Their mother wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge, nor was Willow for that matter, but Martha thought it very likely that in this instance Mum might still be annoyed with her for cross-examining Ellis the way she had. But to Martha it had been perfectly reasonable to ask the questions she had; she just knew it was what her father would want her to do. With a sad smile of remembrance, she thought of him interrogating every boyfriend she’d ever brought home. Not that there were that many. Tom had won her father’s immediate approval though and had bonded over a beer and game of rugby on the telly.

Through the kitchen window and in the evening sun, Martha watched Tom out in the garden as he rode the sit-on mower he’d treated himself to this spring. It was his favourite new toy and she’d joked with him that one of these days he might just let her have a go on it. Not that she was that keen to mow the lawn, she was more than happy for him to do that job. Her task this evening was to cook supper. It was something easy – steaks with jacket potatoes and a watercress salad.

She wished her day had been as easy. With Jason away dealing with an existing client, she’d given her pitch to Topolino and had been painfully aware that it had lacked pizazz. She’d rolled out the usual spiel that a brand is a promise to a customer that their product and service was of the highest quality, before moving onto the nub of the matter, which was essentially an act of reparation in the form of a one-way-door offer. For an indefinite period of time, Topolino would pledge themselves to a scheme whereby for every babygrow they sold here one would be given to a child living in poverty in Bangladesh.

Judging by their restrained response – a restraint that was practically suffocating – she sensed she had blown it and when the meeting was over, she had disappeared to her office, shut her door and kicked her desk. Channelling Jason, she had kicked it three times for good measure.

With everything for supper now prepared, the potatoes pricked and in the oven, she tried ringing Willow again. The phone rang and rang and just as Martha was about to give up, she heard a voice that most definitely wasn’t Willow’s. Assuming she had somehow rung the wrong number, she was all set to end the call when the voice in her ear said, ‘Is that Martha?’

‘Yes,’ she replied cautiously. ‘Who’s that?’

‘It’s Rick.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘is Willow there?’

‘No,’ he replied.

Martha waited for him to expand on that, but when he didn’t, she asked if he knew where her sister was and when she would be able to speak to her.

‘She’s working,’ he said.

Not liking the abruptness to Rick’s voice, and guessing he was still cross with her for excluding him from what she’d considered family business, she tried to placate him by keeping her voice light. ‘I suppose Willow dashed out and forgot to take her mobile, then?’