Louisa was meeting some old friends for afternoon tea and had invited her along, but she’d refused. She was looking forward to staying home and spending a quiet hour on her own. She might even read a humorous romance novel she’d bought today.

When the phone rang, she sighed but went to pick it up.

‘Mrs Griffen?’ The caller didn’t wait for an answer, just asked, ‘I wonder – is Ben there?’

It was a woman’s voice, husky and sounding rather sexy. The familiar way she drawled his name set Megan’s hackles rising for no obvious reason.

‘This is Mrs Griffen’s flat, but I’m not Mrs Griffen,’ she said, keeping her voice expressionless.

‘Oh, I suppose you’re the domestic.’

The scornful way the woman said that made Megan feel angry. On a sudden impulse, she said, ‘Yes, madam.’

‘Look, is your mistress there?’

‘No, madam.’

‘Well, when do you expect her?’

‘I couldn’t say, madam.’ She heard the caller breathe deeply and mutter something that sounded like ‘stupid idiot’ and that made her feel even angrier.

‘Look,’ the impatient voice went on, ‘perhaps you can help me instead. I saw Ben, Mrs Griffen’s nephew – Ben Saunders, that is – in Oxford Street. His flat’s been sold and his office closed down. I’m a close friend and I’m in London unexpectedly for a few days, so I wanted to get in touch with him. Surely his aunt knows where he is? Or perhaps he’s staying with her? At the very least, you should be able to find me his phone number!’

‘I don’t think I can help you, madam.’ Megan scowled at the phone. Who did this arrogant female think she was talking to in that patronising tone of voice?

Speaking even more slowly and loudly, as if to an idiot, the caller said, ‘I’ve just explained that I’m a close friend of his. My name’s Cynthia Berevic. You can at least tell me whether he’s staying there!’

‘I’ll refer your query to Mrs Griffen. Do you wish to leave your number?’ Megan jotted it down quickly. ‘Is that all, madam?’

‘No, it’s not. I’ll be telling Louisa how uncooperative you’ve been! You’ll be lucky to keep your job!’

Megan grinned at the phone. ‘Oh, I’m leaving at the end of the week, madam, so it’s hardly worth your while complaining.’

The phone was slammed down at the other end.

Megan stared at it, her amusement fading. Who was Cynthia Berevic? She didn’t like the idea of other women in Ben’s life – and the way this one had spoken to her annoyed the hell out of her.

Two hours later Louisa came in, carrying a bunch of flowers and looking relaxed and happy.

‘You had a caller,’ Megan said, when they were settled in the sitting room chatting.

‘Who?’

‘Someone called Cynthia Berevic.’