However, she did agree Julian was right. Rory, fourteen in a couple of months, should be adult enough to cope.

This weekend, when Rory came home, she was going to broach the fact that her ‘friend’ was going to be joining them on the holiday.

Angelina heard the back door click and stood up. Julian was on time for once. She drained her wine glass and stood up, checking her appearance for a final time in the over-mantle mirror.

She heard footsteps across the flagstone floor in the hall coming in her direction. The door opened.

‘Darling, I . . .’ Angelina’s hand shot to her mouth when she saw who had just walked into her drawing room, leaving a trail of muddy footsteps across the duck-egg-blue carpet.

‘Hello, Angie. I’ve come to see you about Rory.’

She was backing away as he approached her, but found herself wedged against the bookcase.

‘Stop looking so terrified. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want us to have a chat about Rory. The bloody school won’t let me see him and I’m worried sick.’

He was close enough for Angelina to smell the stench on his breath.

‘Oh David, I thought you were on the wagon. You’ve been drinking.’

‘Not enough to get me sloshed, unfortunately.’ He moved away from her. ‘Look, please stop treating me like an axeman. I’m not going to harm a hair on your head. Even though we’re divorced, we do still have a child together. And he’s in trouble of some kind.’

Angelina crept slowly towards the sofa and sat gingerly on the edge. David looked terrible. He’d obviously not shaved or washed for days and his hair, which had grown much longer in the past few months, hung greasily around his face.

‘David, you know, you really can’t just barge in here any more. It’s not your house,’ she began. ‘Next time, please call me and then we can arrange to meet somewhere.’

‘Angie, don’t try that one. You rarely, if ever, return my calls and you certainly wouldn’t be seen dead with me in a public place. What else was I expected to do? Let our child continue to suffer because his mother refuses to give me the time of day?’

She stayed silent.

‘You haven’t got a drink, have you?’ he asked.

‘David . . . I . . .’

He’d already left the room and came back with the bottle of wine Angelina had paid a small fortune for to accompany supper this evening. He took the cork out and sloshed the wine into a glass.

‘I had to have a drink to work up the courage to get me here in the first place.’ He lifted the glass to his lips and took a large gulp. ‘Very nice too. You expecting company? I see the table’s set for dinner à deux. Got a boyfriend, have you?’

‘No . . . I, yes . . . Look, it’s none of your business. Just say what you want to say, then leave.’ Angelina glanced nervously at her watch.