“Victoria Stratford considered that her husband’s fortieth birthday party was going as well as could be expected. The drawing room hummed with animated conversation, smokers had taken her gentle hint and drifted into the garden and she had so far managed to avoid prolonged conversation with any of her guests. However, the continued absence of her husband was increasingly irritating. She did not fear an accident – or worse: David could be relied upon to be late – only to burst in upon the room – and, with tales of awkward judges and London traffic, apologise for his absence in a way that suggested he was not terribly sorry at all but expected to be forgiven his lateness.

He would be forgiven, by the friends, family and neighbours who had gathered to celebrate his birthday but more especially to gaze upon his Wimbledon house, which after a year of renovations over three floors and thousands of pounds, was now theirs to occupy again. It was his house: although he had been married to Victoria for fifteen years, and they had two children together, David was at heart a lawyer and had thus omitted to place the house in their joint names.

There was, moreover, as their guests were to be told in good time, another event to celebrate…’