“Okay?” Melissa asks her quietly. “I hoped you’d take the day off today. You look tired, you could do with a rest.”

Lina shakes her head. She adds grated tamarind to the fruit and starts the machine. The noise fills the kitchen, drowning the possibility of speech. When she has finished making the smoothie, she tips it into two glasses and places one next to Izzy and the other at Melissa’s place on the table.

“You drink it, Lina,” Melissa offers. “It will do you good.”

Lina shakes her head, her hand on her stomach. “Sick,” she whispers.

“I’m not surprised. Go to bed then, sweetie. I’ll clear up breakfast.”

Lina nods and walks out of the kitchen.

“I need to go to Eve’s this evening,” Izzy says, sipping her smoothie.

“But it’s Wednesday today.”

“She’s offering Wednesdays now, for homework. She texted you. She’s doing food and stuff. You’re supposed to come, why don’t you for once?”

Melissa feels a pang of guilt. She forgot all about Eve’s text, how stupid. Last night’s events had driven it from her mind. She shakes her head. “I’ve already arranged to go to a client’s house in the countryside. Sorry, sweetheart, I probably won’t be back in time to take you. Maybe you could walk there? I’ll join you later if I can.”

“Grace can take me.”

“Grace is on late shifts. Dad will pop you over if he’s back in time. I’ll ask him.”

Blake and Charley are on the curb outside the flats when they arrive to take them to school; they clamber in. Poppy and Sorrel are picked up from the end of their drive. Poppy and Izzy start whispering together immediately. Melissa smiles; Izzy has made friends now, maybe friends for life. When she has dropped them all off, she phones Paul, who picks up on the fourth ring.

“So you’re back!”

“What makes you say that?” He sounds irritated.

“Well, the ring tone—”

“So you’ve started spying on me now?”

“No, of course not, sorry. How did it go in Paris?”

“Well. It went well.” He sounds impatient.

“When do you start?”

“Start what?”

She’s phoned at the wrong moment; he’s obviously exhausted.

“I’m going to Wiltshire to look at a client’s house.” She doesn’t elaborate; he’s not usually interested in the details of her work. “I’ll be back tonight. Could you take Izzy to Eve’s this evening? She’s running another session on Wednesdays now.”

“Sure.” He sounds more cheerful. He never minds ferrying his daughter about. “How is she?”

“Izzy’s fine but Lina’s poorly. I’ve sent her to bed. Her boyfriend—”

“I’ll head home,” he cuts in. “I need a shower.”

“Can you remember to be quiet? Lina might be sleeping . . .” But he’s gone.

She stacks the car with samples: squares of paper in different colors to hold against the walls, swatches of fabric for the windows, plans for the lighting, the Stanley tape measure. She turns the radio up as she makes her way through Clapham Common, Wandsworth, and around the M25 until she joins the M3 at Junction 12. She picks up speed, turns the radio off, and thinks back to the Tuesday before. She had liked Jean-Claude on sight; he was different from other clients, thoughtful, kind, a little sad.