Once they were seated, Evie said, ‘You’re a regular here, Mrs Leighton?’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘You seem to know the waiter.’

Mrs Leighton gave a little laugh. ‘I make it my business to behave as though every waiter is my dear friend. That way one gets the best table and the best service.’

‘But you knew his name.’

‘Only because I asked him. Really, darling, don’t you do the same?’

‘To be honest I never eat in restaurants.’

Mrs Leighton made no verbal response, but Evie sensed disdain mixed with amusement. She squirmed inside, her palms clammy. This was going to be an ordeal.

They made their choices from the menu – for Evie, lamb cutlets, for her companion, a salad. No wonder she was so svelte.

Veronica Leighton leaned forward, her gaze fierce. ‘How long have you known Dougie?’

Evie stammered. ‘He’s my mother’s only cousin. So I suppose all my life.’

‘That’s not what I meant. How well do you know him?’

Blood rushed to Evie’s cheeks. ‘Not well at all.’ She hesitated then, unable to dissimulate under the gaze of Mrs Leighton, added, ‘We’ve actually only met once. At his wedding. Years ago.’ About to add that they had danced together, she stopped herself in time.

‘Poor dear Felicity. Dougie was devoted to her. He was utterly devastated when she died. We all were.’

Evie fidgeted with her napkin. ‘I remember she was very beautiful.’

‘As an angel. Graceful,’ she said pointedly. ‘And a wonderful person too. So full of life. Always smiling and laughing. Such fun. Everyone adored Felicity.’

‘How did she die?’

‘You don’t know?’ Mrs Leighton frowned as Evie shook her head. ‘Malaria. Three years ago. Tragic. So terribly, terribly sad.’

The waiter brought their food, but Mrs Leighton barely paused. Her salad lay untouched as she continued to speak. Evie tucked guiltily into her cutlets but pushed the potatoes aside.

‘Of course, none of us expected Dougie to marry again. We’re all utterly mystified.’ Her piercing eyes fixed on Evie and she gave a little shake of her head, which conveyed that the mystery was even greater now that she’d actually met the intended bride. Evie wanted to get up and run out of the room but she made herself sit it out.

Mrs Leighton answered her own question. ’I imagine it’s because he needs a son. The one thing dear Felicity didn’t give him. Just little Jasmine. And he can’t possibly hand his inheritance on to her.’

‘Jasmine? He has a daughter?’ Evie put down her knife and fork, appetite gone.

‘Gracious! You don’t know Dougie at all, do you? Jasmine is seven years old and is living in a convent on the mainland.’

‘The mainland?’

The tutting was barely disguised. ‘Penang is an island. Haven’t you even looked at a map, Miss Fraser?’

Evie, mortified, couldn’t manage another mouthful. Mrs Leighton made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl – one lacking in any sophistication and by implication clearly an unsuitable spouse for Douglas Barrington. Her face must be red and blotchy and she wished she’d had time to stop at the powder room.