Allison waited for Portia to correct him, to tell him that alcohol wasn’t the answer to anything. Even without her multitude of psychology courses, she’d have known the truth of that. Instead, she smiled at him as if he’d said something original and profound.

Portia was stupidly deferential when it came to her husband. It made Allison feel even more nauseous.

‘No, really, I would prefer not,’ she said, keeping her hand resting firmly across her glass. ‘I’d love a coffee, though.’

‘Coffee it shall be.’ Portia got to her feet and with dexterity gathered all the plates and vanished in a flash of pink, leaving Allison uncomfortably aware of the eyes looking her way.

Refusing to turn to meet them, she glanced around for something to fix on. But in a room devoid of any ornaments or photographs of smiling family and friends, there was nothing.

With the silence increasingly uncomfortable and unable to keep staring into space, she turned to look at Stuart. ‘You’re keen minimalists, aren’t you?’

‘There is time for excess. Otherwise, I prefer my surroundings to be clean, so I’m not distracted by’ – he flicked the fingers of one hand dismissively – ‘non-essentials.’

I prefer. Anger simmered for her friend, and she was about to say something cutting when the door swung open, stopping her.

‘Here we go.’ Portia placed a laden tray gently on the table. ‘You’re in luck,’ she said, lifting a plate and putting it in front of Allison. ‘Fortnum & Mason Florentines.’

Yes, because expensive biscuits are a good trade-off against a dead husband. Allison lifted a hand to her forehead as she felt the beginning of a headache she knew would soon be crippling. ‘My favourite, thank you.’ She picked up one and took a small bite as Portia poured coffee.

‘You’ll stay over.’ Stuart’s statement seemed to forbid argument.

Allison nibbled the Florentine and thanked her foresight for booking a taxi. ‘No, thank you, that’s terribly kind, I’d prefer to go home.’

‘Oh, do stay,’ Portia said, topping up Allison’s cup. ‘You needn’t worry about nightclothes and stuff. There’s lots of Amy’s belongings here still. I’d guess you’re the same size. Even the same colouring—’ She stopped, her cheeks flushing a matching shade to her clothes. ‘I’m sorry, that’s hardly relevant. All I’m saying is, you’d be perfectly at home here, perfectly comfortable.’

‘It’s very kind of you, really.’ Allison forced down the remainder of the Florentine with a mouthful of coffee. ‘But the taxi I ordered will be here soon. I need to get used to living in the house on my own.’

‘Right, well, I’ll go with you then.’ Portia assumed a mulish, determined face.