‘Jake could have been killed,’ Jennifer interrupted. ‘Any of the children could have been killed, wandering down there in the woods. It’s so dangerous.’

Rowan put down her glass, nodding apologetically. ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘My client mentioned something about the French having a bit of a sketchy attitude to health and safety, but no specifics. I was going to go down there and check it out myself on our first day but everything got away from me with the unpacking and getting things set up.’

‘How is it even allowed? How can they rent it out to people?’

‘It’s private land,’ Rowan said. ‘There are signs up, but they’re not legally obliged to fence it off because it’s not actually rented out to the public. Sorry, guys.’

‘Has anyone ever fallen off?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. My client wasn’t very specific, he just said that there was this spectacular rock face at the bottom end of the property.’

‘I can’t imagine what might have happened if Jake had slipped.’ She put a hand over her mouth. ‘It’s too awful to even think about.’

‘I understand that. We’re all in the same boat here, Jen.’

‘But being a full-time mum, things are different for me – Jake and Ethan are my whole world. Everything is about keeping them safe.’

Rowan leaned forward, elbows on the table.

‘I feel the same way about Odette.’

‘I know you do,’ Jennifer said. ‘But it’s not the same, you’ve got all this stuff going on with your company, all these distractions, and it seems so irresponsible that your client didn’t tell you about the gorge, about the danger and—’

I put a hand over hers.

‘It’s OK, Jen. We’ll keep an eye on all the kids, we’ll look out for each other.’

‘Like we always have done,’ Rowan added forcefully.

Jennifer gave a little nod, but wouldn’t look at any of us.

I drank another mouthful of champagne, swallowing back the bitterness.

‘Hey, I almost forgot,’ Izzy said, breaking the silence. She reached into her handbag. ‘Look what I found. My brother was clearing out her garage. Boxes and boxes of my old stuff that she’s been looking after while I was away and I haven’t looked at in years.’

She produced a slim paperback book, Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, and from within its pages plucked a photograph, a colour print that was creased and bent at the edges.

‘Nineteen years ago.’

Rowan picked it up.

‘Oh my God! My hair. What on earth was I thinking?’

‘I think it was your Jennifer Aniston phase. The graduation ball. Remember?’

She passed it on to Jennifer, who studied the picture in turn. Finally, she allowed herself a small smile.

‘Izzy, you’ve hardly changed a bit. What’s your secret?’

Izzy shrugged.

‘Not having kids?’