Lorna hesitated for a long moment, and Isobel wondered if she was going to change her mind. Then: ‘Yes,’ said Lorna. ‘Even if it means that.’ She suddenly leaned across the table and almost hissed at Isobel. ‘But Brooke mustn’t know who Rory’s father is,’ she said. ‘None of this “father having custody” business . . . it’s you as my sister who must have custody, however the lawyers arrange it. After all, there are plenty of precedents in past generations of aunts and uncles taking on a brother or sister’s child for whatever reason. You must never tell Brooke about Giles. Let him go on believing John’s his father and once Rory isn’t under his feet all the time, upsetting me and causing trouble, he’ll lose interest in the subject, I assure you. He has more important things to think about! But you must take Rory back with you tomorrow. I can’t cope with him any more and we fly back to the States next week. I wish you joy of his tantrums.’

‘I’ll come and pick him up tomorrow morning,’ said Isobel. ‘We can sort the legal stuff out later. What you decide to tell your husband is your affair. I certainly won’t volunteer any information to him and I don’t see him wanting to be in touch with us – interest in child welfare doesn’t seem to be his forte,’ she said ironically. She added quietly: ‘But I’m not lying for you either, Lorna, and one day – perhaps a long time in the future – Rory will be entitled to the truth.’

Lorna eyed her sister for a long moment, weighing her words and her resolution; making her choice. Then she got her mobile out of her bag and spoke briefly into it. Almost immediately the car in which she’d arrived drew up outside the restaurant and Lorna was gone – leaving Isobel with a victory and an aching sense of sadness.

When Isobel arrived at the Ritz the next morning she was directed to the Congletons’ suite. She wondered if the senator would be there, and was half-relieved, half-disappointed to find only Lorna, a uniformed nanny – and Rory, with his legs stuck straight out in front of him, looking very small on a very large sofa. He also looked unnaturally tidy with slicked down hair, pulled up socks and neatly tied shoelaces. When he saw Isobel he hurled himself across the room like a rocket, nearly knocking her over with the force of his onslaught.

‘Aunt Iz! Aunt Iz! I knew you’d come! I knew it!’ he cried, clutching her round the waist and burrowing into her as though he wanted to climb inside.

Over the top of his dark head, the sisters’ eyes met. Isobel’s were filled with tears but Lorna’s looked as expressionless as marbles.