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think of it. No point in dressing up when the only conversation
you’d have all day would be with the postman.
    Jane answered quickly, in the distracted tones of someone breaking off concentration. ‘Yup, hallo.’
    There was no need to be quite so graceless, thought Lydia, for all Jane knew this could be a very important phone call.
    ‘Darling. It’s me. Heading back to London, thank God. Talk about drowning in a sea of tweed, you’ve never seen a more dismal bunch.’
    Jane pulled her mind away from her translation to imagine Lydia in all her glory, surrounded by dusty academics.
    ‘They’re above it all, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘More into the life of the mind. You don’t work in that world in order to wear fine clothes. The more you
study, the more you come to despise human vanity, wouldn’t you say?’
    Lydia felt a surge of irritation. Jane could be so sanctimonious sometimes, sitting at home, ploughing through her work. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I’m ringing for two
things. First of all, to make sure you’re both coming to my party.’
    ‘Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world. A beacon of light beckoning through the dark tunnel of my daily life.’
    ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic. I’m sure you have a very busy social life.’
    Though Lydia doubted it. Will seemed to have a reasonable time – drinks at Soho House, poker games, gallery openings — but Jane was more interested in staying in for her child, and
rarely hired a babysitter. Lydia couldn’t understand it herself. If she ever had a child, it would be on her terms, which were loosely based on a photo of Tina Brown taken when she was editor
of Vanity Fair. Tina had been wearing a spangly evening dress and was perched on the edge of her child’s bed alongside her black-tied husband, like a dignified visiting fairy
godmother. Popping back from the office to kiss the daughter goodnight before sweeping out to a function. Pure class.
    ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Rupert,’ said Jane. ‘Crazy name, crazy guy. I can’t believe you’ve managed to keep him from us for so long.’
    ‘You’ll love him. I do. Not sure that he’s quite Will’s style, though.’
    ‘Will’s determined not to like him because he hasn’t got an interesting job. Yon know what he’s like.’
    ‘Dear Will.’ Lydia thought back with a flicker of affection to the time of their affair. It had been really rather exciting.
    ‘But I’m sure he’ll come round,’ said Jane. ‘What does Rupert look like? I imagine he’s tall, dark and chisel-jawed.’
    ‘Certainly tall, and possibly chisel-jawed, but not dark.’
    ‘And he’s got a very good address.’
    ‘Fantastic address.’ Lydia’s pulse quickened as she thought about the lateral conversion. ‘Hugh Grant and Liz Hurley nearly bought the one above, when they were together.
It’s rather horribly decorated of course, as you’d expect from a bachelor pad. You know, those nasty oil-painting imitations of old masters.’
    ‘You mean he doesn’t own the originals?’
    ‘Not in London. He’s got a few hanging in the country seat, apparently. I haven’t seen that yet, it’s been let out to some oil sheiks to pay off the new roof.’
    ‘He’s obviously a good catch, well done.’
    ‘It seems to be going well for us at the moment, touch wood.’ That’s all you could say about a relationship nowadays, wasn’t it? That it was working well at this moment
in time. No promises, no unrealistic expectations, enjoy things as they are. It was the way Jane treated her relationship with Will, wearing kid gloves, as though he was a precious ornament that
she was incredibly lucky to have out on loan.
    Well, actually, no, not in Lydia’s book. It didn’t work that way. She had invested a great deal of time and energy in her courtship of Rupert. And now, thank God, it was payback
time. He had finally done the decent thing and popped the question, without her even having to issue an