And The Bride Wore Prada. Katie Oliver

grey gaze. ‘We have guests to consider. Caitlin, kindly take yourself upstairs, please.’

      ‘What?’ she exclaimed. Hectic spots of colour rose on her cheeks. ‘Are you sending me to my room, like a...like a wayward child being packed off to bed without her supper?’

      ‘I’m simply asking you to remove yourself from the present company until you can behave appropriately.’

      ‘There’s no need for Caitlin to leave,’ Wren cut in, her voice unsteady. ‘I’ll go.’ Her gaze, bright with angry, unshed tears, swept over the assembled houseguests. ‘My apologies, everyone,’ she choked out, and left.

      There was an awkward silence. No one moved or knew quite what to do or say.

      Natalie got to her feet. ‘I’ll just go and check she’s all right,’ she said, and patted Tarquin’s shoulder as she hurried after her friend.

      She caught up to her halfway down the long gallery. ‘Wren – wait, please.’

      Wren stopped and turned around. Her face was damp and blotchy with tears. ‘Natalie.’ She groped in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘You should be downstairs with the others.’