Jo crossed one leg over the other. It wasn’t a good move. Some women managed the action with elegance, but it was a hard manoeuvre when your thighs are squeezed into non-stretch denim possibly a size too small. As a result, one leg was balanced precariously on the other knee. It was obviously uncomfortable as, rather than holding the pose, Jo dropped her foot to the floor.

Watching her, Allison relaxed. There was no reason to be so wary of this silly woman. It was everything else that had been thrown at her. Jo was being dramatic for effect. Allison would listen to her, send her on her way.

‘I enjoyed meeting you for lunch on Friday. And it was kind of you to walk me to the Underground afterward, but you didn’t really need to; I know London fairly well.’

‘Right.’ Allison frowned. She’d a vague memory of Jo saying she wasn’t sure of the way. Wasn’t that why she’d gone with her? It certainly wasn’t to prolong their time together; by then she’d already had enough. ‘I’m sorry, could you get to the point?’

‘The point… always in such a rush, Al. You don’t mind me calling you Al, do you? Allison is such a mouthful. And if you don’t mind me saying, you look more like an Al kind of woman.’

Allison wondered what an Al kind of woman looked like, what made her different to an Allison kind of woman. She had no intention of asking; Jo could call her whatever she liked if it made her leave sooner. ‘I’ll answer to whatever makes life easier.’

Jo smiled. ‘So reasonable.’

‘I try to be.’

‘I suppose it’ll be a while before your late husband’s estate will be settled. There’s bound to be a police investigation, isn’t there?’

None of your damn business. ‘My solicitor is dealing with all that for me.’ Allison hoped her tone was sufficiently curt to make Jo drop this line of questioning. What an impossible, ignorant woman.

And persistent. ‘You’re going to be a wealthy lady, aren’t you?’

Allison would have liked to have told her the truth. To tell this objectionable woman that she was worse off than she had been before she’d met Peter. That she could have done with selling the teapot that had, for some reason, been trashed. The few hundred quid she’d have got for it would have helped with a deposit for an apartment. She’d have liked to have been honest, but she wasn’t. ‘Peter has left me more than comfortable, thank you. It isn’t the kind of thing I feel easy talking about, however.’

If she hoped that would bring the conversation to a halt, she knew by the smile on Jo’s face that she’d failed, that it would take more than polite words to get through her cast-iron hide.