Becky inhaled with a gasp. ‘Eleanor, you probably don’t know about all this yet, but she’s a New Sider.’

‘I know all about the feud that happened before either of you were born, I know that Alice is from the New Side, because she gave me a lift to the Co-op. What I’m not sure about is what that’s got to do with my current predicament.’ I went back to furiously slicing the potatoes for dauphinoise.

‘Well… what will people think?’

‘What people? I really don’t think Stephe and Saskia are going to be particularly bothered.’ I handed her a chunk of cheese and a grater. I really didn’t have time for this. ‘Alice doesn’t care, do you?’

Alice, back to ironing, looked up, a glint in her eyes. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

‘Ooh.’ Becky’s eyes darted from side to side as she contemplated this seemingly mind-blowing information, that two women from opposite sides of the same village could spend an evening in a kitchen together. ‘Like a covert operation?’

Alice squirted a puff of steam from the iron into the air, as if making a point. ‘Precisely.’

‘I’ve been to thirty-seven different countries in the past six years, and got up to all sorts of things I hope my mother never finds out about. This is quite possibly the most exciting one yet.’ She stopped mid-grate. ‘Please don’t tell my mum, though, Eleanor. She’s giving me enough grief as it is. Or anyone else! I know it’s stupid and I shouldn’t care what people think. I know the whole New Siders being treacherous, sneaky bottom-feeders is probably a load of nonsense these days, but… well. No offence, Alice.’

‘None taken,’ Alice drawled. ‘Why would I want anyone to know I’m hanging out with what they consider to be a smug, self-important snob? My lips are sealed.’

Becky’s mouth fell open.

‘Although I do have a bit of a blabber mouth from time to time. I mean, we New Siders can’t be trusted, can we? I do hope I don’t accidentally mention to Luke Winter on Friday when he calls in for his pie and pint that you’re open to hanging out with New Siders these days. I’ll try really, really hard to keep my mouth shut, then.’

Becky turned a startling shade of beetroot, almost losing the tip of one finger as the grater slipped.

‘Well, I mean, sometimes these things can’t be helped,’ she muttered, her voice about three octaves higher than usual. She tapped the grater to loosen any cheese stuck to the sides. ‘I guess that’s the risk you take in trusting a New Sider.’

‘Okay, if we can draw the Ferrington politics to a close, we’ve got a sea bass with Prosecco Dauphinoise and seasonal vegetables and a locally sourced honey and damson tart to get sorted in, ooh, twenty-two minutes and counting.’

The kitchen door burst open, and Stephe and Saskia stumbled in. ‘Did someone mention Prosecco?’