‘You dealt with her after the drama with Ed,’ she insisted. ‘You had all the unpleasantness of banishing her from Glendrochatt. I feel I need to deal with her this time. If you come too, she’ll think it’s only you that wants Rory to be part of our family, but if I go alone she’ll know it’s my decision too. That’s important.’ Giles had reluctantly agreed, but only on the understanding that if Lorna became impossible, Isobel would ring him and he’d fly down to join her.

Earlier that day, after she’d seen everyone off on their various expeditions, Isobel had gone into the drawing room, where she was least likely to be disturbed, intending to keep on ringing Lorna until she eventually got hold of her. She had been disconcerted, on being put through to the Congletons’ suite at the Ritz, when Brooke Congleton, to whom she had never previously spoken, answered the telephone himself. Lorna, he informed her was out. She had gone to her hairdresser before going to a lecture on the great plantation homes of Virginia, followed by a ladies’ luncheon, given by the American ambassador’s wife in aid of charity – which it was naturally, he said, very important that Lorna should attend and be seen to attend. Very important.

‘But I will tell her you called,’ he said graciously. ‘She’ll be sorry to have missed you. I know that will be a matter of regret for her.’

‘So when can I speak to her?’ Isobel remembered Sheena’s description of Senator Congleton and envisaged him smoothing his silver hair with his free hand. ‘I keep trying to get hold of her, but she hasn’t rung me back. I want to know how Rory is.’

‘Ah . . .’ said the senator. ‘Yes indeed. The little boy.’

‘So?’ asked Isobel. ‘How is he?’

‘Well, I’m glad of this opportunity to thank you personally for coming to our rescue over the child,’ said the senator. ‘It was, and indeed still is, greatly appreciated, but I guess – indeed I am perfectly certain – that Lorna will already have thanked you most warmly for your sisterly generosity in that direction, and let me just say this to you, Isobel . . .’ He paused. ‘May I call you Isobel?’ he asked.

‘Yes, of course . . . please do,’ said Isobel, wondering how long and repetitive Brooke Congleton’s political speeches might be if he could make such heavy weather of an ordinary telephone call. She waited, but the senator appeared to have lost his thread and didn’t seem to know what it was that he wanted to say. ‘So how is Rory?’ she asked, trying not to sound impatient. ‘Has he settled in? Is he all right?’