Before she could argue, she heard her husband’s car outside, tyres crunching on the loose stone. She turned to the window over the sink and saw his BMW pull up alongside his father’s Range Rover. Sara’s first thought was of the floor in the hall, was it clean enough? Damien was particular about such things. She watched through the open kitchen door as he entered, examining the floor as he wiped his feet on the mat. He appeared to be satisfied, and she felt a quiet relief.

As he came into the kitchen, Damien noted the tea in front of his father. “Any for me?” he asked.

“I got it myself,” Francie said.

“You made him get his own tea?” Damien asked, his eyes hard on Sara.

“Well, she was busy,” Francie said.

The need to know about the woman defeated the need to defend herself, and the fear of doing so.

“You told me to clean the floor,” she said, her fingers twining together. She forced them apart. “Why did that woman come here? What did she want?”

“You could’ve stopped to make him a cup of tea,” Damien said, ignoring her question.

“Why was she here?”

He became still, his gaze fixed on her. Francie kept his attention on his tea.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Damien said. He spoke to his father. “You wanted to look at the extension?

“Aye,” Francie said, easing himself off the stool. “Come on, we’ll do it now.”

Damien followed his father into the back hall, out into the shell of the new wing that had been added to the house, the structure eventually turning it from a three- to a six-bedroom dwelling, along with two more receptions. When the plans were being drawn up, Sara had asked about a space for herself, perhaps a room with good light where she could paint, a passion she had allowed to drift away since before they married. We’ll see, Damien had said.

She went to the island, lifted the mug Francie had left there, and brought it to the sink. As the tea swirled around the plughole, the idea flashed in her mind to smash the mug into the enamel. How satisfying it would be to hear it shatter, to watch the fragments fly. Then she imagined having to explain it to her husband, and the idea drained away like the drink she had just poured out.

Damien and Francie would be a while, she knew, examining the work on the extension, taking stock of what had been done and what needed doing. Time to have a shower, get dressed. She climbed the stairs to the small bedroom she and her husband shared. Once the extension was completed, they would move into a new room with an en suite and a walk-in wardrobe. For now, they made do.