‘I don’t know why you put yourself through this,’ her mother sighed, sitting back in her chair with a disappointed expression.

‘Through what?’

‘All this stress.’

‘I’m not stressed.’

‘Of course you are – all these meetings, all the travel, all this rushing about.’ Her mother’s hand twirled through the air in despairing flourishes. ‘No wonder you always look so strained.’

‘I don’t look strained,’ she protested, but her hand had risen protectively to her cheek as though looking for physical proof. She looked over to Stephen for support.

‘To be honest, you haven’t been taking care of yourself recently,’ he shrugged. ‘You’ve lost weight—’

‘Every bride loses weight.’

‘Plus you’re distracted and always late for everything.’

‘Yes. Because I’m busy.’

‘Busy doing things you don’t need to be doing,’ her mother interjected with a tone of finality, as though that settled it. ‘I realize you like the idea of having a job but surely the novelty’s worn off now? Frankly, darling, you’re spreading yourself too thin. Stephen was just telling me before you walked in, about how he could do with you supporting him by being more at home.’

Charlotte shot him a furious look. Had he? He had the good sense to look away and get busy with prepping dinner again. ‘I simply said life would be easier if you weren’t working too,’ he said quickly.

‘What would you prefer I do? Shop? Lunch? Play tennis?’

‘And what is wrong with that?’ her mother asked sniffily. ‘Must you always display such disdain for the way you’ve been raised? Honestly, Charlotte, sometimes I think you’re a closet socialist.’

Charlotte stared at her mother before looking back at her fiancé again; it was hard to keep up with which one of them she was actually arguing with. Seemingly both. ‘That’s offensive.’

‘Absolutely it is!’ her mother agreed, completely missing the point.

Charlotte sighed, topping up her glass and too weary to argue. ‘Look, I’m not even sure what we’re debating here – or why. My career is important to me, that is all; I’ve worked hard to get the consultancy to this point. It’s not simply some sort of daily distraction.’

‘I just think you should be thinking about what’s best for Stephen’s career, before your own. How can you support him when you’re running yourself ragged?’

‘Hardly ragged.’

‘You’re off to Madrid tomorrow.’

She sighed; her mother’s couture week schedule would put her own to shame. ‘Stephen’s fine. If he wanted a little wife sitting waiting around at home for him, he’d have proposed to someone else and not me. Isn’t that right, darling?’

She looked hopefully towards her fiancé, who appeared to be concentrating hard on slicing a lemon. He looked up blankly. ‘Hmm? . . . Oh, yes, quite.’

It was one of his characteristic non-answers, his chosen method for agreeing and disagreeing with them both unspecifically at once. As a former brigadier in the army, he had survived sniper fire from the Taliban and mortar shelling in Damascus but he still went to great lengths to avoid openly disagreeing with her mother.