We'll Always Have Paris. Jessica Hart

about her family, background and job.

      ‘Oh, you work in television? How exciting! Simon’s on television sometimes.’

      Clara’s eyes met Simon’s fleetingly over the rim of her glass. ‘Yes, I know.’ She had to give him points for being able to pour a mean gin and tonic. It was long and fizzy, with just the right amount of lime and ice. She was feeling better already and she settled back into the sofa, prepared to enjoy herself before she had to face the reality of failure again.

      ‘You must be very proud,’ she said to Frances.

      ‘Oh, I am, terribly. Of course, the idea of him being a pin-up is a bit of a hoot. Not that he wasn’t a gorgeous baby.’

      ‘Mother …’

      Clara smothered a smile at Simon’s expression as Frances rattled on. ‘I see him on the news, and he sounds so clever and sensible. You’d never guess what a reckless little boy he was, would you?’

      ‘Mother—’ said Simon again, warning in his voice ‘—Clara’s had a long day. She doesn’t want to listen to a lot of boring family stories.’

      Frances ignored him and spoke to a fascinated Clara. ‘He was full of mischief when he was little. Your hair would stand on end if I told you half the things he got up to! But then his father died …’ She trailed off sadly. ‘That was a horrible shock. I don’t know what I would have done without Simon then. He sorted everything out, and he’s been looking after us ever since.’

      Simon’s jaw was set. ‘That’s not true—’

      ‘It is true,’ insisted Frances. ‘I always wonder how different you’d have been if your father hadn’t left things in such a mess.’

      What mess? Clara wondered. It sounded as if there was an interesting story there, but when Simon caught her eye his expression was so tense that she couldn’t help responding to his unspoken appeal.

      ‘I really should be going,’ she interrupted Frances, who was clearly ready to tell the whole story. Draining her glass, she put it down and, one-armed, manoeuvred herself awkwardly to her feet from the deep sofa.

      ‘Must you go?’ Frances looked disappointed. ‘It’s been such fun meeting you, and I’m so, so grateful to you.’

      ‘It was nothing, really.’

      ‘It wasn’t nothing. You were an absolute heroine, and you’ve broken your wrist rescuing my wretched bag. I can’t possibly thank you enough. You must promise to tell us if there’s ever anything we can ever do for you. Mustn’t she, Simon?’