‘Have you heard of the word koumbara?’ Ariadne’s dark eyes had taken on a new intensity.

‘Koumbara?’ repeated Dora, savouring the syllables slowly. ‘No, I don’t think I have. Is it something you sing with a guitar?’

‘That’s kumbaya, you nitwit,’ corrected Moira.

‘It means godparent,’ Ariadne persisted shyly. ‘Someone who helps and advises you, and keeps you on the proper road in life.’

‘I can see why no one has ever asked me to be one, then,’ joked Dora.

‘But I am asking you now. Dora, will you agree to be my koumbara? Could I come to London and live with you for a little while? Please.’

There was a note of desperation in Ariadne’s voice, as if she could only flourish if she got away from the daily demands, well-meaning though they might be, of a family business where home and work, leisure and constant demand, were inextricably tangled until she felt suffocated by their web.

Dora glanced over at Karl, who had clearly been listening, and raised one eyebrow a millimetre. Karl’s gaze softened as he looked across at her, and he replied with the tiniest of nods.

So it’s got that far, thought Moira, who was a lot more perceptive than people gave her credit for.

‘Of course I will be your koumbara,’ announced Dora, and held Ariadne tightly in her arms. The warmth of the girl’s slight body brought out a streak of protectiveness she had never felt before. Here was someone who trusted Dora with her whole future – and she would do her best to enable it.

Penny, watching from the cafe terrace, wanted to cheer. Dora had never in her whole life experienced the kind of love that meant pain and sacrifice as well as joy and fulfilment. From now on, she would. Nell, so newly restored to contact with her own daughter, rushed forward to congratulate them both.

And Moira, who had lived a life of eccentric independence within the strange institution of a Cambridge college, found she was actually envying Dora. She wouldn’t mind being a koumbara herself. Not that anyone was likely to ask her.

‘Shall I come with you to ask Takis and Cassandra?’ Dora offered, understanding how difficult this might be for Ariadne. The girl smiled gratefully.

‘Before you go,’ Nell interrupted, ‘Ariadne, could you take a photo of us and the statue for me to send to Willow?’ She handed over her phone, and they all posed round the statue and smiled.

‘Let’s see,’ demanded Moira as soon as she’d finished. She grabbed the phone and studied the photo. ‘Actually, we don’t look bad for a bunch of old broads!’ She passed it round to the others.

‘God, my hair,’ protested Dora. ‘It looks like one of Joan Collins’s wigs!’

‘You look gorgeous,’ reassured Nell. ‘And Penny, you look rather stunning, you’re all brown and freckled!’

‘Me?’ asked Penny, startled. ‘Do I really?’