And Grace was getting restless. She’d soon be thirty-seven. She still harboured a desire to develop bigger projects, maybe even turn her hand to writing a film script. She’d mentioned that one evening while they were watching TV, and Lawrence had been enthusiastic and immediately pulled out pad and pencil. They’d sat on the sofa tossing around ideas. Then laughingly, gently but pointedly, he had pooh-poohed her concepts and come up with his own, which he thought were far better. He was clever and had a quick mind, if an acid wit, so she screwed up her list of ideas and good-naturedly threw it at him. He then suggested she have another baby instead and flung himself on her on the sofa.

He was ten years older than her. Grace decided there was time for her to have another child, if they wanted to, but did Lawrence have the time, or the inclination, to share the childrearing? If she was honest, he did very little of it as it was. He worked long hours, often travelling, and even when he was at home, he’d spend most of his time in his study, writing proposals and making endless phone calls. His work fluctuated in intensity and it was rather obscure, so she had difficulty explaining to those who asked just what an investment consultant did.

Grace knew it involved a lot of deal making, mergers and acquisitions, finding or creating opportunities and raising the finance for companies to develop projects, which included mines in Queensland and soya beans in India. He often mentioned shares and stock and bonds, and now he was developing business opportunities for conservative companies that were unsure how to develop an online presence. She could rattle all this off to her family and friends, but she didn’t have much in-depth understanding of what any of it actually involved. And she could only recall meeting a couple of his business associates, and that was just briefly.

When she thought about it now, after their terrible loss, she had no idea how much money they actually had in the bank. Any time she discussed money, Lawrence would plunge into a complicated discussion of assets, funds and investments that made her head spin. Her own earnings went into her personal account, which she used for herself and Daisy, for food shopping and the general running of the household.

He was generous, splurging on gifts and celebrations for birthdays, Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day. Then he would ask Grace, ‘So did you tell your friends what I gave you?’ Once, on the morning after her birthday, he’d said, ‘I bet your girlfriends wish their husbands were as thoughtful and generous as me.’

Grace had nodded with a smile, but inwardly she’d cringed. She knew her girlfriends didn’t care. They would laugh about their ‘slack’ husbands, whom they adored. ‘He’ll make it up in other ways,’ they sometimes giggled.

Mentally Grace slapped herself on the wrist. What was wrong with her? How dare you complain, an inner voice nagged at her. Don’t be so ungrateful.