‘It does. It has “Mrs” in brackets, see?’ She held out the letter but Ann was shaking her head.

‘The barefaced cheek of it. Anyone could write that. I could do it myself and no one would know if it was the truth or a lie.’

‘She’s coming on Friday. And this is Monday. It’s hardly any time at all.’

‘That’s what she thinks! I’ll write and say she is not welcome.’

‘I don’t think . . .’ Isobel turned back to the first page. ‘There’s no return address. I’m not sure you can stop her.’

‘No address? There must be.’ Ann seized the letter. ‘You are correct.’

‘It’s bold,’ ventured Isobel.

‘Bold? It’s rude, that’s what it is.’ Ann paused. ‘And that’s what I will say plainly to her face when she turns up on my doorstep.’

Chapter 44

October 1931

‘I don’t know what you’re worried about.’ Keith sat on the edge of the bed, dressed for work apart from his socks and shoes. ‘You don’t know this woman and you certainly don’t need to impress her.’

Ann leaned forward and examined her reflection. ‘I look like her.’

‘You look like her?’ He shook his head. ‘You haven’t even met her yet.’

Ann closed her eyes, pushed the fingers of both hands into her hair like giant combs and ruffled it, gently at first and then vigorously, turning it into a nest a rook would have been proud of.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘I look like her. No matter what I do, I still look like her.’ She kept poking and twisting, creating more and more knots.

He got to his feet and took the three steps required to stand behind her. He rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘What are you talking about?’ he said softly.

She pushed the tangle of hair back from her face and studied her reflection. ‘Marginally better, I suppose.’ Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and began to spill over onto her cheeks, making little channels in her just-applied face powder.

He waited.

‘It’s no use. As soon as I brush it again, she will be back.’

He leaned forward so that their reflections were side by side. ‘Who will be back?’ He kept his voice low and quiet.

‘My mother. I look like my mother.’ She flopped the tangle of hair forward and flipped it back again. ‘See?’

He didn’t immediately respond. It seemed important not to dismiss the outburst with anything flippant.

Eventually, after perhaps a minute of consideration, he spoke. ‘I mean, I never met her, but I’ve seen the photographs of your family, and she’s very different. Your face is rounder, and she had a high forehead and you don’t have that. I’m trying, but I can’t see anything of her in you.’