Even if she hadn’t met him, however, she felt she knew Terry Lambert quite well, having hung up his clothes, dusted his bookshelves, washed up his breakfast things and put endless CDs and videos back in their cases. Divorced four years earlier, he was in his mid-thirties, with no children. He earned a jolly good salary and drove a metallic-green Scorpio. Pru knew all this because Marion had told her. According to Marion, her brother was quite a catch: handsome, generous and kind to animals.

‘Once you’re back on an even keel,’ she told Pru with an encouraging wink, ‘you could do a lot worse, you know, than our Terry.’

Pru couldn’t imagine ever getting back on an even keel, nor was she the least bit interested in getting to know another man. Anyway, kind to animals he might be, but with the best will in the world you could never classify Terry Lambert as handsome.

She didn’t say this to Marion; it didn’t seem polite to point out that if the photo in Terry’s bedroom was anything to go by, he was half-man, half-anteater.

But the photograph of Terry and Marion with their now-dead parents was clearly of sentimental value. Whenever she polished the ornate silver frame Pru couldn’t help studying it, touched by the similarities between father and son. Both had dark eyes and thick, straight eyebrows, pronounced laughter lines and mouths that curved upwards when they smiled. They also shared the same nose, big and beaky and truly attention-grabbing.

Marion, luckily for her, had followed her mother’s side of the family; her eyebrows were narrow, her nose pert.

It didn’t feel odd to Pru, talking to Terry Lambert on the phone, but she wondered if it was strange for him. After all, she knew a lot about her mystery client but he knew next to nothing about her.

In fact, Terry didn’t appear to find it strange. He sounded charming, and thoroughly relaxed.

‘... the thing is, I’m going to be working unpredictable hours,’ Pru explained, ‘so I won’t always be able to manage Tuesday afternoons. If it’s a problem—’

‘No problem,’ Terry replied easily. ‘I’m at work between eight and six, five days a week, so it doesn’t affect me. Come round any time you like.’

Relieved, Pru said, ‘Thanks.’

‘I’m the one who should be thanking you.’ He sounded amused. ‘I can’t believe what a difference you’ve made to the place.’

Pru felt herself going shy. Hopeless when it came to compliments, she mumbled her goodbyes and rang off.

He had definitely sounded nice though. Maybe when the time came to start thinking about a divorce she would ask Terry Lambert to handle it.

Oh God. Divorce.

Just not yet, thought Pru, swallowing panic. Not yet.

* * *

Liza’s editor was pleased with her. Beaming, he emptied the folder of letters on to his desk.

‘Great stuff, sweetheart. Controversy, that’s what we want. You caused quite a stir, you know.

And these are only the ones who’ve bothered to write.’

Liza picked up a couple of the letters, skimmed briefly through them – one, she noticed, was addressed to Ms Super-bitch – and dropped them back on to the desk.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Bloody print ‘em.’ He reached for his jacket. ‘Come on, Superbitch, I’ll buy you lunch.’

Dulcie was doing her make-up when she saw Patrick’s car pull up outside. She smiled at herself in the mirror, confident that she had never looked better. This was what six days of extensive sunbedding, a brilliant ultra-short haircut, an even shorter lime-green dress and the promise, at long last, of a bit of serious fun did for you.

She sincerely hoped Patrick would notice and be impressed. He rang the doorbell like a stranger.

‘What happened to your key?’ said Dulcie, puzzled, as she opened the door.

He was wearing a deep-blue polo shirt and jeans. Despite the sun blazing down, Patrick never wore dark glasses, which he regarded as an affectation. Sunglasses were for cissies, according to Patrick.

Dulcie, who whipped hers on at practically the first hint of daylight, owned at least a dozen pairs.

They made her feel so Hollywood.

‘I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything.’ Patrick followed her into the hall.

‘Nothing to interrupt.’ Yet, thought Dulcie, because you never knew, today could be the day.

‘Anyway, I just need to pick up my dinner jacket. Won’t be a sec.’

We might be separated but we can still be friendly, Dulcie reminded herself. She waited at the foot of the stairs for him to come back down.

Any man looks good in a dinner jacket. Patrick had always looked gorgeous.

‘Going somewhere nice?’ she asked ultra-casually when he reappeared.

Patrick shrugged. ‘Doubt it. Some charity thing, a dinner-dance.’

‘Not like you to be vague.’ Dulcie gave him a teasing look. ‘Come to that, it’s not like you to go to dinner-dances. You’ve always been far too busy.’

Dig, dig.

Looking deeply uncomfortable, Patrick shifted from one foot to the other.

Dulcie’s intrigue deepened.

‘Is it work? Or are you seeing someone else?’

His dark eyes narrowed as he gazed with intense concentration out of the hall window. Finally he said, ‘It’s allowed, isn’t it? You were the one who didn’t want us to be married any more.’

Astonished, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach, Dulcie gasped, ‘You are seeing someone else?’

Patrick shook his head.

‘I’m not. I’ve just been invited to this thing tonight. I’m going with a girl.’

‘Who’ — Dulcie cleared her throat — ‘who is she, anyone I know?’

Another shake. Followed by a sigh.

‘Look, it feels pretty weird being single again. I’m not used to it yet. All this is down to Bibi, if you must know.’

‘Oh.’ Dulcie was confused.

‘Some chap invited her to the dance. She hasn’t been out much since . .. well, since James left ...

so she was um-ing and ah-ing a bit. Anyway, this chap happened to mention he had a daughter.

Bibi said something — God knows what — aboutme. He said how about if the four of us went together ... and the next thing you know it’s all bloody well arranged.’

The look on his face said it all. Dulcie started to giggle.

‘You’re double-dating. With your mother.’

‘Don’t laugh, it isn’t funny.’

‘This girl could be awful. She could be a complete dog.’

‘Better bloody not be.’

Dulcie’s kicked-in-the-stomach feeling had gone, magically disappeared. The thought of Patrick actually getting involved with someone else had been a bit weird, but this was okay. This wasn’t involvement, this was a blind date.

‘She might be stunning.’ Dulcie felt she could afford to be generous. She still hoped the girl would be a dog, but only because the idea of Patrick being set up on a blind date by his own mother was such a scream. Besides, Dulcie thought smugly, if the girl was so stunning what was she doing letting her dad fix her up?

Dulcie had more important things on her mind anyway, because today was the day Liam was due to arrive at Brunton Manor. At three o’clock this afternoon.

And he wasn’t married. In a rare burst of practicality she had checked with Eddie Hammond.

It was as well to find these things out in advance, Dulcie felt. Imagine wrapping yourself dramatically around the long-lost man of your dreams, only to be peeled off and hear him say,

‘Let me introduce you to the wife and kids ...’

At ten to three, Dulcie sauntered out on to the terrace with a drink and a book — Pride and Prejudice, because she didn’t want Liam to think she was the kind of girl who only read airport novels.

Cutler and Gross sunglasses in place and bare, freshly pedicured feet up on the chair opposite, she began to read.

The great thing about dark glasses was you could look as if you were lost in a book when in reality you weren’t missing a trick. Like the sight of Imelda Page-Weston three tables away, surreptitiously spraying the backs of her knees with Tresor and making sure she had more cleavage on show than anyone else. Silly moo.

Eddie was evidently giving Liam the full guided tour, introducing him to members en route. By three thirty Dulcie’s feverish anticipation had begun to flag somewhat. Too excited to sleep last night, too hyped-up to eat anything today, she now found herself struggling to stay awake. What with the afternoon sun beating down on her head and two glasses of Frascati nestling comfortably in an otherwise empty stomach, it was a job keeping her eyes open. Anyway, thought Dulcie with a yawn, what was the hurry? Liam wasn’t paying a fleeting visit, he’d still be here next week, next month, whenever she woke up ...

Chapter 18

The bad news about dark glasses is the way people can’t tell when you’re asleep.

Seeing Dulcie apparently engrossed in the book on her lap — and recalling her earlier interest in Liam’s marital status — Eddie said, ‘Now there’s someone I must introduce you to.’

Leading the way across the terrace he announced jovially, ‘Here we are, then! Dulcie, meet our new tennis pro, Liam McPherson. Liam, this is Dulcie Ross. Dulcie?’ When she didn’t move, he hesitated, peering down at her more closely. ‘Dulcie, are you awake?’

Jerked into consciousness, Dulcie’s eyes snapped open. Seeing Eddie looming over her, red-faced and shouting her name, she snatched off her sunglasses and struggled to sit upright.

Her confusion was only momentary. As she put her hand up to her mouth, checking she hadn’t been dribbling in her sleep, Dulcie’s gaze fixed on the tall blond figure standing behind Eddie Hammond.

Hastily she wiped her mouth. Her sunglasses clattered to the ground. Jane Austen was already lying there, face down, next to her shoes.