Gaz had failed the auditions for the latest season of Ready, Set, Bake, and while he was devastated, he was not daunted. When I opened the front door, he and Cilla were red-faced and holding a board between them on which sat a birthday cake befitting a wedding.

“He’s bent on getting on this bloody show,” Cilla grumbled.

“Five…different…tiers,” Gaz panted as they shuffled carefully into the living room and slowly, painstakingly, slid it onto the coffee table. He breathed out hard as Cilla grabbed her back.

“I am now off the clock, Garamond,” she declared.

Gaz nodded, frowning intently at his creation. “Hello, Lacey, you look marvelous, happy birthday, does this cake seem uneven to you?”

“If you could give us ten minutes before you start yammering on about your cakes, that would be ideal,” Cilla said, hugging Lacey herself.

“I said she looked marvelous, which she does,” Gaz protested.

Lady Bollocks swept into the room. Gemma Sands was close behind her looking unusually chic for an adult who was dressed like a schoolgirl.

“You left the door wide open, Rebecca. You cannot run this place like a barn,” Bea said, dropping her handbag on the sofa. She eyeballed the cake with skepticism. “Did someone get married without telling me?”

“Hello to you, too,” I said.

“You’re too tan, Lacey,” Bea added. “Hasn’t anyone taught you about sun damage?”

“Yes, but she’s been working her bum off. Best impulse hire I’ve ever made,” said Gemma. “You should hear Olly talk about her. I’d assume he was in love, if he weren’t gay as a balloon.”

Cilla, who had grabbed a Tatler with Nick’s friend Annabelle Farthing on the cover—the headline: THIRTY TASTIEST TOFFS UNDER 30—dropped it back on the table and crossed her arms with interest.

Lacey fumbled the bottle of gin she was opening. “He’s what? He never…I don’t think—”

“Gotcha,” Gemma said, grinning. “I knew something was going on there. Happy birthday, you two. Ooooh, is that Annabelle’s Tatler? I remember when she and Nick got caught trying to take a bath together. It was very scandalous for the primary school set. Where is he, anyway?”

“Napping,” I said. “He’ll wander down eventually.”

Bea made one of her usual noises of disapproval, then took off her winter-white wool coat and held it out into the air expectantly. “I waited an absolute eternity in the foyer for my hostess to fetch this,” she said.

“It was at most two minutes, darling,” Gemma said.

“Two, ten, thirty, it’s all the same in the art of etiquette,” Bea said. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Rebecca, if you insist on not having a live-in staff, then you’re meant to be collecting people’s coats and hats at the door.”