She had set it all out on the little gateleg table by the window with the breathtaking sweep of Torven beyond. There would not be room at the table for everyone, but they could have their lunch buffet-style, which would be easier anyway. She had expected to feel slightly disconcerted by the presence of Chad Ingram and the other three in the tiny Caradoc House flat, because although she was perfectly used to talking to people about how they could furnish their houses or offices or showrooms, she was not at all used to talking about disinterred fragments of her family’s past. She was certainly not used to television presenters or journalists who had been spectacularly blinded in the Middle East. David would have said, ‘Oh dear, George, this isn’t your kind of thing at all, is it?’ and Georgina would instantly have thought that David was quite right, concluded she was going to make a fool of herself, and abandoned the whole project. But so far nobody had said anything disagreeable or confidence-shrivelling: on the contrary, they were all completely friendly and seemed genuinely interested.
