It was an infinitely comforting room, shabby by some standards, perhaps, with its faded chintz curtains and some threadbare patches on the carpet, which were mostly covered by sagging but comfortable armchairs: it was a room where small children could build dens under the tables and teenagers could sprawl on the floor; where dogs had their own beanbags but sometimes sneaked on to the sofa and piles of books balanced on windowsills – a room that had been lived in and loved by several generations.

A film was running on the television when Louisa poked her nose round the door, but Isobel wasn’t looking at it. She was curled up in one of the big squashy armchairs with Flapper at her feet and Lozenge – indecorously showing a vast expanse of stomach – lying upside down beside her. Rory’s toys were strewn all over the floor in a happy muddle, but tonight Isobel had neither inclination nor energy to tidy them up. She looked quite unlike her usual bright self, but at the sight of Louisa she got up at once, dislodging Lozenge with difficulty, and smiled a welcome.

‘Louisa, how lovely! Come and tell me how you’ve got on and make me laugh. I need cheering up.’ She turned the television off, threw a couple more logs on the fire that was still necessary most evenings, and then poked at them viciously, sending armies of sparks rampaging up the chimney.

‘Oh, Iz! That bloody woman’s really upset you, hasn’t she?’ Louisa perched on the club-fender in front of the fire. She didn’t pretend not to guess what was wrong. ‘Don’t let anything she said get to you. She’s not worth bothering about, nosy old cow.’

‘It wasn’t her fault.’ Isobel ran her hands through her curly dark hair. She was one of those lucky women whose hair looked good no matter how rumpled or wind-blown it might become. She flopped back in her chair and said: ‘I can’t believe I was so stupid as to allow it to turn into an issue like that. If I hadn’t gone and made such a thing about the relationship, nobody would have noticed anything . . . but Bunty Whatsit was so damn persistent I felt cornered. Oh, hell! What a mess. It’s not the first time Rory’s likeness to Giles has been remarked on and we can’t go on ignoring it. I’m sure for anyone who’s seen him it’s the local topic for gossip. We have some dreadfully difficult decisions to take – not just for us but for the rest of the family – and for Rory himself.’ She looked at Louisa through deeply troubled eyes. ‘I suppose you realise that Rory really is Giles’s son?’ she asked.

‘Well, it’s impossible not to see the likeness,’ admitted Louisa reluctantly. ‘He is the absolute spit of Giles. How long have you known?’