She had taken from her press a dark cinnamon skirt and long jacket that she had bought in New York and hung them on the back of her door to give them an airing, also in the hope that the creases would disappear without her having to iron them.

I have so many hideous lumps and bumps, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror after her bath, all nowadays in the wrong places, all strange colours, all pretty bloody unattractive. But what does it matter? This is not a date you’re going on. It’s just dinner with a passing acquaintance. A very passing acquaintance, in fact almost past.

She put a lot of eye make-up on and painted her mouth dark red. ‘OK, Queen of the Vampires.’ She grinned at herself in the glass, damped the large gold watch round her wrist and went to look for Lar.

He had been at the ironing board, she thought. His shirt was neat, the cuffs just showing beneath the sleeves of a brown tweed jacket, a sober tie knotted in a tight old-fashioned knot just under the jut of his Adam’s apple. Not cool, but polished and smelling faintly of aftershave. She wondered if he had gone out during the afternoon and bought that.

He was sitting watching the news and Pansy sat beside him, her head on his knee, watching his face with care as if she needed to read his thoughts.

‘Da-daaa!’

Clara posed by the door, one hand on the frame, the other on her hip.

He jumped to his feet. He looked startled by her appearance, as if, she thought, he had already moved out of her life and was expecting to see some totally different person.

‘Oh, hello,’ he stammered. ‘Great, you look great.’ He plunged a hand into a pocket and rattled some coins. He cleared his throat, laughed suddenly. ‘You certainly don’t look postoperative.’

She was pleased that he felt like making a joke and laughed too. ‘How about a glass of wine before we go? Where are we going anyway?’

‘I bought a bottle of champagne – it’s in the fridge. Will I open that? I’ve ordered a taxi.’

‘My word, we are pushing out the boat.’ She regretted having said that and put out her hand towards him. ‘I’m sorry. I’d love some champagne. It is the most medicinal of all drinks, and no matter how you say I look, I am still in need of medication.’

He reached out and touched her hand briefly. He went into the kitchen and she listened to him opening and closing doors. I don’t really like this man, she thought, and yet here I am all dollied up and prepared to spend an evening in flirtatious conversation with him – or that’s the way things seem to be moving. Pop the champagne cork and flirtation seems to be in the air.

Effervescence.