She was just finishing a slice of leek tart when the red-jacketed maître d’ appeared at their table. He bent and said a few words to Gaby and indicated she should follow him. Clare watched as she threaded her way through the tables, all eyes on her. The maître d’ opened the door to the reception area and Gaby passed through. As the door began to close slowly, Clare craned her neck and saw Gaby take up the receiver of a telephone on the reception desk. Then the door was opened again for a waiter bearing a tray of plates. Clare leaned over in time to see Gaby’s free hand go to her mouth. She was looking round wildly and the maître d’ who had been standing a little way off approached her once more. Minutes later he was back in the room, heading for their table. Luke rose to greet him and, after a few words, he turned back to retrieve Gaby’s clutch bag and cream stole. He glanced at them, muttered something that sounded like apologies and then he too followed the maître d’ out of the room. The door was wedged open now as a procession of waiting staff went to and fro with their trays. Clare saw Luke approach the reception desk and take a clearly distressed Gaby in his arms. She made to rise from her seat but the DCI put a warning hand on her knee.

‘Leave them to it,’ he said, his voice low. ‘You’re not on duty today.’

Clare relaxed back into her chair again, feeling a little as if she’d missed a chance to duck out of the reception. The starter plates were being cleared now and there were four more courses to go. And then the speeches. The day was growing longer by the minute.

‘On behalf of my wife and myself…’

Tom paused for a minute to let the applause and cheers die down then he continued. ‘Seriously, folks, Gillian and I are thrilled so many of you could be with us for our special day.’