“Well, I don’t understand,” Sally said then, ice coating her words. She plonked her hands on her hips and puffed out her non-existent chest. She was a tiny slip of a thing, all bones and no substance. Helen could take her in a second, but she admired her bravado. The dress she was wearing had an awful purple and yellow print repeating on it, which was making Helen’s eyes want to bleed. It looked like a television test pattern.

Hugh smiled politely at Sally. “I’m sorry?”

“She can’t just fire him like that. It’s not acceptable,” Sally said, adding an extra centimetre to her height. “I won’t have it.”

Peter put a hand on her arm. “Sally.”

Helen wanted to laugh. “You might want to rein in your guard dog, Peter,” she muttered with a quiet snort.

“No, Pete, I’m not having it. He should know what you told me, about what she—”

“Sally!” Peter raised his voice. The couple at the next table turned to stare.

“To what are you referring, Sally? As far as I understand it, Peter was unfortunately not doing a good enough job, so it was an inevitable course of action for Helen,” Hugh said calmly, bringing out his teacher’s voice to illustrate the severity of the situation.

“Oh, is that what she told you?” Sally’s voice was rising. Small dogs around the village could probably hear it at the pitch it had now reached. Other faces turned towards them, eyes glowing with undisguised curiosity. Helen felt sweat run down her back. Sally flicked her short bob away from her wide eyes. “I call it sexual harassment!”

“Sally, you’ve said enough. Come on, let’s go,” Peter said, trying to pull her away.

“No, Pete, that rich bitch can’t get away with it, using you like that, forcing you to… you know… and then tossing you aside, just because they can afford to. We need that job.” She was on the verge of crying now, her face crumpling into ugliness.

“I’m sorry, Sally,” Helen said quietly, “but I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Sally clamped her with one more glare and for a second Helen thought she was going to grab the jug of water and fling it in her face. Instead, Sally reached out, grabbed the back of Helen’s head by the hair and thrust her face into the plate of tiramisu. Helen gasped and shot to her feet, alcohol-tinged cream stinging her eyes and coffee pushing up her nostrils. There was a collective held breath in the restaurant.

“Sally!” Peter shouted, then dragged his wife by the arm out into the street. Helen could hear her arguing with him all the way out of the door.

Benito rushed over with some napkins as Helen swiped at her face. Hugh asked Benito for the bill and she slumped in her chair, avoided looking around.