“Becky.” Luke sighs and sits down on the bed. “Venetia’s not ‘someone else.’ She’s a client. She’s a friend. She’d like to be your friend.”

I turn away, pleating the duvet cover into a little fan.

“I just can’t understand what your problem is. You were the one who wanted to go to Venetia in the first place!”

“Yes, but—”

I can’t exactly say, I didn’t know then that she was a husband stealer.

“She’s going to be delivering our baby in a few weeks’ time! You should be getting to know her. Feeling relaxed with her!”

I don’t want her to deliver the baby flashes through my mind.

“And on that subject…” Luke stands up. “Venetia asked if we could make an appointment tomorrow. She hasn’t seen you for a while and she feels bad about it. I said we’d both be there. OK?” He heads into the bathroom.

“Fine,” I say morosely, and sink back into the pillows with a great sigh. My head is swirling with confused thoughts. Maybe I am being unreasonable and paranoid. Maybe she’s not after Luke.

And she is the best obstetrician in the world, practically. OK. I’m going to make a real, real effort and see if we can be friends.

When we arrive at the Holistic Birth Center on Friday, the paparazzi are out in force and I can see why. The Bond girl and the new face of Lancôme are posing together on the steps, both in cool low-slung trousers and clingy tops which accentuate their teeny bumps.

“Becky, slow down!” Luke calls after me as I hurry to join them. But by the time I arrive, they’ve already pushed their way in through the doors. I pause hopefully on the steps, but not a single lens points toward me. In fact, the photographers are all moving away, which is pretty insulting. You’d think they’d take a picture just to be polite.

Inside, the Bond girl is ahead of me at the desk, and I can hear the receptionist saying, “And you got your invitation to tea at the Savoy? Do you need us to send a car?”

“No, thanks,” says the Bond girl, nodding at the Lancôme model. “Zara and I are going together.”

My heart skips a beat. Tea at the Savoy? I didn’t get an invitation to tea at the Savoy. Maybe they’re going to give it to me now! I approach the receptionist with an expectant smile, already reaching for my diary so I can check the date. But she doesn’t hand over any invitation.

“Take a seat, Mrs. Brandon.” She smiles back. “Venetia will be with you shortly.”

“Er…was there anything else?” I linger at the desk. “Anything I should…have?”

“Did you bring a urine sample?” The receptionist smiles. “That’s all you need.”

That is not what I was talking about. I wait another few seconds just in case, then stalk over to the seating area, trying to hide my disappointment. She hasn’t invited me. All the celebrities will be having tea together, exchanging pregnancy stories and asking each other where they buy their premiere dresses, and I’ll be sitting at home on my own.

“Becky?” Luke is regarding me, puzzled. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I can feel my bottom lip quivering. “Only she didn’t invite me to the tea party. They’re all going to the Savoy. All of them! Without me.”

“Becky, you don’t know there’s a tea party. I’m sure…I mean…” Luke breaks off, clearly at a loss. “Look, even if she didn’t, does it matter? You don’t go to a doctor because of the tea parties.”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

“Becky?” A melodious voice rings out. “Luke?”

Oh my God. It’s her.

I haven’t seen Venetia in weeks. To be honest, she’d kind of altered in my mind. I’d pictured her taller, with longer, witchier hair and flashing green eyes and kind of…fangs. But here she is, slim and pretty, dressed in a chic black turtleneck and smiling as though I’m her best friend.

“Great to see you!” She kisses me. “I do apologize, I’ve been neglecting you shamefully.” As she says it, she glances at Luke as though they’re in on some private conversation.

Or is that me being paranoid?

“Come on through!” She ushers us into her room and we all sit down. “So, Becky.” Venetia opens her file. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Baby moving well?”

“Yes, all the time.” I put a hand on my tummy, and, of course, the baby’s gone to sleep.

“Well, let’s have a feel.” She gestures toward the examination table and I go and heave myself onto it while Venetia washes her hands.