Feeling absurdly self-conscious, Janey sat down at the other end.

‘That’s better.’ He nodded approvingly at her pale pink shorts. ‘You should show off your legs more often.’

Janey immediately wished she’d settled for the dressing gown and slippers after all. When all you were wearing were a pair of shorts, trying to hide your legs was a physical impossibility.

‘They’re fat.’

‘They’re the best legs in Trezale,’ Bruno replied evenly. ‘What you mean is, they aren’t a pair of matchsticks like your sister’s.’ He gave her a sidelong, knowing look. Janey, we’re going to have to do something to get you over this ridiculous complex. You’re a gorgeous girl and you don’t have to compare yourself unfavourably with anyone, least of all Maxine.’

It was nice that he should say so, but the belief was so deeply ingrained that she couldn’t take him seriously. Scatty, extrovert Maxine, forever embroiling herself in drama and emerging unscathed, was the beautiful slender sister to whom all men were drawn like magnets. Janey, hard-working and about as scatty as Margaret Thatcher, was the one best known for the fact that her husband had disappeared without trace. What a riveting claim to fame.

‘Won’t Nina be wondering where you are?’ Compliments embarrassed her anyway. And it was almost . one o’clock.

‘No,’ said Bruno simply. Then his face softened. ‘OK, no more pep talk. Why don’t you just move over here instead?’

When Janey stayed put, he smiled and edged his way slowly towards her instead. ‘Well, if the—‘

‘—mountain won’t come to Mohammed?’ guessed Janey, when he hesitated. ‘That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? But you thought I’d be offended if you called me a mountain.’

‘Don’t be so silly.’ Bruno slid his arms around her waist. As he pulled her towards him, his mouth brushed her ear. ‘Take it from an expert, sweetheart. You’re not fat. If anyone should be envious of their sister, it’s Maxine.’

It had been so very long since she had last been made love to. It sometimes seemed more like eighteen years than eighteen months and Janey had wondered if she would remember how it was done.

But magically . . . miraculously . . . she was remembering now, and the reality was even more blissful than the memories. Bruno, the self-acknowledged expert, was proving to her that he wasn’t all mouth and no trousers, and she had no complaints at all. She no longer even cared that it was ridiculously late, and that she had to be up early. Just for once, the flowers could wait.

She was having the time of her life and she had no intention of asking him to hurry such delicious proceedings along...

The hammering at the front door downstairs sounded like thunder, making them both jump.

‘What the ... !’ exclaimed Bruno, rolling away from her and cracking his ankle against the leg of the coffee table. ‘Ouch. Bloody hell!’

Janey froze as the hammering started up again. As she scrambled to her feet a loud, authoritative voice from the street below shouted: ‘Open up! Police. This is an emergency.’

‘Oh my God, what is it?’ She stared fearfully at Bruno. Her knees were trembling and all she was wearing was her jewellery.

‘Police. Open up!’ repeated the voice outside.

Running to her bedroom, Janey grabbed her dressing gown and threw it on, fumbling to tie the belt as she made her way downstairs. An emergency could only be a bomb scare or a major gas leak, she thought frantically, her mind whirling as she considered the possibilities. Unless something terrible had happened to Maxine.

As soon as she unlocked the door it crashed open.

‘Surprise!’ yelled Maxine gleefully. Clinging to the arm of one of her companions, who was six and a half feet tall and built like Arnold Schwarzenegger, she ricocheted off the open door and clutched Janey’s shoulder with her free hand.

Before Janey could react, four more men piled through, squeezing themselves into the narrow hallway and chorusing: "Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello, what ‘ave we ‘ere then?’

‘This wallpaper, Constable,’ barked one of them. ‘Arrest it immediately.’

‘What about the dressing gown, Detective Inspector?’ demanded another.

‘Arrest the wallpaper first, Constable. Charge it with being pink.’

‘Aye, aye, sir. And the dressing gown, sir? What shall I charge that with?’

‘Easy peasy,’ yelled Maxine, by this time almost helpless with laughter. ‘Grievous bodily harm!’

Each of the cricketers was over six feet tall. Janey had never felt so small in her life.

‘OK, very funny,’ she said evenly. ‘Now get out.’

‘Can’t get out, only just got in,’ protested the man she had seen at Berenice’s wedding, the one who was with Maxine. Behind him, his even taller friend was solemnly addressing the wall:

‘... but ‘I have to warn you that anything you do say will be taken down and used in evidence.’

‘Out,’ repeated Janey, her voice firm.

‘In-out-in-out, shake it all about,’ chanted the other two. To her absolute horror they were pushing past her, hokey-cokeying towards the stairs.

‘She said you’d make us a cup of coffee,’ explained Maxine’s cricketer with what he no doubt thought was a beguiling grin. ‘Oh come on, Janey, don’t be cross. We won’t stay long. We aren’t really arresting your wallpaper.’

Frantic with worry that any minute now they were going to come face to face with Bruno –

there wasn’t even room for him to hide in her wardrobe – she wrenched the front door open again and glared at Maxine as ferociously as she knew how.

‘No! You’re all drunk and you aren’t getting any coffee. Now leave.’

Maxine, unperturbed by the lack of welcome, simply giggled. ‘Gosh, Janey, has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful when you’re angry? And we’re not drunk, just ... merry. I’ve told you a million times, don’t exaggerate.’

This was awful. Janey considered bursting into tears to show them she meant it.

But Maxine was on a mission and she wasn’t about to allow an unco-operative elder sister to put her off. ‘One quick coffee,’ she insisted, attempting to prise Janey away from the door.

‘Well, one each would be even better. You see, darling, we felt sorry for you ... no man, no social life ... so we thought we’d come and cheer you up. Now isn’t that a kind gesture?’ She broke off, observing Janey’s stony expression, and pouted. ‘Oh cheer up, Janey. You could at least be a teeny bit grateful.’

Janey would have preferred to be a teeny bit violent. The next moment she swung round in panic. The hokeycokeyers, after several wobbly false starts, had actually made it up the staircase.

As she watched them lurch towards the door at the top of the stairs, one of them bawled: ‘Open, sesame!’

And to her horror, it did.

‘I say, what a brilliant trick,’ said Maxine. Then, as Bruno appeared in the doorway, she did a classic double-take. ‘Oh I definitely say! No wonder you didn’t want to let us in. Two’s company, seven’s a crowd. Or an orgy ...’

Bruno’s pink-and-grey striped shirt and grey trousers were only slightly crumpled, and he had combed his hair. Having had time to compose himself, he was also looking amazingly relaxed.

‘I’ve made the coffee,’ he said, meeting Janey’s petrified gaze. ‘But there’s no milk left, so it’ll have to be black.’ Pausing to survey the state of the astonished, bleary-eyed cricketers, he added pointedly, ‘Under the circumstances, maybe it’s just as well.’

‘So now we’re getting down to the nitty gritty,’ crowed Maxine when Bruno had made his excuses and left. The cricketers, having piled into the tiny kitchen, were trying to remember whether or not they took sugar. Maxine, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was avid for details.

‘The secret life of Janey Sinclair! Not only is she having a rip-roaring affair with a practically married man, but she has the confidence to do it in a ten-year-old towelling dressing gown.’

‘I am not having an affair with Bruno.’ Janey struggled to remain calm. If she lost her temper, Maxine would know for sure she’d struck gold. She had to be plausible. ‘If I was,’ she added, improvising rapidly, ‘I wouldn’t be wearing this dressing gown, would I?’

‘Hmm. I wouldn’t put it past you,’ retorted Maxine, still looking deeply suspicious. ‘In that case, why are you wearing it?’

‘We went out for a meal. I spilled red wine on my jeans.’ This, at least, was the truth.

Gesturing towards the bathroom she said, ‘They’re soaking in the basin, if you’d like to check for yourself. Or maybe you’d prefer to send them off to Forensic.’

‘So you went out to dinner and came back here afterwards for a nightcap? You sat here chatting and didn’t notice the time? I’m sorry darling, but I don’t believe you.’

Inwardly close to despair, Janey said. ‘Well you’re just going to have to. Because if I was having an affair with Bruno I’d tell you. But I’m not, so there’s nothing to tell. Got it?’

‘Don’t be-lieve you,’ repeated Maxine in a singsong voice.

‘Oh for God’s sake, it’s the truth! Why can’t you see that?’

Maxine unravelled herself and leaned slowly forwards. ‘Because I’m the untidy sister,’ she said joyfully, ‘and you’re the efficient, organized one.’

‘What?’

Reaching under the sofa, Maxine pulled out the primrose bra which Janey had been wearing earlier and which Bruno had missed when he’d bundled up the rest of her clothes and slung them on the bed. ‘Exhibit number one, m’lud,’ she said, her expression triumphant. ‘And no need for further cross-examination. Leaving items of lacy underwear beneath the settee? Janey, it just isn’t you.’

Chapter 19

Elsie Ellis, who lived above the bakery next door and who thrived on gossip, wasted no time the following morning. Bustling into Janey’s shop with a self-important air and exuding as she always did the aroma of chocolate doughnuts, she was scarcely able to contain her impatience as Janey served the customer who’d beaten her m there by thirty seconds.