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that sort of thing. Not on purpose, just because she was too stressed to follow a pattern. Somehow, and this is the bit I’ve never quite understood, Allegra managed to turn them into the next big thing in New British Art, going from part-time useless gallery owner to hard-nosed art agent in one mohair swoop herself.
    I know. Weird . Still . . . As Emery would say.
    ‘Yes, well, there has been a teeny hitch there,’ my mother began nervously, but Allegra turned a fierce look on her, and she stopped. ‘Although nothing we can’t fix,’ she added, not very convincingly.
    ‘Jolly good,’ said my father, before I could ask what the hitch was. ‘Amazing what idiots will spend their money on. Anyway, it’s up to you lot to spread the word around your dim friends and drum up some trade for your mother. It’s all going towards the roof, you know,’ he added, with a vicar-ish roll of the eyes towards the oak panelling. ‘Costs a fortune just to keep this place in Mr Sheen.’
    ‘Is that your new wine merchant, Martin?’ enquired Granny.
    ‘No, Dilys,’ said my father, gritting his teeth with supreme control. ‘It’s the name of a household cleaning product.’ He paused, and bestowed a sad smile on us. ‘And I just wanted to say, while you’re all together, how very important my family is to me . . .’
    I beamed at my sisters, who were both regarding him with shameful cynicism. ‘See?’ I mouthed at Emery.
    But Daddy hadn’t finished.
    ‘. . . at this crucial time for the main sales push for my Cheese Diet book,’ he went on seamlessly. ‘Very important for you lot to help me show how everyone from tiny tots to raddled old grannies can benefit from the magic of Red Leicester. You’ll be getting your personal appearance schedules in the post just as soon as little Katie at the publishers gets them finished.’ He winked. ‘I’ve managed to get hold of the list of bookshops whose sales count towards The Sunday Times bestseller lists, so I think I can rely on you all to stock up early on Christmas presents? Eh? Eh?’
    I let my mouth drop open. So that was what the tan and the teeth and the family compliments were about!
    The usual disappointment swept over me, causing me to blink rapidly. Just for once, it would be nice to come first, and hear how much I meant to him without . . .
    ‘We’re both very happy for you, darling,’ muttered my mother, spotting my distress and patting my hand. ‘And I for one am thrilled you’ve found a man who’ll stand up to your pig of a father.’
    ‘What was that, Belinda?’ enquired Daddy.
    ‘Just saying what a welcome addition Jonathan is to the family.’
    ‘Absolutely. Great to have an estate agent on board. Now,’ he said, snapping his fingers at Mrs Lloyd. ‘Time for port and cigars, I reckon.’
    My mother pressed her napkin against her lips then dropped it on the plate. ‘Come on, girls. Let’s leave the men to their vile cigars and port, shall we?’ She lowered her voice, and added, ‘I’d like your opinions on a pair of shoes I bought the other day that your father doesn’t know about.’
    ‘The truth, Mummy,’ said Allegra, sternly.
    Mummy paused and corrected herself, as recommended by her addiction counsellor. ‘Well, more than one pair, yes.’
    ‘Total?’
    ‘Three! Plus a bag!’
    ‘Em, are you sure you’re OK?’ I asked, as Emery swayed unsteadily to her feet. ‘Won’t you let me . . . ?’
    ‘I’m fine , Melissa,’ she insisted with unusual vigour, but I was stopped from enquiring further by a light hand on my elbow and a waft of Shalimar up my nose.
    ‘Can I have a word, Melissa?’ murmured Granny in my ear. ‘On your own? Hang back and follow me to the drawing room in two minutes.’
    This sort of cloak-and-dagger routine didn’t necessarily mean a great deal when it came to my grandmother. She could just as easily need an extra bridge player. There was a very thick streak of melodrama running through both