Why was he apologising to her? Why did he have to be so bloody honourable? Lou threw the feather to the floor. If she annoyed him, perhaps he would leave her alone. ‘I don’t know how you can bear to sit at the same table as that man after what he did to poor Ambrose today.’ And he’s going to murder your sister! Careful, Lou. ‘How can you do it after everything you said about him in the stable?’

Tom picked the feather up again and placed it on a side table. ‘What choice do I have? George is family. I’d rather he wasn’t, but he is. I’m sure you understand the need for the careful management of one’s relationships with one’s relatives.’

‘I’d smack him in the mouth, if I were you.’ She hiccoughed and briefly lost her footing. The floor seemed to be moving, the pattern in the rug coming into and out of focus like the colours in a psychedelic kaleidoscope. ‘Am I shocking you?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I have a suspicion that the wine is speaking for you. And perhaps the brandy.’

Lou could hear the laugh in Tom’s voice. ‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘A little.’

Lou stumbled. Tom reached out to help her, but she drew away from him, steadying herself against the back of the sofa. Tom stroked his imaginary moustache. ‘May I ask you a question?’ he said.

‘It’s your house, you can do what you want.’

‘Where did you go today?’

She was drunk but not that drunk. ‘Stop wasting your time asking me stupid questions and go back to Emma.’ She grabbed the feather from the table and threw it to the floor.

Once again, Tom stooped to pick it up. But this time, instead of handing it to her, he held it, running his thumb along the soft plume. Lou’s brain swirled around the vision of him, quiet and calm against her hysterics. And those eyes. Those bloody blue eyes that were staring at her so earnestly. Was he having a rummage around in her thoughts? What would he find if he was? Nothing good. Nothing worthy. She turned away so that he wouldn’t see the tears come on so quickly and with such force that she had to gasp just to take in breath.

‘Lou?’

She hid her face in the crook of her arm. Tom touched her shoulder, and she shrugged him away. She should make him hate her now. At some point, just like everyone else, he would come to despise her. There was little point in delaying the inevitable. ‘My father’s not dead,’ she blurted. ‘He left us when my brother was a baby. So, you see, I’m nothing but a dirty liar. I’ve lied to you and your family.’

Tom’s voice was quiet and close to her ear when he said, ‘Do you think we don’t all have secrets we would rather keep hidden? I’m certainly in no position to judge anybody, least of all you.’