The air was cool as Eliza set off from the hotel, along Haymarket Terrace. The restaurant was lively. As she took her seat at their reserved table, her phone beeped. Sullivan, of course. She played a word. He played one back. The winning one. He won most of their games. A message appeared. Commiserations again, FF! Better luck next time. Moments later, he’d started a new game.

Olivia had asked her if she was finding his constant messaging too much. No, she’d said truthfully.

She checked her watch now. Five to eight. The restaurant door opened, a cold breeze eddying in. It wasn’t Olivia. It was Lawrence. He didn’t see her. She watched as the maître d’ gave him a warm welcome. He was obviously a regular. As they stood talking, she had the chance to study him.

She’d described Alex and Rory to Rose. Alex, with his charm, good looks, styled hair and tailored suits, clearly spent time on his appearance. Rory was the opposite. His clothes never quite seemed to fit. His hair defied gravity. How would she describe Lawrence? The word ‘solemn’ came to mind. He was about her height, with that greying but still dark hair. A solid build. There was something old-fashioned about him, she decided, even though he was only a few years older than Alex and Rory. As if he’d stepped out of a black-and-white film.

He took a seat on the other side of the restaurant. She waited for him to notice her but his attention was on a folder of paperwork. He was interrupted by an older woman. The owner’s wife, Eliza guessed. As she told a story, he laughed. It completely changed his face. He looked quite —

‘Eliza, darling, I’m sorry. The traffic was terrible.’ It was Olivia, taking off her coat, waving across to the head waiter, who clearly knew her. ‘Have you got a drink? Paolo, sparkling water for my goddaughter and a glass of red for me, please.’ She spotted Lawrence. ‘Look who’s here.’ She went across to him. They exchanged a few words, then looked over at Eliza. She raised a hand in greeting.

Olivia returned. ‘He might join us for coffee later. He insisted he’s having a working dinner. If I didn’t benefit so much from his dedication, I’d worry he was a workaholic. Now, let me order for us.’

The waiter was solicitous. The chef himself came out after their starters. Eliza found herself enjoying the attention that came with being in Olivia’s orbit. It had been like this when she was younger too.

As they waited for their main course, Olivia raised her glass. ‘I’m sorry, I neglected the toast. To you, Eliza. For saving our bacon when it came to Celine. I don’t even care if it’s temporary.’

Over their main course, Eliza asked after Edgar.

‘Just the same,’ Olivia said, her tone deceptively cheery.