He was about as different from Max as it was possible to get, she thought, reading the letter for the tenth time and then putting it firmly away. No. It was stupid. The letter was a lunacy, a crazy escape-clause with no guarantees that she wouldn’t be worse off.

This was Max’s community. She had to give it one last try, no matter how trapped she was feeling. If only they’d back off about the baby.

She walked into the sitting room, determined to say what had to be said. They were waiting for her. Bob was pouring her a sherry.

‘We’ve been thinking,’ Gladys said before she could say a word. ‘We’re so excited about the baby, but you need to hurry. There’s enough sperm for you to have more than one, and you’re almost thirty. If you don’t have a boy first, then we…’ She caught herself. ‘You’ll want another. Rose, we’ve made an appointment for you with the specialist in Newcastle tomorrow, and Bob’s arranged for a locum so you can go.’

‘That’s good,’ Rose said faintly, but she didn’t take the sherry. Gladys smiled her approval.

‘Good girl. I told Bob no alcohol. Not if you’re pregnant.’

‘I’m not pregnant yet.’

‘But you will be.’

‘No,’ Rose said faintly, and then more forcibly. ‘No. If you’ll excuse me…’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s good that you’ve organised a locum. I need to go to London for a couple of days. I’ve received a letter.’

‘A letter?’

‘It came registered post to the surgery,’ she said, knowing full well that any post out of the ordinary that came via the private letter-box was likely to be steamed open. ‘You remember my family has royal connections?’

‘Yes,’ Gladys said, stiffening in disapproval.

‘It seems someone came here to see me a week ago,’ she said. ‘Someone from Alp de Montez. You told him I was away?’