In the bungalow, she called out to her mum. “Hiya. Are you ready for lunch?”

“I’m starving, love,” Carol said as she appeared in the hallway. She picked up a box off the hallway table and put it in her handbag. “I could eat a moldy muffin.”

Liv laughed. “Me, too.”

Liv would never usually eat somewhere like Sorrento’s. She’d become aware of every bobble on her sweater, or shiny ironing mark on her skirt, and the prices would give her palpitations. She felt a bit guilty spending money on herself, but her mum deserved a treat.

Topiary peacocks guarded the tall smoked glass doors, and there was a menu on a lectern outside. Carol eyed the alabaster Roman statues flanking the entrance. “This place looks very posh, love. Do you think they’ll let us in?”

Liv was glad she was suitably attired in a dress and blazer rather than her jeans. Carol wore a pretty turquoise dress with a necklace of oversize white beads.

Liv assured her mum, but when they stepped inside a bow-tied waiter swept past without giving them a second glance. She squirmed when she saw a waistcoated waiter placing a linen napkin on a customer’s lap. About to suggest they try somewhere else, a waitress with a high ponytail headed toward them.

“Signoras, I’m afraid we’re fully booked,” she said.

Liv felt a vein pulse in her neck. She didn’t like how the woman looked at her mum, and she took hold of the striped tie in her pocket. “I have a reservation for two people.” She fixed the waitress with a stare. “Under the name of Essie Starling.”

The waitress twitched her lips. She checked a computer screen and picked up two menus. “Certamente, please follow me.” She seated them on a window table with a view of the whole restaurant.

Carol waited until she moved away. She leaned in toward Liv. “Why did you use Essie’s name?” she whispered.

“Strangely, when I used my own there were no tables available.”

“Won’t she mind?”

Liv batted a hand. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

They were presented with menus so stupidly large they had to peer around them, like theater actors checking out the size of an audience before going onstage.

“Have you seen the prices, love?” Carol hissed. “It’s twelve pounds for a bowl of minestrone. Do they sprinkle parmesan in it, or diamond dust?”

“Shhh,” Liv laughed, worried the waitress might hear. She’d already noticed a bowl of spaghetti bolognese cost more than she usually spent on a blouse. “Don’t worry, I’m paying. Order whatever you want.”