But she doesn't have to. As soon as they walk back into the kitchen, they find Anna with her shoes kicked off, sleeves rolled up, chopping the rest of the salad that Holly had abandoned to go and gossip with Olivia in the basement, and making a start on a salad dressing.

'Oh Anna, you don't have to do that!' Holly is horrified. 'Let me.'

'I do not mind in the slightest.' Anna smiles. 'I grew up in Sweden until I was eight, and my family always mucked in to help out with the meals. This is exactly how I grew up, everyone in the kitchen and everyone helping out.'

'But... I don't want you to get your clothes dirty.'

Anna leans towards her with a smile. 'The beauty of having a fashion company is that you can always get a replacement for the clothes. Anyway, a bit of dirt never hurt anyone. I love this kitchen, Holly. I put in the white subway tile too, because I thought it would be clean and minimalist, but you know, it never feels cosy like this one does. This is the kind of kitchen where people just want to stay all day.'

Holly's face lights up. 'That's exactly what I always wanted.'

'So where are the kids? Paul told me you had two. I would love to meet them.'

'Upstairs, watching TV. Do you want to come up? I ought to get them into bed around now anyway.'

'I would love to,' Anna says, her language oddly stilted, even though there is barely a trace of a Scandinavian accent. 'There. The dressing is done. Let us go and find those munchkins. Can I read the stories? I have three nieces who let me read the stories all the time. I'm particularly good at scary monsters.'

'The kids would love it.' Holly laughs. 'Although Daisy's current favourite is The Tiger Who Came to Tea The Tiger Who Came to Tea. Not sure your monster voice would work.'

On the way upstairs, Anna continues to compliment Holly's taste, and Holly finds herself liking her more and more.

Flattery, as they say, will get you everywhere.

'You have created a real home.' Anna turns on the landing to admire the antique game table, piled with books and knick-knacks. 'I always remember something I once read somewhere that said, "Houses are made of sticks and stone, but homes are made of love alone.' This is definitely a home. I am envious.'

'Isn't yours a home, then?'

'It is beautiful but quiet. Too perfect. We need children running around to mess it up a bit, bring itto life.'

Ah yes. There it is. The forbidden subject of children.

'Oh do not worry,' Anna puts a hand on Holly's arm, 'it is no secret that I am having IVF treatment. We keep telling ourselves that this will be the last time we try, and if we do not get pregnant we will adopt, but then I keep thinking that perhaps the next time is the magic time.'

'I hope it works for you,' Holly says. 'I really do.'

Anna smiles. 'Thank you.' And they walk through the door and find Daisy and Oliver sprawled out on the bed, all the pillows scattered around them on the floor.

'She's amazing!' Holly whispers to Olivia, back downstairs.

'Told you!' Olivia smiles. 'So it's true what they say.'

'What are you two talking about?' Paul wanders over to get a refill of wine.

'Actually we were just saying how much we like your wife.' Holly grins. 'How did you end up snagging a gem like her?'

'God only knows. I ask myself the same question pretty much every day. I think most people see her and think she's going to be cold and condescending that whole Swedish icy-blonde thing plus, of course, she always feels this enormous pressure to dress the part because people expect it of her, but she's not at all who you expect.'

'How did you meet?' Caroline asks.

'You won't believe it, but I interviewed her for The Sunday Times.' The Sunday Times.'

'No!' both Olivia and Holly speak at the same time. both Olivia and Holly speak at the same time.

'Yes!' Paul imitates them as they laugh. 'I interviewed her and instantly knew I had found someone special. I kept calling her on the pretext of having forgotten questions, and then, of course, I had to meet her for coffees to fact-check, and in the end she said she'd really just prefer it if I came clean and took her out for dinner.' Paul imitates them as they laugh. 'I interviewed her and instantly knew I had found someone special. I kept calling her on the pretext of having forgotten questions, and then, of course, I had to meet her for coffees to fact-check, and in the end she said she'd really just prefer it if I came clean and took her out for dinner.'

'I hope you took her somewhere fabulously smart and trendy.'

'Actually no.' Paul grins. 'I took her to Nando's.'

'What!' Caroline is horrified. 'You took her to a fast-food chicken place? Please tell me you're joking.' Paul shakes his head. 'Whatever for?'

'Because I wanted to see if she was really as down-to-earth as she seemed. It was great. She picked up that chicken with her fingers straight away and ate as if she hadn't eaten in months. If I remember, she went back for thirds of the frozen yoghurt.'

'I knew there was a reason I liked her!' Holly laughs.

Marcus raises his glass. 'Here's to Anna. Holly would have been livid if I'd taken her somewhere like that on our first date.' The others laugh, and Holly grits her teeth at the lie she wouldn't have cared; it was Marcus who cared about things like that.

'Where is she anyway?' Paul frowns.

'Reading stories to Daisy, who realizes she's on to a good thing. First it was The Tiger Who Came to Tea The Tiger Who Came to Tea, then a couple of Charlie and Lola books, and now she's got her reading Cinderella Cinderella, which goes on for ever. Not stupid, my daughter.'

'Clearly,' Paul says, smiling, but there is sadness in his eyes. 'She adores children. She'd stay up there all evening if she could.'

'I'll go and get her in a minute,' Holly says.

'No, don't. She's having a wonderful time,' Paul says, and sure enough, when Anna walks back in the kitchen, half an hour later, her eyes are shining and she is beaming from ear to ear.

The meal is a huge success, and by the time the tarte Tatin is brought to the table with vanilla ice cream, talk has turned to Tom.

'I can't imagine losing a son,' Caroline says, shivering with horror. 'There just can't be anything worse than losing a child.'

'What about losing your partner?' Paul says. 'Obviously I can't speak about losing children, not yet, but I can't think of anything worse than losing Anna.'

Holly sits back in contemplation as the table continues to talk about the traumas of losing people you love. There is no question that there would be nothing more tragic, traumatizing and terrible for Holly than losing one of her children. But Marcus? How would she feel if she lost Marcus?

When the London bombings occurred, one of them was close to Marcus's office. Holly couldn't get hold of him all afternoon, and she didn't hear anything. She went through the motions of a wife in distress, but in truth there was only one emotion that she knew to be authentic if he had been one of the casualties.

Relief.

The talk turns to Sarah: how she has reacted so differently to the way they would have expected, how she will cope. And for a moment they all lapse into silence as they think about losing the person they love most in the world.

And Holly starts to cry. Not because she's thinking about Marcus.

Because she's thinking about Tom.

Chapter Nine.

Saffron wheels her bag through LAX and waves hello to Samuel, P's driver. He's standing where he always stands, as reliable and discreet as ever, and Saffron has long got over the discomfort of Samuel knowing that she is the mistress. She is quite sure that she is not the first, and she tries not to think about whether she will be the last or whether, as she is hoping, P will eventually leave his wife and be where he belongs. With her.

Heads turn as she strides behind Samuel to the car park. A few Brits recognize her, but it is more likely that they are looking because she is beautiful. Beautiful and clever, but not so clever that she knew not to get involved with a married man. Not so clever that she was able to resist the demons that even now are hovering just above her shoulder.

Saffron was six years old when she met Holly. She was the new girl in school a tiny, pretty blonde thing who walked into Miss Simpson's classroom with a confidence and assurance immediately envied by Holly.

They didn't become friends. She fell in with one of the cool kids how ridiculous it is now to think that even at that age there were cool kids, and that they all knew exactly who they were and Holly sat with the clever kids on the other side of the classroom.

Saffron, it turned out, was clever as well. She crossed the bridge between the groups, and as they grew older she gravitated towards Holly and Olivia, and the threesome worked, rarely degenerating into the bitchy scenarios that so often occur with pubescent girls.

Saffron's parents lived in Hampstead. Her mother was an architect and her father was a magazine editor, and they lived in a house that was so avant-garde, so unconventional, that Holly and Olivia begged to go over there on a daily basis.

Saffron's bedroom was the converted attic. It was enormous, with huge windows that had no curtains, and in the middle of the room was a see-through acrylic tube, which was actually Saffron's shower.

At one end was a sunken living room, complete with fuchsia velvet cushions and, during the teen years, a bong that she never bothered hiding. In fact, Saffron claimed she smoked with her parents, and even though Holly and Olivia had never seen it happen they were quite certain she was telling the truth.

Because Saffron's parents were the unlikeliest parents they had ever seen. They were... well, exotic exotic is the only word that comes to mind. They were also hardly ever there. They still seemed to be madly in love and had no qualms about snogging in front of Saffron and her friends, none of whom had ever seen anything like it. is the only word that comes to mind. They were also hardly ever there. They still seemed to be madly in love and had no qualms about snogging in front of Saffron and her friends, none of whom had ever seen anything like it.

Saffron and Holly bonded over their shared freedom although Saffron handled it differently. Where Holly was desperate for boundaries, for parents to be around, for someone to tell her what time to be home, Saffron thrived on the freedom, was enough of a free spirit to recognize that conventional parents would have suffocated her.

Conventional parents might also have stopped her drinking.

It seemed to be normal for all of them as teenagers. Perhaps Saffron had a little more than the others, but God knows most of them would get drunk or stoned when they went to parties.

The difference with Saffron was that she would drink on her own. Not much, but a beer, or a gin and tonic if she was feeling particularly grown-up. Not to get drunk, just because it felt good, and if she wasn't drinking, she'd have a joint; everyone was doing the same thing.

And then, at university, she didn't drink very much at all. Unlike her friends, most of whom were away from home for the first time and took advantage of the freedom by getting drunk every night, Saffron just made sure she had a steady supply of grass to help her wind down at the end of the day.

Back in London, having got a first in English and drama, she started working, one of the lucky few to get immediate castings in TV ads. Drinking seemed to become easier in London but, still, never enough to get drunk, just enough to unwind, and even if it took a little more alcohol to do the trick, nobody ever saw Saffron drunk.

She didn't eat much during these years. Got very thin, although no casting director ever told her she was too thin. Her mother admired her jutting hip bones very seventies, darling very seventies, darling and her friends expressed concern, but Saffron waved them away. She liked being this thin. Liked not eating. She felt clean and in control when she climbed into bed knowing she had eaten just fruit and vegetables all day; and the less of them she ate, the better she felt. and her friends expressed concern, but Saffron waved them away. She liked being this thin. Liked not eating. She felt clean and in control when she climbed into bed knowing she had eaten just fruit and vegetables all day; and the less of them she ate, the better she felt.

Her career took off. A part in a TV series and a cleverly concocted fake romance with one of the hot young stars in film pushed her into the public eye, and soon she was one of the bright young things in London. She was also drinking more and more.

Then the Sun Sun printed an article about the celebs who were so thin they were disappearing in the public eye, and Saffron was the main focus. It still wasn't enough to make her change. printed an article about the celebs who were so thin they were disappearing in the public eye, and Saffron was the main focus. It still wasn't enough to make her change.

When Saffron moved to LA for a movie her agent insisted she go to rehab. She didn't want to, nor did she want to lose the part. Rehab followed, and then intensive twelve-step meetings. AA was her lifesaver. If ever she felt lonely, or insecure, or just needed some company, she could turn up at one of the hundreds of meetings on her doorstep, and instantly feel as if she were at home.

But it was more than just the company. She really lived the programme. She would sit at night writing a daily inventory, would start each day with prayer and meditation, was working her way slowly through the steps.

She was doing what she was told to do: taking it a day at a time, learning to live and let live, learning that she couldn't do it alone.

It helped that the LA meetings were so glamorous. It made the work fun, and you never knew who you'd see at these meetings. Everyone in the industry, it seemed, whether they had a drinking problem or not, would turn up for the break in the middle standing around the coffee machine, swapping business cards, handing out bios, talking shop, making deals.

One day Saffron was sitting in the corner, absent-mindedly doodling on the tiny notepad she always brought to the meetings, when she heard a wonderful voice. Rich and warm, she knew it was familiar but couldn't place it. She had tuned out when he introduced himself, but when she looked up she recognized him instantly. How could you not recognize him, three times voted Hollywood's sexiest man by People People magazine, in one of those fairy-tale marriages with an equally famous film-star wife, one of the biggest earners in the business. magazine, in one of those fairy-tale marriages with an equally famous film-star wife, one of the biggest earners in the business.

But an alcoholic? She never knew. He shared that day about humility. About how, when he was drinking, he was an asshole. He was grandiose, pompous, thought he knew the answers to everything. He was a nightmare on film sets, he said, but this programme had changed his life, had given him a second chance.

He had learnt the gift of humility, had learnt that he was one of God's children, no better and no worse than anyone else. He had spent years knowing he wasn't good enough, and so everyone was judged accordingly: are they better than me or worse than me, and if they were better, he would automatically affect grandiosity. Now, he said, he treated everyone with kindness and respect and wasn't attached to results. If people were unpleasant, he assumed it was because they were having a bad day, no longer automatically jumping to the conclusion that it was all about him.

Saffron went up to him at the coffee break. He was standing in a corner looking at some leaflets on the literature table, and she could see a number of people ready to pounce, but she got to him first.

'I just want to tell you ' she said, her heart beating ever so slightly faster because, even though she wasn't intimidated by celebrity and had, in fact, acted with some of the world's finest, there was something about him that was different 'I just want to tell you that I loved your share. I loved everything you said. It is exactly what my experience has been, and I love that you were able to be so honest in these rooms, that despite your fame, you trust this programme enough to do that.'

He turned and really looked at her then. Intrigued by her English accent, her words, and the force behind them. 'Thank you.' He held out his hand. 'I'm Pearce.'

Their friendship took a while. Initially they'd see each other at meetings, smile hello, occasionally have a brief chat during the coffee break. When he won yet another sexiest-man award on one of the entertainment shows, Saffron scribbled him a note taking the piss ever so gently, and she passed it to him during one of the meetings. He unfolded it with a frown, and she watched as he read it, then leant his head back on the sofa as his shoulders shook with laughter. He snorted and looked at her, as if to say: You're incorrigible, and she shrugged. He loved that she dared to take the piss. Everyone around him was so serious, only ever told him how wonderful he was, and he was intrigued by this English girl.

Her sharing was always startlingly honest and usually peppered with swear words, which made him smile. He always found himself commenting on something she had shared whatever she said always seemed to speak directly to him and he found that on the rare occasions she didn't turn up at a meeting, he missed her, would wonder where she was.

He had been married for seven years. Ah the seven-year itch, people would joke, but in truth the itch had started at one. It had become a business arrangement. They didn't have children, and he would have divorced her years ago, but both their agents said their careers needed them to stay together, at least for now so much mileage out of being Hollywood's golden couple.

For they loved his wife as much as they loved him. She wasn't, admittedly, in the same league, but she was beautiful and down-to-earth at least in public and they put on a great show of appearing to adore one another.

Both of them had flings on movie sets, but both learnt to be discreet, and the truth was they were friends, they still liked each other, and they accepted that this was the way it had to be for now.

His agent strongly advised him against getting involved with anyone else. The press would get hold of it instantly, he said, and it would be disastrous, more so for him, who had such an image to protect. The alcoholism had been kept out of the papers, as should affairs of the heart. 'Fuck who you want and be discreet,' his agent said. 'But don't fall in love.'

It took about a year for him and Saffron to start having coffee after meetings. And then coffee became an occasional lunch, and soon they were chatting on the phone every day. Saffron had the glow of a woman in love, and P felt as if he were eighteen again full of hope and excitement about the future.

He kissed her in her living room. Far too recognizable to take a chance of kissing her in public, he came in one day after dropping her off and, as soon as they walked in, they both knew things were different. Saffron knew that today something would happen.

She had stopped worrying about him being married, stopped worrying about his desire not to fall in love. All she could think about was him. Not because he was a movie star, not because of the fame or the money, but because she adored him. Because he made her laugh. Because he understood her like no one else in the world and because she understood him.

Their friendship was unlike any Saffron had ever had. Perhaps because of the intimacy fostered in the safe confines of their meetings, they revealed things to each other that neither had ever told anyone else.

'I think I've fallen in love with you,' P whispered just before he kissed her, and Saffron pretended she needed the loo immediately afterwards. She stood with her hands resting on the basin, weeping quietly with tears of joy.

Their affair progressed, always in private, often with other people around to throw the press off the scent. He even got her a part in his movie to legitimize their being seen together.

She, in turn, manufactured a romance with her co-star, a lesser but rising star, and they were regularly photographed kissing on beaches while walking their three rescue dogs. The co-star was grateful that his lover a male model remained a secret and, of course, Saffron couldn't be linked to anyone else while so clearly in love with her co-star.

Saffron learnt to put her life on hold for P. He would phone her whenever he could, but when he was away filming, it was so hard. Saffron tried to bury herself in yoga, in seeing friends, but her friends had fallen away somewhat it was hard to maintain a friendship with someone who cancelled whenever her lover called and even her meetings were suffering.

She found she wasn't getting quite as much out of them. When P was there, they would sit next to each other and surreptitiously touch she cross-legged on the sofa, her knee gently touching his thigh as she closed her eyes and felt, she swore to God she actually felt it, the electricity.

She would tune out for most of the meeting, closing her eyes and thinking about him, opening them only to catch him looking at her, both of them smiling and looking away.

She wasn't focusing on the lessons of the programme at all. Her sponsor the only person who knew was trying to be firm, trying to point out all the danger that came with her behaviour, how ultimately it was Saffron who would be at risk by not working the principles of the programme; but, in the end, she had sighed, knowing she had to be a loving witness. Knowing there was nothing she could do.

And it is true that Saffron hadn't found being around alcohol quite as easy as she used to. For years, while working the programme, she found that alcohol didn't bother her. She could be at parties where everyone else was drinking copiously, and it would never occur to her to have a drink.

But lately, walking into her quiet little house at the end of the day, she found herself thinking: Wouldn't it be nice to have one drink? Just one. Surely one wouldn't hurt?