I don’t know the sort of thing. I wish I did. I expect it’s beautiful. That’s the problem with money: when you have a lot of it, you don’t realise how lucky you are. What is special to other people becomes mundane.

She disappears upstairs to change, and reappears when we’ve tidied up the Monopoly, wearing a punky dress and dangly earrings, surrounded by a waft of vanilla scent. Looking seriously delicious. She leaves with a fanfare of hugs and kisses from her boys.

‘Look after Caprice for me,’ she shouts as she leaves.

Miles, you are late. So we eat without you, as instructed. Coq au vin from two separate dishes. Caprice is tired. She picks at her food and doesn’t eat much. She snaps at the children about their table manners. She stares into the air in front of her.

‘Did you listen to Gardeners’ Question Time this week?’ I try.

She bites her lip and shakes her head. After supper she goes straight upstairs to bed. When you arrive home the children and I are sitting in front of a film. You look stunning in your tight jeans and a toffee-coloured shirt that matches your eyes. The shirt clings perfectly to your hard torso. I try not to look at you. I try not to think about what a dish you are. You sit down next to me. Just being near you is making it hard to catch my breath.

Your brown eyes meet mine and engulf me. I would be happy if my life ended here. ‘Are you going out with Jono tonight?’ you ask.

‘No,’ I reply, deciding to cancel. Jono and I were going to go to the pub on the corner to do shots. He’s always available. I can do that anytime. All he talks about is repairing cars. Another diatribe on brake pads will doubtless just make me yawn.

‘Well in that case, do you fancy a glass of wine and another movie when the boys are in bed?’

I can’t tell you what I fancy – it would make you blush – so I simply say ‘Yes.’

109

Saffron

I sashay down the corridor of the Harbour Hotel. Leaning across a glass dining table, I shake hands and smile at Jenny Bletchley. Media mogul. Prospective client. I am so hopeful of attracting her business that a draft contract is neatly folded in an envelope in my briefcase. She is a smooth-looking woman. Hair cut in a stylish bob. Small neat features. Small neat smile.

‘I’m drinking mineral water. Would you like anything stronger?’ she asks.

‘Mineral water’s fine,’ I reply.

She pours me a glass and looks at her watch. ‘Let’s order quickly. I have to leave by nine.’