‘Ah.’ Verity perked up. ‘That’s the frozen embryo transfer. Or FET, as you start to call them after a while. Everything has an acronym, Miranda. Everything. The FET is relatively straightforward, especially if you’re using a surrogate, because – hopefully – the host is super-healthy and hasn’t got any fertility issues. It’s basically just a matter of ensuring someone is at exactly the right point in their cycle, and then defrosting the embryo and going for it.’

‘So that bit,’ Miranda thought aloud, ‘could happen more or less anywhere?’

‘I suppose so,’ Verity said. ‘It’s definitely the more lo-tech bit of the whole process.’

‘And why Ukraine? Why not – I don’t know – Bangladesh?’

‘Surrogacy breaches sharia law,’ said Verity crisply. ‘Most Islamic rulings have concluded it isn’t acceptable, certainly amongst the Sunnis. The Shiites are slightly more open to it, which is why there is some surrogacy in Iran, but not much.’

The brisk summary reminded Miranda of Verity’s years at the BBC.

‘Do you ever miss journalism?’ Miranda asked without thinking. She saw the regret flicker in Verity’s eyes, the enthusiasm draining away.

‘Every day,’ Verity said tonelessly. Then she rallied: ‘But of course, I love the children more than anything . . .’

‘But why did you—’

‘Quit?’ Verity was fiddling with her coffee cup. ‘I thought that stress must be part of the problem. We’d been trying for years by then, and it just took over everything. Should I eat this? Should we book that holiday? Will we both be in London for the right forty-eight hours this month? Especially with Jonty’s job, travelling too.’

‘So you decided to reduce stress? I thought you’d stopped working to bring them up. I didn’t realise . . .’

‘Yes, we decided I should quit. We? I did. Or did Jonty? I don’t even remember any more. But it meant I could go off to Florida. For weeks, if necessary.’

‘It must have been tedious.’

Verity’s jaw was clenched. ‘Tedious is one word.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know I am lucky,’ Verity’s voice was sharp. ‘And it worked out for us, while some people never get there. But it’s all so bloody unfair, isn’t it? Everything falls on the woman, time and time again. The ridiculous thing is that half the time, they reckon it’s the man’s problem anyway. Jonty’s life is . . . Well, it’s barely changed, has it? Apart from a couple of delightful children, whereas mine . . .’

‘And then quitting didn’t help anyway? Before you went for IVF?’

‘No. Although who knows? That’s the problem with this whole “miracle of life” business,’ Verity made quote marks with her fingers. ‘No one really knows anything.’

‘But you got there in the end.’

‘Just about.’