When he arrived today his face fell, because Saffron wasn’t here. She had already left for the office to tidy up her files. And Miles had gone with her to give her moral support. Even his mother wasn’t around. Caprice is resting. Despite the love of his life’s absence, Aiden is helping me with the children. He often helps with Ben and Harry and they love him. We are sitting in the shade on garden furniture that would enhance most people’s sitting rooms, listening to him laughing and giggling through The Twits by Roald Dahl. When the story is over, the children chorus, ‘Read us another one. Please, please, Uncle Aiden.’

‘No.’ I stand up. ‘Come on, it’s a lovely day. I’ve packed a picnic. Let’s go to the park. Will you join us, Aiden?’

‘Please, please, Uncle Aiden.’

He drives us to Windsor Great Park in his brand-new Maserati. Shiny midnight blue metal work. Seats of white calf’s leather. Surround sound sharp as an orchestra. It purrs along so smoothly I wonder whether its wheels are even touching the ground. Admiring glances at traffic lights. Admiring glances as we park the car.

We walk towards the lake to find a scenic spot to eat, Ben and Harry running off ahead, Aiden carrying the picnic for me.

‘How’s Saffron been this week?’ he asks.

‘Miles thinks she’s distracted at the moment.’

He turns to me, eyes sharp with concern. ‘I wonder why? Is she worried about something?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I’m just repeating what he said.’

And suddenly I decide to make trouble. My love for you is growing, Miles. It’s out of control. I want you so much. If only you could step away from Saffron and notice me, I could make you want me back. You worry about Aiden and Saffron, don’t you? It must be hard having a wealthy brother who is madly in love with your wife. I am going to push it, really push it, one last time.

I take a deep breath. ‘But I do sometimes wonder whether she’s got the hots for you and she’s trying to suppress it.’ I finish off with an encouraging smile. Head on one side. Young and pert and pretty, biting my lip.

‘The hots for me?’

‘Yes.’

123

Aiden

Hayley’s words are like nectar.