‘Ladies.’ Nella moved towards the door. ‘Reconvene in three? I’ll just grab the iPad.’ She shot another look at Marcus and still I couldn’t read it.

‘OK to bring my glass?’ Melissa held it up, half empty.

‘Bring the whole bottle,’ Nella said warmly. ‘Drawing room, Ruth?’

‘The drawing room?’ Did real people use that term outside Cluedo? ‘Sure. And it’s—’

‘Dores, be an angel and clear.’ Our hostess addressed an actual waitress who’d appeared. ‘We’ll be in for coffee in about, oh, twenty?’

‘Sure,’ said the young woman, all neat dark dress and sleek ponytail, her English heavily accented. ‘Mrs Jackson.’

‘If Nella’s not doing TV, or good works,’ Marcus was telling Rex as we left the room, ‘she’s down in the studio all hours, throwing another pot.’

I could use some pot, I surprised myself by thinking, given the last time I’d smoked a joint was around the time Ali was conceived – accidentally. At least it might help me relax a little now.

Melissa

We crossed a wide hallway lined with art I’d never understand, beside pictures of beautiful, sunlit holidays. I knew Ruby would quiz me as soon as Nella disappeared to fetch something.

‘This is a lovely picture,’ I lied, stopping in front of one entitled ‘Joyous’, that frankly looked like a toddler had done it, blindfolded. ‘Not really my idea of joy though.’

‘Mel, what happened earlier?’ Bless Rubes: she really was trying not to sound irked. ‘I waited for ages.’

‘I’m so sorry, hon.’ I put my hand on hers; mine was icy.

I was truly sorry to have let my best mate down. She looked good, if a bit swamped by that fifties dress; lovely in a big-eyed, gamine sort of way, like a kind of Winona Ryder. But she also always looked tired, and sad. ‘Rex got all insistent we came early. Marcus wanted to show him the Tesla.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Though she obviously didn’t really. ‘Sorry, the what?’

‘That expensive electric car.’ I pulled a face. ‘You know men!’

‘Not sure I do these days,’ she murmured as Nella emerged again.

‘Is that the actual Orient Express?’ I stared at a photo of the smiling family.

A phone chirped; Ruby fished it out furtively of the pocket of that funny dress. However hard she tried not to, I knew she still hated leaving Zach home alone. But then, at least being home meant he wasn’t on the street, risking another boy eyeballing him wrong, mistaking him for the enemy.

‘They call this shade Sicilian Syllabub,’ Nella was waffling. ‘The designer had the brilliant idea of complimenting my complexion in here.’

Ruby’s ‘Bloody hell’ sprang like a blown bubble into the dying summer light; lingered in the fragrant silence, full of the scent of roses.

‘Sorry!’ Oh dear, Ruby. ‘It’s just…’

But, from beside the biggest floral arrangement ever seen in an actual house – one Ruby’s own small florist shop would struggle to emulate – Nella simply turned with a graceful smile. I had to hand it to her: she was poised.