Molly looked at her with startled eyes, unsure whether she was shocked or slightly envious. Was fidelity an outdated notion? She picked up her G and T and frowned as a horrible thought crossed her mind. Amelia had come back to London about six months ago; around the same time she’d noticed a change in Jack. There isn’t someone else, is there? Amelia’s words echoed in her head. Had she been a fool? Was her friend dropping a not very subtle hint? Was Molly the classic last to know?

Amelia was swirling ice cubes around in her glass, looking relaxed. There was no point in asking her, she’d deny it. Anyway, it would mean nothing to her, just another in her long list of conquests. If she had a bedpost, it would be riddled with notches.

But Jack was a different type. Molly knew him so well, if he were indeed cheating on her, the guilt would take its toll. Maybe she’d have been better staying in London and having it out with him. She shut her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. Have it out with him? What would she say – are you having an affair? And if he said no – would she believe him? And if he said yes – what then?

‘Right,’ Amelia said, draining her glass. ‘I’m off for my facial.’ She stood and looked down at Molly. ‘See you for pre-dinner drinks? Around seven thirty?’

‘Sounds good,’ she said, conjuring up a smile, even as she wondered if she could think of a reason to leave, to head home to London and… what? She watched as Amelia sauntered across the lounge; she was a very striking-looking woman. The young waiter wasn’t the only man whose eyes followed her.

Molly sipped her G and T and checked her phone, pleased to see messages from both Remi and Freya. She read them with a smile. They were such good kids. An exciting future lay ahead for both, a world of promise waiting to be explored. A dart of what she recognised as glossy-green envy startled her. She remembered being there, it seemed only a blink ago. Where had those years of promise gone? When had she become a dull middle-aged woman with a worried, increasingly distant husband? Increasingly distant. She shook the self-pity away. They had two gorgeous children. Who’d flown the nest, and would probably never live at home again, might never even live in the UK again.

And she would be proud of any and every choice they made. She would be proud. It was part of being a parent, wasn’t it? You reared them, gave them all you could, and you let them go. A heavy sigh escaped her at the thought.