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why?' Her sister was far more animated now.
    'Nope,' Amy said. 'And I don’t think I want to know.'
     

Chapter 3
    Standing in her mother-in-law’s living room in South Kensington with its regency paint palate and gloomy atmosphere, Amy was reminded of a book she had read as a child. Was it called Funny Bones ? It was the story of a family of skeletons which began:
    ' In a dark, dark street, there was a dark, dark house.'
    Diving deeper and deeper into the shadows it finally found its residents, declaring ' in the dark, dark cellar, some skeletons lived.' With her sunken cheeks and severe expression, scrawny fingers clutching at her china cup, Andrea Green was not unlike one of those skeletons. Amy even thought she could make out her jagged frame underneath her loosened skin. Never mind that that skin was covered in the most expensive of Chanel.
    'It,' Andrea paused solemnly, 'is time.' This pronouncement was followed by a calculated sip of tea.
    Amy waited for her to expound. This was clearly a matter of great gravity. Something of national importance perhaps, at least judging by the tone. Was Amy about to be let in on some great family secret? Did Harry have a crazy ex-wife they kept trapped in a tower á la Jane Eyre? Oh no, she thought, is she about to tell me that I have to start breeding little Greens? An heir and a spare? She couldn’t think of a more excruciating conversation to have with her husband’s mother.
    'You are a Green my dear and Greens must represent the family.'
    Ah yes, 'The Family'. Andrea saw herself as the matriarch of a great dynasty, one whose reputation had to be constantly tended and elevated, not unlike the Windsors or perhaps the Kardashians. It didn’t help that Andrea Green preferred to be known by her title, Lady Andrea, bestowed upon her when Harry’s late father had himself received a knighthood.
    As if in solidarity, Sir Steven's eyes stared down at Amy now from the portrait which hung on the wall behind Andrea. His expression, a mix of petulant reluctance and mournful resignation, combined with his drooping jowls and ill-fitting medieval outfit to give him the air of a grumpy toddler at a fancy dress party.
    Steven Green had been made Sir Steven, a Knight of the Order of the Bath, in honour of his work in the sector of banking. He had been the head of a prestigious private bank by the name of Hodders. Of course, in the light of the banking crisis, it did transpire that Hodders’ one-time spectacular success in the investment and currencies markets had been courtesy of some less than above board - but equally spectacular - strategies, but Sir Stephen had had the good grace to shed his mortal coil before he could be the subject of anything so vulgar as being held to account for this. What’s more, this was never discussed, either within the family or otherwise.
    For Andrea’s part, she saw herself as a member of the aristocracy if not minor royalty, with a duty to the people of Britain and, of course, the world. Her ambitions were nothing short of stratospheric, particularly for her children. It was clear that she considered Harry’s older brother, James’s match with Giselle, whose family had connections to the royal German line, suitable. Quite what she made of the middle class roots of Amy from Totteridge, North London was another thing. She imagined that Andrea felt she had much in common with the tribulations of the royals themselves, having welcomed the less than regal 'Kate' into their midst.
    'The Society is having its annual charity dinner in three months,' she said, her tone clipped. 'You are ready to join the committee and will help to organise it. Giselle is busy apparently, something to do with school exams. And I won’t have Olivia doing it again. The Christmas do was a disaster. All that tinsel.' She paused and seemed to shudder at the memory, but continued without any expectation that Amy should comment. 'The next meeting is in a week. I imagine that gives you