Ann smiled. She had the advantage. This could have been fun if she kept the visitor in the dark, but her manners got the better of her.

‘That’s me.’

‘I thought . . .’ The words were left dangling.

‘Won’t you come through? I’m afraid the drawing room is far too cold to sit in. As you’ll no doubt have seen, we have had a slight mishap with the glazing and there’s no point in lighting the fire and sending the heat straight outside.’ She straightened her back. ‘We are in the kitchen today, I hope you . . .’ she stopped herself from saying ‘don’t mind’, ‘ . . . haven’t had far to travel. There was no return address on your letter so I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage on that front.’

She opened the door to the kitchen and the warmth escaped into the hall to meet them. Isobel, unable to help herself, stood up.

‘This is my friend Isobel Clark.’ The name was lost in the scraping of the chair being pulled back from the table. ‘Do please take a seat.’

The visitor offered her hand to Isobel, who accepted it as though it was the most normal thing in the world for a former maid to shake the hand of someone who was clearly so wealthy. Every thread and button Mrs Sidcup was wearing screamed money in capital letters and underlined twice.

They all sat down at the table, and Ann and Isobel waited.

‘I must apologise for not providing a return address when I wrote to you but I was terribly worried that you would not see me at all.’

‘I confess that had there been one, I doubt you would be here now,’ replied Ann. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

Mrs Sidcup glanced at Isobel briefly before turning her attention to Ann. ‘I had hoped we might meet in private.’

‘I trust my friend completely. I am sure you won’t be surprised to find that I have equipped myself with some company, under the circumstances. I mean, a letter from a complete stranger inviting herself to my house? I simply could not have risked having you in my home at all if I had been alone.’

Shock was momentarily written on Beatrice Sidcup’s face, as though this possibility had never occurred to her, but after a moment she nodded, slowly. ‘I understand; it must have seemed very odd. Please, if you can, I would like you to call me Beatrice.’

Ann stood up and retrieved the steaming kettle off the hotplate. She poured boiling water into the kitchen teapot and added the handknitted tea cosy, not caring how this might appear. She was not ready to be on first-name terms. ‘Perhaps you should explain your letter, Mrs Sidcup. I confess I was surprised and not a little disturbed that you mentioned my brother after so many years.’