes from the dressing table. She offered the packet to Jeanie who, as always, refused.

‘You’re such a goody-goody,’ Vivienne teased. Jeanie laughed. ‘I’m just protecting my instrument,’ she replied loftily, patting her throat. Vivienne lit one for herself and inhaled tentatively. After only a couple of puffs, she stubbed it out. Jeanie studied her friend.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?’ Vivienne replied tetchily.

Jeanie decided not to push it, but she was worried about her. Vivienne, who was so often and easily scornful of other less than immaculate women now seemed less than concerned about her own appearance. And then there was that smell. What was that smell like sour milk that had greeted Jeanie when she had arrived at the flat that day?

‘Will your parents be home for Christmas?’ Jeanie asked instead.

Vivienne shook her head. ‘They’ve invited me to join them in California for “the holidays” as they now insist on calling it, but I’d rather make the most of my last few months of freedom.’

‘So, they’re coming home for good?’

‘In May. And they’ll want me back straight away so that Mummy can begin parading me around like a prize heifer in search of a worthy and, of course, wealthy bull.’

There was a resignation in Vivienne’s tone that surprised and saddened Jeanie.

‘You don’t have to go back home, surely? Couldn’t you get a job and keep your flat here? After all, you are a qualified secretary thanks to Miss Sharp.’

‘What? And end up like her, a pathetic, wizened old maid who smells of lavender and cat wee?’

Jeanie flinched at the unnecessary cruelty of Vivienne’s words. She hadn’t liked Miss Sharp that much either, but the woman didn’t deserve such vitriol.

‘I don’t think there’s much danger of you ending up a spinster.’