Allison rested her head on the back of the sofa and shut her eyes. The early afternoon sun was slanting rays through the tall bay windows. Their warmth was comforting, soporific. If she’d been at home, she’d have given in to it, let herself be lured to sleep, but she wouldn’t do it here. Portia wouldn’t wake her and would then try to persuade her to stay over as she had the previous visit.

Allison had dressed with more than usual care that morning. The only black dresses she possessed were totally unsuitable for the occasion, showing too much cleavage or leg, or both. A navy trouser suit paired with a navy shirt rather than the white she’d normally have chosen was suitably funereal, but it was heavy and the room excessively warm. She took off the jacket, flung it over the arm of the chair and pulled at the fabric of her shirt, flapping it, enjoying the cooling draught.

Portia was taking her time with that glass of wine. Allison would have preferred to have gone with her and sat in their kitchen, a much cooler room overlooking the lushly planted rear garden. But Portia had brought her to the lounge. Allison wasn’t sure why. The sofa was comfortable enough, the ceiling high with attractive cornicing around the edges, the walls papered, not painted. Everything, the walls, furniture, rugs, were in shades of cream. Only the cherrywood floor had any warmth. There was also the same lack of personal details Allison had noted on her previous visit.

She shuffled restlessly. God, she needed that drink. She glanced towards the door, willing it to open. Perhaps she should go and ask if she could help. But Portia, for all her seeming casual laissez-faire, liked things done her way. If she’d wanted Allison to help, she’d have asked.

Checking her watch for the hundredth time, she wondered if time was standing still. It felt like she’d been waiting for hours; truth was, Portia had been gone a mere ten minutes.

It must simply be desperation for that drink.

She wanted that promised oblivion.

She’d pre-empt Portia’s attempts to have her stay, though, and order a taxi. In fact – she checked her watch again – Portia had mentioned lunch arriving in half an hour. After a quick calculation, and allowing extra time for after-dinner drinks, she pulled out her mobile and ordered a taxi for five.

‘Here you go.’

Allison dropped her mobile back into her bag as Portia came through, a glass in each hand.

It was clear what had taken her so long to pour the wine. Instead of the dramatic black costume she’d worn, she was a vision in pink, baby-pink wide-leg trousers with a loose silk shirt in a slightly darker tone. ‘You don’t mind me changing, I hope,’ she said, sitting on the other end of the sofa, angling herself so she faced her friend.