She sighed, and looked at her watch. He had only been out of the house for twenty minutes; surely he must think her capable of looking after herself for that length of time. But then she thought how fortunate she was to have a husband who cared, even if he cared rather too much. Dear Matthew; solicitousness was a good quality, in general, particularly in a world where selfishness was so common.

She felt a bit too queasy to have much breakfast, but forced herself to eat a couple of oatcakes and drink a cup of black coffee. So far she had experienced no cravings of the sort that she knew might come in pregnancy, although when she had been in the supermarket a few days earlier she had found herself looking with sudden and unexpected longing at a tempting punnet of straw berries. As pregnancy cravings went, strawberries were innocuous enough; she had read of people gnawing coal, of all things, or wanting to sprinkle powdered ginger on everything.

After the oatcakes and coffee she walked up India Street and along Heriot Row, to catch a taxi on the corner of Dundas Street. Her destination was the Infirmary, where her scan was due to take place at half past ten that morning. The thought of seeing her baby, whom she now imagined as a tiny flutter of life within her, was strangely exciting. She was not sure whether to look, given that they had decided not to know what sex the baby was, but surely a little glimpse would give nothing away – not at this stage of development.

That would be a very significant moment – the first sight of the child who would dominate her life day in day out for the next how many years – eighteen? What would she say? What could anyone say in such circumstances? She would cry, she suspected – she would cry from sheer joy.

At the hospital, a large complex of buildings on the outskirts of the city, she was directed to a waiting area. A sympathetic nurse took her details and gave her a form to sign, and she was then offered a seat. There were magazines and newspapers; she looked at the front page of a paper, but could not concentrate.

Her consultant appeared and called out her name. She had seen him once already, when she had first learned she was pregnant, and she had taken an immediate liking to him. He was a man in his late fifties, with a quiet, reassuring voice. He had heavy, black-rimmed glasses that seemed to add to the impression he gave of being in complete control of what was happening to her.

A nurse came to her side and watched as the consultant spread the gel on the probe. ‘It might feel a little bit cold,’ the nurse said. ‘But only for a moment.’