My mother-in-law brought thirty-eight friends into my restaurant, ordered the most expensive menu on it, and told them she was paying. Then she started boasting about my husband’s new girlfriend — and I looked across the room at the young woman refilling their water.

“No. Serve it.”

Constance took over the private room like a hostess. Scallops, tartare, flatbreads, the dry-aged sirloin, the sauces. The first reserve bottles came up.

I brought the best one out myself.

I was pouring it round the table when Constance reached up and took the bottle out of my hand.

She held it against her own chest, looked round at thirty-eight women, and said:

“Give me that. She’s good at working — that’s what you keep her for. Pour for yourselves, ladies.”

They laughed. All of them. One of them said, “She cooks beautifully, but she’s very ordinary, isn’t she?”

I kept my hands at my sides and kept smiling.

Then one of them asked, “And Tobias? We never see him.”

Constance leaned in like she was about to give them the best news of the year.

“My son’s never been happier. He’s got a gorgeous young girl who’s absolutely wrapped round his finger.”