Perhaps they were simply calling to pick up something… maybe for Portia to change into something slightly more suitable. Her hopes were dashed when Portia turned to her with a smile. ‘I guessed you’d be too upset for a restaurant, so I’ve prepared lunch here.’

It was impossible to take offence. ‘How thoughtful.’ Bugger, shit, fuck. The last thing Allison wanted was to sit with Stuart and Portia’s eyes fixed on her face for any length of time. Getting drunk in a restaurant where she could be poured into a taxi afterward was one thing; getting blotto in Portia’s pristine, rather clinical dining room was another matter altogether. Anger made her movements jerky as she shoved open the taxi door and climbed out.

Portia had already reached the wrought-iron gate of her home. For a few seconds, Allison was tempted to slip back inside the taxi and tell him to drive away. She didn’t, of course; until the funeral was over, till probate had cleared, she was stuck in London. Stuck and friendless sounded more pathetic.

‘I’ve ordered food from that French bistro you like,’ Portia explained as she searched through a large bunch of keys for the correct one. ‘And there’s a couple of bottles of your favourite Chablis chilling in the fridge.’

Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Allison kicked off her stilettos inside the front door as she had done on the last visit when Portia had explained about the expensive cherrywood floors, and the damage heels could cause. Allison had shrugged off the offer of slippers then as she did now. ‘No, I’m fine.’

Portia slipped on garish pink fluffy mules – a rather ridiculous contrast to her funereal dress – and flip-flopped noisily across the hallway to fling open the door to the large lounge that stretched across the front of the house. ‘Sit, I’ll get the wine. The food is due in about half an hour.’

Allison sank onto the sofa, relieved there was no sign of Stuart. His eyes were too sharp, too all-seeing for her liking. It had been a wearisome morning. She was sorry she’d been persuaded to have lunch with Portia and annoyed to have ended up in her house.

It had been months since she’d been there for dinner A frown creased her brow as she tried to remember if she’d refused invitations or if they’d simply dried up. She’d been so caught up in the initial excitement of her relationship with Peter, then their wedding, and the plans after that, she’d never noticed. Portia had met him, of course. At their wedding. Allison’s frown deepened. Oddly, she and Peter had never been invited to Portia’s home as a couple. Perhaps Portia and Stuart hadn’t cared for him, which was strange; Peter might have been a bore but he’d been a charming one.