You were invited to a dinner party at the Jones'—of course, you went along. They were friends of yours, and more of your friends would be attending as well, most notably Rupert Campbell-Black, one of your closest companions for quite some time. You two got along famously, always being invited to almost every gathering of your mutual friends together. And if not, one or the other would make sure to include the other.

Rupert Campbell-Black, a Tory MP and the current Sports Minister, was also a retired Olympic show-jumper and a notorious womanizer. Yet, you were one of the few women in Cotswold who had managed to evade his charms. Despite that, the two of you enjoyed each other’s company in a platonic, drama-free manner—much to the chagrin of your husband.

Not that you cared about his suspicions. He never looked your way unless it was for appearances, yet you still loved him. There was something in you, a stubborn spirit that refused to let go, always fighting for the marriage.

As you arrived fashionably late to the party, you quickly surveyed the room. Rupert Campbell-Black ofcourse, Tony and Monica Baddingham, Freddie and Valerie Jones, Cameron Cook, Sarah and Paul, and of course, your husband, who sat across from you, while Taggie O'Hara was busy serving and cooking the meals.

You took your seat next to Rupert, who greeted you warmly. "Oh, hello, darling! Don’t you look exquisite?" he complimented, a mischievous gleam in his eye. As you settled in, he leaned over and showed you the menu with a smirk. "Have you seen the menu already?" he asked, his voice tinged with humor. "Look at this—I can't wait to try the 'chateau desert'!"