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circumspect when I meet someone new, but I immediately took to her. She was thirtyish, with dark blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, and she was attractive in a non-glossy way.
    ‘I’m so grateful to you,’ she repeated. As we went up the steps I inhaled the scent of the roses. ‘I’ve been at my wits’ end. You see, we adore Trigger but he’s such a handful, and in particular he’s horrid to my two Westies—Tavish and Jock.’
    I looked at them, scuttling round her feet in the black and white marble-tiled hallway, casting anxious looks at the bigger dog. ‘And they were here first, were they?’

    ‘Yes. I had them before I got married. But then my husband decided that he’d like a proper “man’s dog”—’ she giggled ‘—and so I got him Trigger for his birthday, but sometimes I think I made a mistake.’
    ‘He’s certainly beautiful,’ I said, as I followed her into the large drawing room. ‘They’re such individual-looking dogs, aren’t they?’ I gazed at his coat, the colour of pale pewter, and at his unearthly, intense, amber eyes.
    ‘Oh yes,’ she agreed. ‘They’re gorgeous-looking things.’
    ‘But they’re also strong-willed and need firm control.’
    Caroline laughed. ‘Well, that’s precisely where we’ve slipped up.’ She sank into one of the sofas and Trigger tried to clamber onto her lap. ‘Stop it you naughty dog! Get down! Get down will you!’ One of the Westies then jumped up at her, and Trigger snapped at it viciously. Her hand shot out and she smacked his behind. ‘Oh do stop it you bad, bad boy! Do you see what I mean?’ she sighed. ‘I wasn’t exaggerating, was I? It’s hopeless. Anyway, let’s have a cup of tea first.’
    As she disappeared, all three dogs running after her, slithering on the marble tiles, I glanced around the room. It was gorgeous—twenty-foot ceilings with egg and dart coving, in one corner a baby grand; two apricot-coloured Knole sofas, a scattering of mahogany tables, and an enormous fireplace with a marble surround. There were gleaming oils on the walls, and on the mantelpiece were several photos in silver frames, including one of Caroline on her wedding day. I looked at it, then looked away, glancing into the flower-filled garden. A solitary magpie swooped onto the lawn, chattering loudly. ‘One for sorrow,’ I said to myself quietly. Then I looked at the photo again…
    There was something strangely familiar about Caroline Mulholland’s husband, but I couldn’t for the life of me think what it was. He looked mid-to-late thirties in the photo, andhis hair was receding and already quite grey. But he was certainly handsome—they made a good-looking couple. I found myself wondering what he did. No doubt he was a successful banker, or a captain of industry—perhaps I’d seen him on the news. Yes…that must account for my sense of déjà vu, I thought: I’d seen him in the media somewhere. Caroline reappeared with a tray, then suggested that we had the tea outside so that I could see Trigger ‘in action’. But I’d already identified the problem—he was an over-indulged alpha male. He felt he should naturally be number one in the pack. He needed to have his status reduced.
    ‘He’s desperate to dominate,’ I explained, as we sat on the terrace, watching him with the other two dogs.
    Caroline put her tea cup down. ‘Is he?’
    ‘Yes. This might sound harsh, but what he needs is to be knocked off his pedestal.’
    ‘Really?’ she said. I nodded. ‘But how?’
    ‘By you taking far less notice of him. He’s a chronic show-off—if he’s got your attention he’s thrilled. And the more you shout at him, the more he likes it—because then he knows you’re focussed on him. You’re actually rewarding his “bad” behaviour by reacting to it.’
    ‘I am?’
    ‘Yes—you’re inadvertently indulging him.’
    ‘Oh. I see.’
    ‘Every time you shout at him, he actually thinks you’re praising him, so that’s going