Early that evening the first snow began to flutter down. It was no surprise; they had been expecting it for the last week but Holly hoped that it might put Mr Dolby off.

At seven o’clock precisely she went downstairs to find her mother and grandfather in the drawing room.

‘Is that the best you could find to put on?’ her grandfather snapped, as he stared at the plain grey dress she was wearing. ‘And couldn’t you have done something a little bit more elaborate with your hair instead of scraping it back into a ribbon!’

Holly shrugged. ‘I’m perfectly clean and tidy,’ she answered, but she had no time to say anything else, for just then they heard the doorbell ring and Ivy hurrying along the hallway to answer it. Holly suddenly felt sick and the colour drained from her cheeks as she heard Ivy taking the man’s hat and coat.

‘They’re waitin’ for you in the drawin’ room, sir,’ they heard her say, and the next minute Holly’s worst fears were realised when Mr Dolby appeared in the doorway and gave a polite little bow towards herself and her mother.

‘Good evening, Mrs Farthing, Miss Farthing, Gilbert.’

‘Come on in, Walter,’ Gilbert Mason boomed in a jovial voice. ‘You’re just in time for a drink before we go in to dinner. Now, what will it be? Whisky, brandy or perhaps you’d like a glass of wine?’

While her grandfather was pouring the drinks, Holly had time to study Walter Dolby from the corner of her eye and her heart sank. He must be forty at least, if he’s a day, she thought glumly; even older than her mother. And he certainly hadn’t been at the front of the queue when looks were handed out, although he seemed to be kindly enough. In fact, he looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt. Mr Dolby was tall and thin with a large moustache that wobbled on his top lip. His dark hair was streaked with grey and his nose seemed to cover half his face and Holly knew instantly that she could never marry him. He was old enough to be her father at least, no matter how friendly he was.

The next twenty minutes were spent in stilted conversation, which Holly deliberately didn’t participate in, unless a question was directed at her, in which case she answered to avoid appearing rude, and she breathed a sigh of relief when Ivy finally came to tell them that dinner was ready.

Mr Dolby offered her his arm, which she reluctantly took, and led her into the dining room where he pulled a chair out for her and then, to her dismay, sat down next to her.

The meal that followed was excellent. A thick, warming pea soup was followed by a beef dinner with all the trimmings that had been cooked to perfection. For dessert, Cook had made one of her special sherry trifles, and this was followed by coffee and biscuits. Normally Holly would have thoroughly enjoyed it but tonight she hardly ate a thing. The food seemed to stick in her throat and the smell of the oil on Mr Dolby’s hair made her feel nauseous.