Abandoning the ironing before she wrecked something she was particularly fond of, Janey switched on the kettle. Her stomach was rumbling and she could have murdered a bowl of spaghetti but the cream cakes that afternoon had probably used up her calorie quota for the next three weeks.

Gloomily surveying the contents of the fridge, she set about making herself a boring salad sandwich instead.

‘Widower, 62, seeks the company of a lively lady 4560, for friendship and old-time dancing. Resilient toes an absolute must.’

He sounded lovely. Janey was only sorry she wasn’t old enough for him. Wondering if maybe she couldn’t get away with lying about her age, she read on.

‘Lonely vegan (Sagittarius) wishes to meet soulmate,’ pleaded the next ad. ‘Non-smoking, teetotal young lady required. Capricorn preferred.’

Aaargh, thought Janey. Oh well, it took all sorts. And who knew, maybe there was a soulmate out there somewhere, reading this advert and experiencing a leap of joyous recognition.

‘Gentleman required for plumpish but well-preserved divorcee, 55. Fond of walking, gardening, cooking and dancing.’

That was nice, she could pair up with the foxtrotting widower.

‘Discreet businessman seeks ditto lady, 30-50, for mutually pleasurable meetings, afternoons only.’

A typographical error, surely, thought Janey with a grin. Didn’t he mean ‘matings’?

‘Tall, presentable, divorced male, 35, would like to meet normal female.’

She paused and re-read the words, attracted by their simplicity and intrigued to know more.

Had his wife been spectacularly abnormal? How tall was tall? And did ‘presentable’ mean a bank-managerish grey suit with accompanying dandruff, or clean jeans and a tee-shirt that had actually been ironed?

Twenty minutes later, after having absently flipped through the rest of the paper and finished her sandwich, Janey found herself back once more at the Personal column. With a guilty start, she realized she was studying the advertisement placed by Mr Presentable. Even more alarming she was actually giving it serious consideration.

‘You should try it,’ Paula had said in her uncompromising way. ‘You need to meet new people. If you don’t try it, you’ll never know what you might be missing.’

If the Sagittarian vegan was anything to go by, Janey suspected she did. But maybe ... just maybe Paula had a point. Mr Presentable didn’t sound weird and there was always the chance that he might turn out to be genuinely nice. There was, after all, an undeniable gap in her life, and a cautious toe in the water – nothing too alarming, perhaps a brief meeting in a wine bar for a lunchtime drink – would satisfy her own curiosity and at the same time show Paula that she had at least been willing to make some kind of effort on the man-front.

Or more aptly, the unmanned front.

Although there was Bruno, of course, whom Paula didn’t know about. Janey wasn’t sure whether he really counted. In addition, knowing how she would have felt if Alan had cheated on her, she hated the thought of getting involved and upsetting Nina. Bruno had assured her that theirs was an open relationship but she was, after all, only hearing his side of the story.

If she was being honest, her attraction towards Bruno was yet another good reason why she should consider replying to the advert. Any real involvement with someone like him could only eventually end in tears. What she really needed to do, Janey decided, was to diversify.

‘I don’t believe it!’ cried Maxine, who had only phoned up in order to relieve her own boredom and have a good moan about Serena. Riveted by the news of Janey’s decision, she quite forgot her own irritations. ‘Darling, what an absolute scream! I know, we could both answer a few ads and compare notes afterwards. Marks out of ten for looks, brains and bonkability!’

‘It isn’t a joke.’ With great firmness, Janey interrupted her. Her sister, of course, was about the last person in the world in whom she should have confided. Maxine simply couldn’t comprehend the idea that meeting new men wasn’t always easy. She could scarcely take five paces without tripping over likely contenders in nightclubs, on the street, at supermarket checkouts, even on one occasion in Asprey’s. The man in question had been in the company of his girlfriend at the time, choosing from a selection of wildly expensive engagement rings.

Maxine, broke as usual and shamelessly trying on jewellery for the hell of it, had fallen into conversation with the two of them and came away with the bridegroom-to-be’s phone number in her jacket pocket. When you were Maxine, Janey remembered, men were there for the taking.

They practically queued up to be taken, in fact. Usually for everything they had.

‘What do you mean, it isn’t a joke?’ Maxine demanded. ‘Of course it’s a joke. You can’t seriously be serious!’

Janey had known she was making a big mistake. Patiently, she said, ‘Why not? If I was looking for a new car, I’d see what was being advertised in the paper. If I wanted to move house I’d find out what the estate agents had on their books. Why should looking for a new man be any different?’

I sound like Paula, she thought with amusement. Maybe we should forget selling flowers and set up a dating agency instead.

‘I don’t believe it,’ repeated Maxine, as close to being struck dumb as it was possible for Maxine to get. ‘You are serious!’

Having made up her mind, Janey had no intention of allowing herself to be bulldozed out of it now. Before Maxine had a chance to get her teeth into a really below the-belt argument on the subject, she said, ‘OK, OK. You’re right, it was a bad idea.’

‘About the worst you’ve had since you decided I should come and work at the Hotel Cassidy,’ declared Maxine, remembering why she had decided to phone her sister in the first place. ‘As if I wasn’t enough of a skivvy already, some ghastly tarty girlfriend of Guy’s rolled up earlier today with wagonloads of cases and announced that she was here for the week. All she’s done is sit on her fat bum watching television and demanding endless cups of tea.’

‘Funny, that’s what you do when you visit me.’ Janey grinned to herself. ‘Has she really got a fat bum?’

‘She soon will have, by the time I’ve finished with her.’ Maxine spoke in self-satisfied tones.

‘And she’s tarty? I wouldn’t have thought that was Guy’s style at all.’

This time she was almost able to hear Maxine’s shoulders slump in defeat.

‘OK, so maybe she isn’t tarty. If she were, I might not hate her so much.’

‘Ah, so she’s a threat,’ Janey teased. ‘You had your designs on Guy and now she’s put your nose out of joint.’

Gloomily, Maxine said, ‘She even has a designer nose.’

It was cheering to discover that even Maxine could feel inadequate when the odds were stacked against her. Janey, who knew only too well how it felt, said, ‘Is she really stunning?’

‘Hmm.’ Maxine sounded resigned. ‘Come up and see us sometime, then you might understand what I’m up against.’

‘Isn’t your sparkling personality enough?’

‘Don’t be stupid, of course it isn’t. Men like Guy aren’t interested in personalities.’ Maxine paused, then added, ‘I mean it, Janey. Come over tomorrow morning, then you can see for yourself.’

‘I can’t just turn up,’ protested Janey. ‘That really would look stupid.’

‘Florists deliver flowers, don’t they?’ Maxine spoke with exaggerated patience. ‘So, if you’re going to be boring about it I’ll place an order. How about a nice bouquet of deadly nightshade?’

‘Oh dear.’ Janey grinned. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a wreath?’

It was eleven-thirty by the time Guy returned home, and to Maxine’s disappointment he didn’t boot Serena unceremoniously out into the night.

Staying put in her armchair, she eavesdropped like mad on the reunion out in the hall. If she twisted round and craned her neck all the way over to the left she could have watched them through the crack in the door, but that would have been too tacky. Besides, Guy would probably catch her at it.

He sounded surprised, though not unhappy, to find Serena waiting for him at the front door.

Maxine heard her say, Darling, Thailand was cancelled so I found myself with a free week. I’ve been here since about midday.’

Maxine was only too easily able to envisage the accompanying embrace; Serena was the lithe, wraparound type. The kiss that went with it, thankfully, wasn’t audible.

‘You should have phoned,’ said Guy, eventually.

‘It doesn’t matter now. I’m just glad you decided not to stay away overnight after all.’

Maxine winced. Guy didn’t miss a trick.

‘Has Maxine been looking after you?’ she heard him say. There was a faint edge to his voice She winced again, this time in anticipation.

‘Mmm,’ Serena replied vaguely. ‘Well, in her own way I suppose. She served up the most extraordinary supper, a kind of fish pie made with instant mashed potato.’

She made ‘instant’ sound like maggot-infested. Maxine heard Guy say, ‘The children like it.’

‘And it was positively teeming with garlic.’

All the better to repel you with, my dear, thought Maxine happily. With six whole cloves of the stuff to contend with, she doubted whether Guy had much enjoyed his welcome-home kiss.

‘Yes, well. Maxine’s culinary techniques are ... interesting,’ he replied dryly. ‘Where is she now, in bed?’

‘In the sitting room.’ Serena didn’t bother to lower her voice. ‘Darling, is it wise to allow the nanny the run of the entire house? She’s been there all evening, hogging the most comfortable chair and the remote control. And she’s been helping herself to your gin.’