‘Thank you,’ I blurt out, wanting him to just say yes or no, to get to the point and stop beating around the bush.

‘But unfortunately, in this instance, we won’t be able to offer you the vacancy in our fundraising department.’

‘What?’ Pressing the phone hard against my ear, I want him to repeat it, sure that I have misheard him.

‘I’m really sorry, Emily. It’s vital that we get the right person.’ Angus is quiet, apologetic.

‘But it’s a voluntary position at first,’ I say, still not quite sure I have heard Angus correctly. If I’m honest, I thought I had it in the bag, and I was looking forward to having some sense of purpose back in my day. ‘I’m offering you my time and my skills for nothing. I would have thought that that would be enough.’

‘Well, of course we appreciate that, but like I said, I had a number of factors to consider. I’m very sorry to disappoint you. We have events throughout the year – you’re more than welcome to come along and support us at these.’

I murmur something – I’m not even sure what I’ve said – into the phone and then hang up, sinking onto the chaise longue under the window sill. I can’t understand what has gone so wrong. Angus and I got along famously when I went to his office. Maybe that was the problem? Maybe I came on too strong? Perhaps I should have called him, rather than just turn up there, but I thought if I called, he might have hung up on me or I might not have even been able to get through to him at all. There must have been something I did wrong – I was offering my time for no pay – so why on earth would he turn that down? I get up from the chaise longue – Caro’s chaise longue – and move towards the bathroom, disappointment bitter on my tongue. There is that old familiar feeling of somehow failing, of somehow not being enough, lurking over my shoulder and I stare into the bathroom mirror, taking in every inch of my face. How would Caro have reacted to this? I think, pulling at the skin around my eyes, dismayed by the way it crinkles slightly under my fingertip, she’d probably have taken to her bed. You’re better than that, I tell myself.

I am already dressed, ready to go out for Miles’s birthday dinner when Rupert arrives home from work that evening. I perch on the chaise, smiling prettily at Rupert as he emerges from the en suite in a cloud of aftershave and scented steam, a small towel round his waist.