She ate some of her sandwich, pondering upon what his relationship with his first wife might have been. Had she perhaps neglected the early symptoms of her illness and Jake been less insistent than he was being with Laura? From what Marianne had learned from Janis and Jeremy, their mother was a bright woman. Whom they had never heard quarrel with their father, Janis had revealed, which could mean she was of that ilk able to manipulate her husband without his realizing it.

Unlike Laura, who shared with Marianne the directness some found unwelcome, a characteristic difficult to restrain. But that wasn’t the only reason Laura was having trouble playing the role in which Jake had cast her.

Marianne recalled the dishevelled teenager who years ago had hitchhiked to London – and presented herself on my doorstep!

As the leopard does not change its spots, nor had the essence of that girl, now a woman, changed. What we are is what we remain, thought Marianne. Only the shell that houses the person is transformable.

‘You look as if you need a bath!’ Ralph had said to Laura that night. ‘When you’ve had one we’ll talk while you have something to eat.’

Or words to that effect, and Laura had done as she was bid without argument. So it had continued. In the Deans’ easy household the free spirit she was had blossomed. But Marianne feared that her love for Jake had caused her to return the genie to the bottle.

What was her row with Jake this morning if not the cork blowing?

Hard though it was to do so, Marianne switched her mind to her work. She had intended watching a TV documentary, but with so much time lost today…

The interruptions, however, were not yet over. The doorbell rang.

But what a welcome visitor this was. ‘A.P. What a lovely surprise!’

‘Got any cornflakes, Gran? I’ve had my meal, but I’m feeling a bit peckish.’

‘Cornflakes don’t get eaten in my home on the Passover,’ she replied with a smile, ‘but you’re welcome to matzo and jam.’

‘Your special ginger jam?’

‘None other. You’re exactly like your dad was at your age,’ Marianne told him en route to the kitchen. ‘Cereal was never just breakfast food to him. No matter how big a dinner he’d eaten, half an hour later I’d find him scoffing a big bowl of what he used to call “the necessary”. When we visited the family up north, though, and there was meat for dinner, he was made to wait the number of hours orthodox Jews are required to before afterwards consuming dairy foods.’

‘How very inconvenient,’ said A.P. ‘Was that why you joined a Reform synagogue, Gran?’