‘Great little place you’ve found here,’ he yelled above the din.

‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ she yelled back. ‘Thanks for your house-warming present.’ He’d given her a pair of black and white avant garde prints that added the finishing touch to her walls.

‘How are you enjoying your freedom?’ he asked.

‘If I’d known it felt this good I’d have gone for it long ago.’

‘Harmon is your maiden name, right?’

‘Right!’

‘Who was your husband?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Kelly said, repeating the mantra that had sustained her through the miserable weeks. ‘He’s in the past.’

‘Good for you. That’s the only way to do it.’

When the dance ended they were by the bar. Frank danced off with somebody else while Kelly downed an orange juice.

Marianne sidled up to her. ‘You really are a dark horse, aren’t you?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean that fantastic man who’s just walked in; the one with come-to-bed eyes and that “I’ll have any woman I like” look.’

‘I don’t know any man like that,’ Kelly said regretfully. ‘Where?’

‘Over there. He looks a bit familiar. Now, where have I seen his face before?’

‘On television,’ Kelly said, stunned. ‘And he wasn’t invited.’

‘Well, I’ll be only too pleased to take him off your hands. Honestly, he shouldn’t be allowed out alone. It’s not safe-for any of us. I want everything you know. Starting with “Is he married”?’

Kelly pulled herself together. ‘Not since ten-thirty this morning.’

‘You mean he’s-? He isn’t-?’

‘My ex.’

‘All that was yours, and you let it go?’

Kelly surveyed Jake Lindley, trying to see him through Marianne’s eyes. She knew about the eyes, and the look of knowing that women were clamouring for him. It wasn’t his fault. Women were clamouring for him, and Jake had no false modesty. Or much of any kind, if the truth be told. He’d made a brilliant career as a television journalist by being accurate, hard hitting, colourful and drop-dead gorgeous.