‘I think you need some champagne after that, Bella,’ Libby said, and snaffled a glass from the nearest waiter.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Moncrieff,’ Bella said, accepting the glass. ‘About the dress. And... And...’ She shook her head, not knowing where to start. Just that she needed to apologise. She’d thought she was being so clever, making a dress out of a curtain. And she’d ended up being horrifically rude. This wasn’t who she was. At all. And it made her squirm inside. She’d come here under false pretences and she’d behaved appallingly.

      ‘It’s Libby,’ Hugh’s mother reminded her gently. ‘My dear, I can see exactly why Hugh fell for you.’ Libby patted her arm. ‘What you did just now—that was very brave.’

      ‘Or very foolish in the first place,’ Bella said softly. There was a huge lump in her throat. She really hadn’t expected Hugh to come to her rescue like that. The last time a man had left her in a sticky situation, he’d left her to deal with it alone. Yet Hugh had been right there by her side, supporting her and sorting it out with her. ‘I didn’t know Hugh could sing like that—or that he could play the piano.’ Considering that Hugh owned a record label and he’d told her how much he loved producing the songs and turning them from raw material to the finished product, she should’ve guessed that music was more than just a money-making venture to him. But Hugh wasn’t listed on Insurgo’s website as one of the label’s artists, and nobody in the office had even hinted that he’d ever been any kind of performer. He hadn’t even sung along with the music in the car on the way to Oxfordshire.

      But she’d overheard Nigel saying something about knowing why Hugh didn’t play in public any more. Something really awful must’ve happened. And there was no way she could possibly ask Hugh about it, not without opening up what might be some very painful scars. She’d have to tread very carefully.

      ‘Hugh was very cagey when I asked him about how you’d met,’ Libby said. ‘Are you one of his artists?’

      Bella winced. ‘Not quite in the way you think. I’m not a singer and I don’t play an instrument.’

      Was it her imagination, or did Libby Moncrieff suddenly look relieved? And why? Did that have something to do with the reason why Hugh didn’t play in public?

      ‘So how did you meet?’ Libby asked.

      Bella could hardly be completely honest about that, either. Not unless she wanted to tell a story that made her sister look bad, and that wasn’t fair. The best she could do was give the bare bones of the truth. Which would probably be the safest thing in any case, because then she wouldn’t have to remember which fibs she’d told and end up in a muddle. ‘I’m an artist—and by that I mean a graphic designer, not a recording artist—and Tarquin interviewed me for the job at Insurgo.’

      ‘Ah.’

      That earlier look of relief hadn’t been her imagination, then, because Libby suddenly looked wary again.

      Was Insurgo the problem? Hugh had said that his family worried about him because the music business was so risky. Maybe this was her chance to bat his corner for him and get his mother to see just how good he was at his job and how much the recording label meant to him.

      ‘As I said, I’m not a singer,’ Bella said, ‘but I do like music, and Insurgo produces some of the very best music around. I used to be a freelance designer, but my best client went bust a few months ago, owing me rather a lot of money. My parents would’ve bailed me out if I’d told them, but I wanted to stand on my own two feet rather than rely on them—so that’s why I applied to Insurgo when I saw the job advertised. Hugh had nothing to do with me getting the job. Tarquin interviewed me.’ She spread her hands. ‘I didn’t even meet Hugh until after I’d accepted the job.’

      To her relief, Libby looked a bit less wary again.

      She took a sip of champagne. ‘It’s a good place to work. I’ve never been anywhere with a sense of team spirit like there is at Insurgo. Everyone looks out for each other. And the musicians all love coming in to the office because they feel we listen to them. Hugh doesn’t treat them just as cash cows or as if they’re stupid. He listens to what they want, and he gives them advice—and they listen to him because they know he wants to help them be the best they can be. They know he’ll take their raw material and polish it—but he’ll still keep their vision.’

      Libby nodded, but said nothing.

      ‘Insurgo wouldn’t be the success it is without Hugh. He’s its heart,’ Bella said. ‘And he really loves what he does. There aren’t many people who can say that nowadays.’

      ‘But the music business is so precarious,’ Libby said.

      ‘It is,’ Bella agreed. ‘But Hugh doesn’t take stupid risks. He’s really sharp and he makes exactly the right business decisions—though nobody in the office will ever ask him anything on a Monday morning.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘He’s, um, not really a Monday morning person. Though I guess, as his mum, you already know that.’ She smiled, and told Libby about the name-cards she’d made for everyone in the office.

      Libby laughed. ‘You didn’t do that on a Monday morning, I hope.’

      Bella laughed back, feeling properly at ease for the first time since she’d arrived. ‘I wouldn’t have dared. No, it was a Thursday. And he was still pretty grumpy.’

      ‘So you can sketch people really quickly?’

      ‘Not just people.’ Bella fished in her bag and took out a pen and a small spiral-bound notebook. ‘Give me a few seconds,’ she said with a smile. She sketched swiftly. Then she handed the notebook with the line drawing to Libby. Sitting patiently next to a cake and wearing hopeful expressions as they stared at it were Lennie, Wilf and Sukie.

      ‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ Libby said. ‘May I keep it?’

      ‘Of course.’ Bella detached the page and handed it to her.

      ‘Thank you. So what exactly did you draw on Hugh’s name-card?’ Libby asked, sounding intrigued.

      ‘You’re