Bess shook her head and stared into her cup at the cloudy water, anything other than meet his gaze. ‘No, it’s not. I thought it might for a minute back there, but—’ She bit her lip and wanted in that instance to be anywhere other than here. In fact, that wasn’t strictly true. She knew exactly where she wanted to be – on the sofa with Chutney and a cup of tea, waiting for Mario to come home with the chips. Mario, who was a good man, a man who put up with her, and the man she loved. The man she had always loved, even when she didn’t love herself, and thank God she had realised it before she had done something really stupid.

‘Why did you come here, Bess?’ he asked with a slight quaver to his voice.

‘I thought . . .’ It sounded stupid to say how she thought that maybe if someone wanted her and made her feel wanted, it might stick, and Mario might want her. She thought she might stride from the room changed, daring, able to forget the dark underbelly of deceit that fogged her thoughts and be ready to go and like the life she lived! ‘But I guess life doesn’t work like that,’ she said aloud, as if she had shared her thoughts, leaving Andrew looking a little lost.

‘I thought for a horrible moment you were going to say, It’s not you, it’s me, and whatever comes after that . . .’ He gestured with his hand. His voice, she noted, was back to sounding almost pompous.

‘But that’s true, Andrew. It is me, not you. This was a bad idea for a million reasons, not least of which because I love my husband and I know Helen and we’re neighbours in a cul de sac where Jane Harris at number thirty-six keeps tabs on our every move.’

She looked up at the man, who to her horror looked very close to tears.

‘I’d better go.’ She stood, not wanting to be his shoulder to cry on, not wanting to get that close to his desperation, desperate herself to get home to Mario.

‘I think I’ll stay and drink that bottle of champagne. Helen thinks I’m away on business so I have the whole night.’ He snorted. ‘Might even order up a snack!’

‘You should take the time to think about your life. You need to live a life you like.’ She gave out her mother’s sage advice and it loomed large in her mind like a neon sign, bright, illuminating and concentrating her thoughts. Her mum was right – Bess needed to take what she found in her pockets and make the very best out of it. And the very best was life in her modest home with her lovely hound and the man who had bought her a crappy orchid.