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exactly applauded but she got ten out of ten for chutzpah. What matters to her is where and how to get top dollar.’

      ‘What about Ben Chapman?’

      His face saddened. ‘He was a mate of mine. Great guy. God only knows what happened to him that night or what he was doing in the pool.’ He looked at his watch. ‘That’s for another time, though. Too depressing. Right now, I want to know more about you two girls.’

      As they finished their meal, Christie told him about her career, Nick and the kids, then Mel talked about her glam but single life. Finally it was their turn to quiz him.

      ‘There’s not much to tell,’ he said. ‘I’m just an old queen who wanted a bit of glamour in his life. I was destined to be the next Tom Hanks, but a little smaller, fatter and gayer, and I ended up a cameraman at TV7.’ He ran a hand over his tightly shaved head and Christie couldn’t help thinking that he looked as if he’d polished himself before coming out. He was so shiny and smart, as if he’d just come out of the box – never mind the closet. For the next few minutes they encouraged him to tell them more about his life, but while he was happy to talk about others, he was surprisingly reticent about revealing too much about himself. Christie was content to wait until another time when she suspected he’d be more forthcoming. He needed to know that he could trust her. She loved his camp flamboyance, his outspokenness and, most of all, the generosity he’d shown her. She felt that of all the people she’d met on the show so far, he was the one she could trust: a brand new friend. She, Mel and Frank were like the Three Musketeers.

      *

      That night, with Maureen ensconced downstairs on babysitting duty, Christie showered, shaved her legs and painted her toenails, then pulled almost everything she owned out of her wardrobe to find something suitable for her date with Richard. She wanted to look her best but not as if she’d tried too hard. Whatever she wore had to be right. Her bedroom was more like Mel’s by the time she had settled on her flounced long skirt, sleeveless T-shirt and tunic top, with the wide woven leather belt and chunky necklace she’d bought that morning. She knew Mel would have had a thousand fits over her boho sister, but she felt comfortable.

      When she went downstairs, Maureen looked up from the magazine she was reading and gave her a long hard stare.

      ‘What, Christine, is the point of asking me over so you can go shopping and then not wearing anything you bought?’

      ‘Oh, Mum. That’s different. I was shopping for work. I’d look a complete prat if I turned up in the pub dressed in that stuff. Trust me.’

      But Maureen remained unconvinced, despite grudgingly admitting that she supposed what Christie had on was better than her usual jeans. She felt more confident when Fred and Libby gave her their half-hearted approval, tearing their attention from the TV for a nano-second. At least when Richard arrived, she thought she noticed his eyes widen with appreciation. As did hers. His checked Viyella working shirt had been replaced by a soft pink linen one that showed off his tan. She loved the fact that it wasn’t perfectly ironed, although he’d obviously had a damned good go. His jeans were clean, and instead of his usual walking boots, he was wearing brogues, shiny with polish. She breathed in and caught the slight scent of aftershave

      As he opened the door of the Land Rover, Richard apologised for its state, took out some muddy boots from the passenger side and flung them into the back. The smell of wet dog and dog blanket enveloped her as she climbed in. A lumberjack jacket lay on the back seat among sweet wrappers and Ordnance Survey maps; a compass jiggled on the dashboard. Her nerves settled as she sat beside him, hearing about Fred and Olly’s frustrated attempts to train Jigger to climb a ladder. When they reached the pub, and were crunching over the gravel to the front door, Richard automatically put out his hand for her to hold. She took it, registering its roughness and strength, liking the unaffectedness of his gesture. Inside, the Oak and Archer had been reinvented as a gastro-pub, with none of its more traditional clientele to be seen.

      ‘Give me the old farmers and their three-legged dogs any day,’ Richard joked. ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of spit and sawdust.’

      But Christie liked what she saw. A deep bar was surrounded by pine tables through which the serving staff threaded their way, carrying plates of steaming fresh food. Richard’s friends were on the far side of the room. He introduced her to his business partner, Tom, Tom’s girlfriend, Sally, and a couple staying with them, Helen and Robert. Richard encouraged Tom to move down the bench so Christie could sit between them.

      As soon as she got the chance, Sally couldn’t resist quizzing Christie. ‘How long have you known Rich? Can’t have been long. Or else he’s kept very quiet about you.’

      Richard overheard and answered for her: ‘School-gate Mafia, Sal. That’s all. Our sons are best mates and can’t be separated.’

      Christie shot him a look of gratitude. He winked at her as he moved the conversation smartly on to Tom and Sally’s children, a subject on which Sally could hold forth for hours. Only being presented with the short but delicious-sounding menu made her break off mid-flow.

      Having ordered, they began to talk again. Richard made sure that Christie was included in the conversation, taking time to explain when they wandered onto people or stories she didn’t know. It was almost as if he sensed that this was the first date (if it could be called that) she’d been on since Nick died, and he was doing everything he could to make her feel comfortable. And his efforts were paying off. As she smiled and nodded, joining in when she could, her mind wandered to the real reason for her being there. Was she just a convenient walker for him, a stand-in for the team or, she caught her breath, might he be interested in her in another way?

      Eventually, the meal over, the quizmaster emerged and propped himself by the long oak bar, waiting for the tables to charge their glasses before he began the questions. Their team soon discovered a shared competitive streak a mile wide as they urgently whispered their answers to one another and scribbled them down. When Christie confidently put forward a completely wrong answer, she was relieved that Richard just nudged her and smiled without making her feel any more stupid than she already did. Eventually joint highest scorers, no thanks to her sporadic contributions, they faced sudden death. Breath held, they listened intently for the final question. The quizmaster ramped up the tension with a long pause, then: ‘What’s the fewest number of moves with which a person can win a game of chess?’ They turned to one another, each disappointed to realise that no one else knew the answer either. Richard and Tom started whispering and counting on their fingers. The other team were looking just as frantically ignorant.

      ‘Never understood the game, myself,’ said Sally, draining her gin and tonic, prepared for defeat.

      ‘My husband played once.’ As Christie envisaged the board permanently set up in their Chelsea living room for Nick’s longdistance game with his father, she remembered his frustrated efforts to explain it to her. ‘Fool’s mate,’ she said suddenly.

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘It’s just come to me. Fool’s mate. Two moves. The answer’s two, I’m sure.’ She scribbled it on a piece of paper and dashed over to the quizmaster, who loudly declared them the winners. The rest of the evening was a blur of congratulation and laughter as they shared a celebratory round before saying their farewells and heading home.

      Richard and Christie left the pub flushed with victory and, in her case, an extra glass of wine. To her consternation, an air of awkwardness settled over them in the Land Rover and they found themselves casting around for things to talk about.

      ‘How’s work?’ Richard tried, opting for the safe ground.

      Christie’s relief was mixed with a touch of regret that he hadn’t hit on something more personal. ‘Actually, fine,’ she said. ‘I thought after that awful start that it was going to be a disaster, but there’s a great team and I’m beginning to love it.’

      ‘And Julia? Still happy with her?’

      Her heart sank at the mention of her agent’s name. ‘Do we have to talk about her now? It’s been such a great evening. I

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