Kerry smiled sadly. ‘Well, Mark and Ron were friends for almost thirty years. I met Ron ten years ago, when I first started seeing Mark. Since Mark passed, Ron’s been great – really supportive. He’s fab with Harry and he’s practical too, which is a bonus when you’ve got a house like this. I don’t know what we’d do without him, really,’ she finished quietly.

Giles cleared his throat. ‘I wonder if you and he know any of the same people, Edie.’

‘I’d put money on a ten-minute chat at work throwing up some connection.’

‘Hey now, the last time I saw you,’ said Kerry, smiling mischievously at me, ‘it sounded like there might be something dodgy brewing in your office.’

‘Did it?’ I asked, my willingness to share gossip about the practice, even in vague terms, significantly lessened by the discovery that one of Kerry’s best friends was an architect. ‘I think maybe I was feeling a bit low about a friend leaving. I knew I was going to miss her.’

‘Ah, that’s a shame. Were you very close?’

‘Yes, we joined the practice at around the same time, so we found our feet together, which was definitely a bonding experience. And it was nice to have a woman in the office I could confide in.’

She nodded sympathetically. ‘What about the blokes you work with? Can you offload onto them?’

‘Oh yes, they’re really kind and supportive. It’s all fine, honestly,’ I added hurriedly.

‘OK,’ she said, with undisguised scepticism.

‘Brace yourself,’ said Giles, nudging me. ‘She’ll be reaching for the thumbscrews.’

‘Well, if there is a pair of thumbscrews available, I’d love to use them on you some time, Giles,’ I said, determinedly shifting the focus. ‘Trying to get anything out of you is impossible.’

‘Really? I always think of myself as an open book,’ he replied, sounding a little hurt.

‘You’re a closed book and your pages are stuck together with superglue,’ I insisted. ‘You didn’t tell anyone about being mugged in Hyde Park, or about having your appendix out, and we only found out about your house fire when Aunty Isobel asked if you still had a spare telly and you told her that it had melted.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Kerry.

‘Small blaze, minimal damage,’ said Giles airily.

I looked at Kerry. ‘Closed book.’

She laughed. ‘That’s OK, I love a challenge. And, with loosening tongues in mind,’ she said, reaching for the wine bottle and topping up my glass, ‘get that down you. You’ll need to spend the next month building up your tolerance if you’re going to survive June’s wine and cheese.’