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He hesitated. Then checked his watch.

‘Right. Well, I’d hate to let Pen down at such short notice . . . Do you think you could manage an hour or two?’

I nodded, feeling something in my stomach drop, then I averted my gaze back out the window.

Penelope lived twenty minutes away in a smaller, newbuild home that looked like it had been assembled from a Pinterest board titled ‘Grey Slay!’

We pulled up outside and Rupert rushed out of the car before the engine had fully cut out. ‘I’ll have to apologise,’ he panted. I, on the other hand, took my time getting out, smoothing down my coat, letting the freezing winter air hit my face. Here we go. Penelope answered the door almost immediately, like she’d been waiting just behind it. She probably has my husband on Life 360; I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.

‘Oh, thank God, you made it!’ Her face was flushed, obviously, and her hair was swept back in a claw clip, like she’d been baking something wholesome and impressive. She was wearing the little apron I’d given her from one of the many PR boxes I didn’t like. Rupert embraced her, kissing her cheek, and I watched her giggle as if he’d whispered something into her ear. Dick.

Then I watched him disappear inside, like he knew exactly where to go.

‘Hey, Harriette, you look very done up!’ she said, pulling back just enough to glance over my outfit, before dusting a little flour from her apron self-consciously. ‘I should have stressed this is a casual meal.’

‘Hi.’ I hugged her and leaned in, but not too close. ‘Oh, I know. But Rupey bought me this as a special gift. It arrived today, so I thought I’d wear it,’ I lied. ‘Oh, and I’m so sorry, we’re late. After I unboxed this, I unboxed something else, if you get me.’ I lowered my voice. ‘My husband offers quite a distraction even after all these years.’ I winked, watching her face drop like a stone.

‘Emm . . . Wow. OK. Right.’ She breathed slowly. ‘Well, there are nibbles on the breakfast bar, nothing fancy.’ Penelope pointed through to the kitchen as she ushered us in and closed the door with a thud. ‘Dinner will be about twenty minutes.’

I felt a smile appear on my face, knowing I had rattled her, even if the story of my own bones being rattled was a downright lie. She didn’t need to know that.

I wandered through to find Rupert already scoffing his way through the olives and bread rolls she had set out.

‘It smells great in here, Pen,’ I said, slipping off my blazer. ‘Is that the homemade rolls?’

Rupert laughed. ‘Or the new diffuser from Jo Malone, perhaps?’

I felt my neck snap back towards him, wondering if they’d gone shopping together.

‘Could be a pleasant mixture of both.’ Penelope managed a smile, but I could see my earlier comment was still playing on her mind.

‘So, what’s for dinner?’ I asked, taking a seat beside my husband on the bar stool and breaking off a bread roll, dipping it into some olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

‘Lasagne, if that’s all right with everyone,’ Penelope said, turning to face us both.

I dropped the bread onto a plate and wiped off some crumbs.

‘Sounds scrum-diddly-umptious!’ Rupert replied.

Both their gazes landed on me.

‘Sorry, I . . . I don’t want to be a hassle, but I think I’ll have to pass. I’m so sorry, Pen, but I’ve not been feeling well at all, and I think a heavy dinner could finish me off,’ I said, hating how pathetically apologetic I sounded. Truthfully, I wasn’t very hungry, and I wasn’t feeling like accepting food from my husband’s mistress – not after binge-watching The Mushroom Murders documentary on Netflix recently. ‘I did mention I wasn’t feeling great to you, darling.’ I swivelled on my chair towards Rupert, noticing his pissed-off face from the corner of my eye.

‘Yes, but we’re here now. I’m sure you could manage a few rolls, Harriette. We’ve come all this way.’ There was something tight in his voice, and I watched as he shook his head minutely as if warning me to behave.

‘Hmmm . . . They are a little dry, actually. Gosh, I’m sorry, Pen. I think you went a bit heavy on the flour, but it’s an easy mistake to make,’ I said with half a smile.

Pen stood completely still, like she was about to combust, then drew a breath to steady herself. ‘I totally understand if you have to go, Rupert and I could always fill you in later . . .’

Rupert cut in. ‘Yes. If you want to head home and have a lie-down, I can order you an Uber.’ His voice was suddenly very direct – no trace of his stupid Mr Tumble tone now, that was for sure.

I raised a brow. ‘How about I drive home and if you want to stay for dinner, you can just sort yourself an Uber when you’re finished for the evening?’

Silence settled in the kitchen, broken only by Penelope’s little egg timer clicking away in the background.

‘Harriette . . .’ he eventually said.

‘It’s fine, I don’t mind driving,’ I cut in, plastering on the fake smile I had got so used to wearing.