He recalled saying to her on their first date that he wanted to show her New York through the eyes of a New Yorker. Since then he had found himself seeing through her eyes much that he had not really looked at before. She took nothing at its face value. And they shared a lot of laughs, though Simon wouldn’t have called himself, before he met her, the kind who saw the funny side.

He had reserved a suite for them in Bermuda at the Elbow Beach Hotel, a setting that would charm Marianne. But Bermuda was now out. At the bottom of his bag was the lightweight clothing he wouldn’t require. Such was his inertia after Marianne called, he had not bothered repacking. And what in the hell was he to do with eleven packs of Lyon’s Red Label tea?

The shortbread intended for her cousins was in her own bag. There was no reason, though, for them not to get the tea.

Though Simon had neither their telephone number nor their address, the switchboard operator was patient and helpful. At these prices she should be!

A woman whose voice implied she was the gentle sort, its north of England accent reminiscent of Marianne’s and Laura’s, answered.

‘Is this Mrs Diane Sanderton?’

‘Who’s speaking?’

‘My name is Newman—’

‘Marianne’s friend! Please excuse me for sounding wary—’

‘No need to tell me why. When I lived here I also had my share of crank calls. I have something for you from Marianne.’

‘She always was a thoughtful person. We were thrilled to hear she was coming. And needless to say upset when she phoned today to tell us why she had to cancel her trip. Ronald will be home from the clinic soon and we’re in this evening, if you’d care to visit us—’

‘This evening I have to eat dinner with my agent, jet-lagged though I am. I’m here on business. If Marianne had come along you’d have seen a lot of her this week. All she had scheduled was a lunch with someone from her US publishers.’

‘It’s time Marianne had a real break. She works too hard,’ Diane declared.

And that isn’t all, thought Simon. ‘I’m not yet sure what my own schedule will be,’ he said. ‘If I don’t manage to drop by your home, I’ll get the tea to you somehow. It would be useful to have the clinic phone number, in case when I call again you’re not at home—’

For the next few days Simon’s time was fully occupied, the ageing rock star whose autobiography he was commissioned to ghost write expecting the attention that went with fame and wealth.