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you’re being frivolous, Mother.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Max. What can I do for you?’
    â€˜It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. Everyone agrees that you’ve done wonderfully well to keep the agency going since Hamilton died. As I’ve often observed to Nicole, he was more like a father to me than my own father ever was, and I still miss him.’
    Was Max implying that Bea didn’t miss him? She did, every day and in every way. Her eyes flicked to Hamilton’s portrait by the window. A round-faced, wise man of middle age, who had run the agency till cancer took hold of him – and he died. Max had had a go at running the agency himself for a little while, but since then Bea had taken over and done pretty well, she thought. On the whole.
    â€˜Yes, dear. I miss him, too.’
    His eyebrows snapped. He didn’t care to be interrupted. ‘The world of commerce marches on, and changes are afoot which even I have difficulty assimilating into—’
    What on earth was he talking about? Yet another new system from Microsoft to bewilder the computer operator? And why did he always have to get his metaphors in a twist?
    â€˜So I realize how desperately hard it must be for you to keep up to date. It is nothing to be ashamed of. No. Far from it. Better brains than yours have been brought low by the technical revolution which is flooding the microwaves—’
    Bea suppressed a giggle. He’d be terribly hurt if she showed amusement at his verbal slip.
    And then she felt acid rise at the back of her throat. He was going to say she had lost her touch and should retire. He was going to put all her vague worries into words, and make them real. It hurt.
    â€˜I do worry about you, Mother. You know that I do. I talked to Nicole about it, and she agreed with me.’
    Naturally. Nicole had no ideas of her own, which made her the perfect wife for Max, who had plenty of opinions – even if they were mostly second-hand.
    He sat down beside her and patted her hand. Patronizing. But he meant well. ‘Mother, it’s time to face facts. You’re not getting any younger—’
    She had a shocking impulse to box his ears, but controlled herself.
    â€˜â€”and as you know, nothing ever stands still in this world. The agency is continuing to grow, thanks to the new blood you’ve brought in—’
    That reference to ‘new blood’ rang an alarm bell. He meant the new manageress, Ianthe – pronounced Eye-An-Thee – didn’t he?
    â€˜â€”and it’s no longer an exclusive little affair which you can run part-time, but has the potential to expand. It needs more staff, more investment. It needs to become a limited company with a suite of offices, perhaps in the High Street. If you sold out now, you’d be a very rich woman. You could retain shares in the new company, and you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing, except how to spend your dividends.’
    She eyed him with suspicion. ‘How long have you been thinking about this?’
    The faintest of reddening in his cheeks. ‘Oh, for a long time, but I didn’t like to say anything, knowing how you’ve clung on to the business to keep you going since Hamilton died. And then someone said . . . in the House, was it? No, no. At the club. Admiring the gallant way you’ve been carrying on, and saying that other people of your age hang on too long and then . . . they can’t keep up with the way the world is going. You see?’
    â€˜Who, precisely, have you been discussing this with?’
    â€˜Nobody you know. At least, I wouldn’t think so. But he does say he’d be interested in talking to you, if I sounded you out first.’
    â€˜I see.’ But she didn’t, not really. Who would want to buy her out? She couldn’t think of anybody who’d be interested. Ah-ha. What about Jackson’s, who were her chief competitors