‘The Chelsea footballer.’

The lift arrived and she stepped in. ‘Ex-Chelsea. Real Madrid now, remember?’

As if she could forget. Rosie was well-acquainted with her boss’s ambitions. Chelsea Football Club was already one of her top clients and it was how Charlotte had met Lucy initially, helping the Santos family to settle as they moved down to London from Manchester. Naturally, Real Madrid had their own variation on the services she offered, an in-house wealth management team, but Lucy liked the personal relationship she had built up with Charlotte and had been adamant that continued access to her was stipulated as one of the conditions of her husband’s transfer deal. Eager to secure their new star player, Madrid had happily agreed to his family’s demands and Charlotte had worked hard to help them settle quickly in the hope it might lead to the Spanish club becoming another of her clients too.

‘This’ll be a good chance to touch base with her seeing as I’ll be in the neighbourhood. Last time we spoke, she was still struggling: language barrier, the press, school issues . . . The FaceTime sessions aren’t enough; I think she needs more proactive support and this will be a good opportunity to try and get some time with her, before everything kicks off in earnest with this Mendoza problem.’

‘Mendoza?’ It was a name everyone knew. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Could be,’ Charlotte nodded. It wasn’t every day a bank’s liquidity was thrown into question. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go, I’m in a lift. I’ll be back in ten.’

‘Oh – but what do you want to do about the dinner on Saturday? Will you be back for that?’

The doors closed.

‘Oh God, yes, good point. Saturday,’ she said, pulling a grimace. How could she have forgotten about that? Charlotte bit her lip. Stephen’s parents were throwing a pre-wedding dinner at the Savoy for the core guests. ‘No it’s fine, leave everything as it is. I’m sure I’ll be back by then, but if not, I can fly back for the night if necessary.’

‘Or they could come to you,’ Rosie quipped, her voice beginning to break up. ‘No biggie.’

Charlotte smiled at the prospect of one hundred of her closest friends all decamping to Madrid for the party. ‘Quite. We’ll charter a jumbo.’

The connection was lost as she heard Rosie laughing. As if she’d been joking.

‘I’m home!’ she called out, throwing her keys into the trinket dish on the console table and pausing, listening for signs of life as she quickly threw a glance up the stairs and into the drawing room. Nothing. But Stephen’s briefcase was on the chair where he always left it when he came in. ‘Stephen? I’m back. And I’m wearing nothing under my coat!’ She walked down the hall and into the kitchen. ‘Oh, hello, Mother.’

‘Darling,’ her mother smiled, lifting her chin so that Charlotte could reach her cheek more easily.

‘Where’s Stephen?’

‘Just in the cellar, getting some more Pinot.’