‘Are you all right?’ asked Evan.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’ve been very quiet, but then with my family it’s hard to get a word in edgeways.’

Lunch was over and I was preparing to leave. He apologised for landing me with them all but said their visit had been a spur-of-the-moment thing.

‘I hope Gina didn’t bend your ear,’ he said. ‘She can be quite forthright.’

We were alone on the doorstep. I said it had all been lovely and thanked him. He gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared back indoors.

I didn’t hear from Evan for two weeks. Then he sent a text, asking for my address. He said he’d mowed his lawn and would deliver the lawnmower to my house. Five minutes later my phone pinged again. Or would I like to collect the lawnmower and he could cook me a Sunday supper? If so, there was time to dash to Waitrose and if they had any clams left he could rustle up a spaghetti alle vongole, his speciality.

The invitation raised my spirits. It had been a wretched fortnight. Outside, Britain was enjoying an August heat-wave but I spent most of the time in bed. When I did get up, my leaden legs could hardly take me downstairs. I’m in mourning for my life. My situation could suddenly hit me, winding me as if I’d been slugged with a sandbag. The anti-depressants were no longer working, but I didn’t have the energy to get dressed and go to the doctor.

I’ve told you enough about this, haven’t I? But during that period it was particularly bad. Traumatised people start to smell and I was in no state for a dinner à deux. In fact I’d hardly thought of Evan at all. But his text shook me to my senses and I managed to bathe myself and actually wash my hair. As I dried it I noticed the grey roots were only too visible. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ Azra had said, but she was a liar, wasn’t she?

I drove to Hendon and Evan welcomed me in. He wore an apron patterned with pansies that no doubt had belonged to the dead wife.

‘Come in, come in, how nice to see you.’ He steered me into the living room, his hand resting on the small of my back. It felt firm and authoritative. I knew then that we would go to bed together.

And he made us Dry Martinis, another promising sign. I felt a surge of hope. And of fear. Under my summer dress I was suddenly conscious of my ageing body. How would it cope with an unknown man? More to the point, how would he cope with it?

Soon, however, the alcohol started to work its magic. My head swam and I felt my inhibitions loosening. To keep off the subject of Susan I found myself jabbering away about my own family.

‘Max is a dear person, very sweet—he lives in Pasadena—but he’s always found it hard to make friends, let alone find a girlfriend. He stares at a screen all week and then goes on marathon bike rides into the desert. Lycra, gussets, the full Monty, he’s frightfully fit. And very gentle—he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ I drained my Martini. ‘When they were small, Lucy used to beat him up. She’s pretty fit as well, canoeing through rapids and whatnot, but she’s a lot more intense. She’s already broken up twice with her new girlfriend.’