“So the museum is officially all about the RAF,” David was saying as Veronica tuned back in to the conversation. “Life-size models, flight simulators, the works. But what I’m in charge of is the fine art, which you might not expect to find there but actually we have Rothenstein, we have Kennington. It’s a fabulous way to track the evolution of thought and perception during times of war, especially when you set that against conventional narratives of those eras.”

“David knows everything about art,” Sarah chipped in, glancing, Veronica noticed, at her. “I am an artistic ignoramus unfortunately.”

Veronica nodded, and smiled. It was not the first time that evening that Sarah had negated her own achievements in favour of her husband’s, and a thought tickled inside her. If she wanted to pilfer, how easy it would be. “And you work there, part-time?” asked Veronica innocently.

“Three mornings a week and till three o’clock on a Friday. Of course, when Harry was a baby it wasn’t possible, but I’ve been back over six months now. He goes to Sarah’s parents’ two mornings and my mum helps out with the third, so it’s wonderful really. He’s so close with all the grandparents, Amelia was the same, and the rest of the time he’s got me, and Sarah as much as possible. What will you two do? Are you planning a few rug rats?”

George flashed Veronica a concerned look, but she didn’t meet his eye, concentrating instead on heaping thick slices of the shop-bought pastries onto plates. When she’d fetched them from the kitchen earlier, she’d substituted her wine with a carefully colour-matched non-alcoholic elderflower. “How much is as much as possible?” she said.

“The mornings,” replied Sarah, accepting the deflection, perhaps more sensitive than her husband to possible reasons for childlessness. Primed with pity. “We all wake early so I have an hour or two with them before I head off. Then some evenings I make it back before bed. And there’re the weekends. These look delicious.”

Veronica put down the serving spoon and looked Sarah in the eye. “Oh, poor things,” she said.

Slowly, Sarah raised a wary eyebrow and took an even slower sip of her wine. Without looking at him, Veronica could feel George’s eyes on her again, this time not anxious but questioning. Again, she didn’t meet his stare. Something in her veins had quickened.

“I think Veronica just means that it’s an unconventional set-up,” rescued George. And then, to David, “I hear raising kids is the hardest job.”

“Most rewarding,” David smiled, putting his arm protectively around Sarah. “But we can’t all be so lucky. Sarah took the first three months off with each of them, but she’s always been the more ambitious of the two of us, and the higher earner, so it was a good solution. My idea as it happens. Actually, we planned it years ago, sort of. We got together first year of uni – Sarah was crushing law, I was pretending to do History of Art; she was always going to be the professional and I the struggling artist.”