When Hannah and Izzy returned to the kitchen, Meredith was laughing at something Alan had said, Fliss was telling Jason off in teasing tones, while Adrienne and Mairead were busy chatting away while sliding trays of seed-topped bread rolls into the ovens. There was a sense of well-oiled machinery, with everyone doing their part but in a calm, efficient manner with none of the frenetic activity of shouty TV-chef kitchens. Hannah’s eyes, with a life of their own it seemed, homed straight in on Conor who was busy chopping like a fiend, occasionally raising his head to make some point to Jason and Fliss. Her heart constricted at the sight of him and, as if he sensed her presence, he immediately looked up and scowled at her.

‘Fuck,’ he said, bringing his hand to his mouth as a spurt of blood appeared on his thumb.

‘Conor Byrne, I heard that,’ said Adrienne without turning around. ‘That’ll be a euro in the jar.’

Jason grinned.

‘Ouch,’ said Fliss in her usual loud, plummy voice. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine!’ snapped Conor, and stalked to the other side of the kitchen, yanking a red first aid kit out of the cupboard and applying a blue plaster.

Hannah felt a little disturbed by the uncharitable pleasure she received from Conor’s slip of the knife. She wasn’t normally the bloodthirsty type, but she was still fuming with him.

‘Ah, Hannah. Izzy,’ said Adrienne. ‘Has Bridget finished with you?’

They nodded.

‘Izzy would you mind helping Meredith and Alan? Hannah, would you ask Conor what you can do to help?’ Hannah nodded, her heart plummeting to her feet. She tried to keep an unemotional expression on her face as Adrienne gave her a serene smile. Why was it that she had a feeling that Adrienne had paired her up with Conor deliberately?

Walking over to the bench, Hannah steeled herself for another of his scowls.

‘Hi. Adrienne has asked me to ask you if you need any more help.’ The words made it clear she was there under sufferance.

‘You can trim the asparagus,’ he said without looking up from the cabbage he was shredding with clean, even, lethal slices.

‘Yes, chef,’ she snapped, annoyed by his rudeness.

He ignored her and she began slicing off the ends of the poor innocent vegetable with uncharacteristic savagery. Wishing all sorts of ills upon him, she applied herself to the mountainous pile of vegetables. Feeding seventy-five people with six asparagus stalks per person amounted to a lot of chopping. She’d been at it for half an hour when he came over and picked up one of the stalks.