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The doorbell went before he could reply. Miranda flew to answer it.

`You're here! You're late!'

`Accident on the Bayswater Road.'

`Oh no…'

`Not me,' said Greg. `A bus and a Fiat Uno. The fire brigade are still trying to cut the driver out of the Fiat.'

`That's all right then.' Miranda threw her arms around him. `So long as you're okay.'

Smiling, Greg said, `Maybe I should be late more often, if this is the kind of welcome I get.'

`Don't you dare. I thought you'd stood me up.' She covered his face with kisses, breathless with relief. `Come on, I want to introduce you to Florence.'

`Well? What d'you think?' said Miranda eagerly ten minutes later. Danny Delancey had made his excuses and left, and before they followed suit, Greg was paying a quick visit to the bathroom.

`I think you should ring Danny and say Thursday evening's fine. Playing the prima donna only works if you're Elizabeth Taylor,' Florence pointed out, `and you haven't won any Oscars yet. They can always make this documentary without you, you know.'

`I meant, what do you think of Greg?' Miranda waved an impatient arm in the direction of the door. `Do you really like him?'

`Oh. Well, yes, of course I like him. He seems very

nice, quite… charming.' `Quite' was a useful word. It could mean perfectly charming, or it could mean slightly charming. You could take your pick.

Oh dear. Florence struggled to be fair. Greg did seem nice and he did seem charming; she just hadn't automatically clicked with him as she had with the other one, Danny. Out of the two of them, she knew which one she preferred.

But that was beside the point; Greg was the one Miranda wanted her to like, and how could she fault him? He was good-looking, smartly turned out, polite… and clearly as taken with Miranda as she was with him.

And if the charm seemed a bit forced, a touch excessive… well, Florence conceded, he probably couldn't help that. It was undoubtedly an unfortunate side-effect of having worked for years selling insurance.

`He seems very nice,' she repeated, reaching for her cigarettes and swiftly changing the subject. `Anyway, before you go, let me tell you about my visitor this afternoon.'

Miranda hid her disappointment. She didn't want to hear about some boring visitor, she wanted Florence to sing Greg's praises - with delirious enthusiasm, preferably - and tell her over and over again how perfect he was. So far, all she'd got was very nice, pronounced in the kind of voice adults reserved for five-year-olds when they were handed a painting - Is it a tractor? Is it an aeroplane? - to admire.

Swallowing her impatience, Miranda forced herself to sound interested. She jiggled the loose shoe dangling from her foot and said, `Visitor. Okay, fire away.'

`I asked Chloe to come round. Pregnant Chloe who works for Bruce,' Florence prompted when Miranda looked blank.

`Oh, right.'

`She's had to give up her flat. The husband refuses to help out financially. She's a lovely girl.'

Just not very bright, thought Miranda, if that was the kind of man she'd chosen to marry in the first place.

At a guess, Florence had slipped the girl some money. `I told her she can move in with us.'

`What!'

`Not for ever,' Florence explained. `Just until she sorts herself out.'

`But that could take years! She hasn't even had the baby yet.' Miranda was alarmed. `You mean you've offered her the room next to mine?'

Oh great, thanks a lot.

`She's desperate,' Florence said calmly.

`Honestly, and you call me a soft touch! All I did was share my sandwiches with a down-and-out,' Miranda protested. Well, a bogus down-and-out. `Here's you sharing your whole house.'

`It's big enough. Anyway,' said Florence, `I get bored here on my own. I'll enjoy the company.'

`The company of a screaming baby?' Agitated, Miranda jiggled the shoe right off her foot. `It won't know how to play poker, if that's what you're after. And what about all the sleepless nights? You definitely won't enjoy those.'

`I'm sure Chloe will have found herself somewhere