‘Anezka,’ he said, holding out his good hand and beckoning her closer. ‘I won’t get up,’ he joked.

Romy went to the kitchen to make tea and lay out the pink and green macarons from the fancy box. She could not hear anything from the other room at first because of the noise of the kettle. But once she’d poured the hot water onto the tea and left it to brew, she found herself guiltily creeping to the door, ear cocked. Anezka’s voice, however – normally so strident – was quiet today and Romy could catch only a low murmur.

When she went through with the tea tray, the two were sitting in silence. Anezka had pulled up the leather pouffe Michael had brought back from a Moroccan trip decades ago and had taken his weaker hand in hers. But Romy caught the expression on her husband’s face. He looked as if he were holding on to himself very tightly.

Anezka turned as Romy approached and she saw the tears in the woman’s eyes. ‘I should go,’ she said, and jumped up from the pouffe, before Romy had even put the tray down.

Michael didn’t move a muscle.

‘Oh … I’ve made tea,’ Romy said.

But Anezka pushed past her with a muttered ‘Sorry, sorry …’

Romy hurried after her. Anezka was in the hall, searching in her bag for something. She stopped when she saw Romy.

‘Are you OK?’ Romy asked.

Anezka let out a long sigh and pressed the tissue she’d retrieved from her bag to her eyes. ‘I love Michael so much.’ She stopped and blinked at Romy. ‘But I think he has what he always wanted now.’

Puzzled, Romy asked, ‘What do you mean?’

Anezka said nothing, just stepped forward and gave Romy a brief hug, then turned and was gone, the door slamming behind her.

‘It must have been the sweatpants,’ Michael said grimly, when she went back into the sitting room.

Romy handed him his tea.

‘The worst bit was seeing the pity on her face … remembering the man I was, the man she fell for …’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, unable to deny the truth of what he said.

‘Yes, well …’ He shrugged and was silent for a moment. Then he seemed to pull himself together and gave her a charming smile. ‘So, I’m footloose and fancy free again. Any takers?’

Romy forced a smile. She felt suddenly panicky and rose quickly to her feet, her tea still on the table, untouched. As she reached the door she heard Michael’s voice behind her.

‘I behaved like an arse yesterday, about Fincham,’ he said, biting his lip. ‘I’m sorry.’

Romy turned to see him staring at her intently, his right hand anxiously kneading his left in his lap.

‘None of my business, what you get up to,’ he went on. ‘It was wrong of me to blurt it out to Leo like that.’