We’ll hear something soon, you’ll see.’

‘Our wine list, sir. May I recommend the burgundy, it is particularly fine.’

Douglas pursed his lips and looked sceptical. ‘Not a year I favour, I’m afraid. I would prefer champagne, but this looks very disappointing.’

Sarah sighed and resigned herself to a long wait. Douglas despised all restaurant wine lists on principle and had been known to spend fifteen minutes wrestling with the waiter only to end up ordering Perrier water.

It was a place she hadn’t visited before, very exclusive, with brown suede on the walls and a pianist playing late night music next to a miniscule dance floor. Hardly anyone there was under fifty.

‘I’d like that fizzy red Italian stuff,’ she said suddenly. Lambrusco. It’s light and it’s fun.’

‘Good God, Sarah, are you serious?’ Douglas looked as if she had just ordered brown ale in a cut-glass decanter. I'm sure they won’t have it.’

‘Lambrusco? Of course, sir.’

‘Oh. A bottle of Lambrusco, then.’ He waited until the waiter had disappeared and then said, ‘When did you have Lambrusco?’

‘At the Italian place in town. I went there with Mary. Don’t worry, darling, you can hold your nose as you drink it, I won’t mind. One comment though and you’ll have to pay a forfeit. It’s my birthday, remember?’

‘I certainly do. And I haven’t yet given you my present.’ He reached into his pocket for a small, discreet package and laid it on the white cloth. Sarah took it with a delicious tingle of anticipation. She loved presents, especially the moment just before you opened them when it might possibly be something wonderful.

‘It must be a watch,’ she giggled, wrestling with the paper, green and gold with a jeweller’s hallmark. ‘It’s that shaped box.’

Douglas twitched it from her fingers. ‘If you know what it is there’s no need to open it then, is there?’

‘Don’t be mean, darling, let me have it.’ She half stood to grab it but he held it from her for just long enough to let the rest of the diners appreciate the scene. Douglas Hamilton with his beautiful wife on her birthday: Sarah sparkling in deep blue crepe de Chine with only a hint of cleavage, Douglas smooth and executive in his Savile Row suit.

Sarah caught the package and sat down again, her fingers eager. There, on the bed of dark velvet lay an exquisite miniature watch, the face surrounded by clear, white diamonds, ‘Good heavens—Douglas, it’s beautiful!’

‘Not nearly as beautiful as you, my sweet. Do you know that your dress matches your eyes?’

Of course she did, it was why she had chosen it, but she thanked him for the compliment with a smile. ‘You shouldn’t have bought something so terribly expensive. I shall never dare to wear it.’

‘On the contrary, I’d like you to wear it all the time. It’s insured.’

Sarah said nothing. Her everyday watch was big and stylish, a useful anonymous accompaniment to her life. This present was more suited to an idle dowager who felt no compunction about wearing diamonds at nine in the morning. At length she commented, ‘I think it might seem a little vulgar if I wore it to do the shopping, and anyway it's too beautiful to spoil. I shall keep it for the times when I want to feel extra special. Thank you, darling, it’s perfect.’ There, that had solved the problem rather neatly.