After coffee the following week, they left the café together, Portia chatting away, Allison nodding now and then to indicate she was listening. When a car pulled up in the car park, Portia was still talking. It was only when the car blasted its horn that she turned, her words cut off mid-sentence.

Allison was surprised by the change in her friend’s expression. From excitedly animated, it had become tight and almost fearful.

‘There’s my darling,’ Portia said, waving towards the Porsche.

The words were at such odds with the tone of her voice that Allison was tempted to ask Portia if there was something wrong, if perhaps she and her husband had had a row, but before she could get the words out, Portia looked towards the car again. ‘I’d better dash; he hates to be kept waiting.’

Without another word, she was gone, leaving Allison standing staring after the car in bemusement.

* * *

The following week, Portia surprised Allison with an invitation to dinner. ‘Do come,’ she said. ‘We’d love to have you.’

Caught by surprise, Allison felt obliged to say yes. Anyway, she was curious about her new friend’s home and husband. The following evening, she followed the directions she’d been given and reached Portia’s Kensington home. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

Inside, it was equally so. ‘Come in,’ Portia said, throwing the front door open wide. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but we wear slippers inside to protect the wooden floors.’ She pointed to a pair of pink slippers sitting on the polished wooden floor. ‘They’re new, so don’t worry. Or you can go barefooted, if you’d prefer.’

‘Barefooted is fine.’ Allison kicked off her shoes.

‘Great, come on, I’ll open a bottle and we can chat while I finish cooking.’ Portia pushed the door open into the biggest kitchen Allison had ever seen. It was also probably the coldest. All white shiny cupboards, white tiled floor, white walls. Portia opened the door of the huge American-style fridge and took out a bottle of Prosecco. ‘This okay?’

Allison nodded and perched on a bar stool as Portia peeled the foil from the neck of the bottle and removed the cork with a satisfying pop. She poured into the waiting glasses. ‘Cheers,’ she said, tipping her glass against Allison’s. ‘Stuart has some emails to send. He’ll join us when he’s done.’

‘Cheers.’ Allison sipped her drink and put the glass down. ‘You have a lovely home.’

‘It’s fabulous, isn’t it?’ Portia waved a hand around the room. ‘The décor mightn’t exactly be to my taste, but I do love the space, and living in Kensington is amazing.’

Portia was so exotic, and the décor so incredibly bland, Allison was puzzled. Perhaps the house was rented. ‘Oh, I see, it’s not your place then?’