With Emma still gripping her hand, Lou found herself in the dining room where a feast of extravagant proportions had been arranged on pristine white tablecloths decorated with rows of shimmering silver sequins. Monsieur Gotti’s life-sized ice carving of a swan took centre stage, surrounded by the fruit-shaped ice creams so admired by Charlotte and Melinda. Trays of tiny bite-sized canapés ran the length of the table among joints of cold meat that a footman stood ready to carve.

Emma released Lou’s hand and took up a napkin. She selected an oyster smothered in caviar from a mound of crushed ice in a vast crystal bowl. Raising it to her mouth, she tipped the shell and swallowed the small piece of meat whole before dabbing a glistening spot of liquor from her lips. ‘Heavenly,’ she said, the tang of the sea on her breath. ‘Lady Mandeville is certainly going to be a hard act to follow. But with father’s money, who knows what spectacular parties I shall be able to throw at Hill House.’

To a casual listener, Emma’s words would have meant nothing more than she hoped one day to be mistress of this house. But, to Lou, they dripped with an altogether different meaning.

‘What happened back there,’ Lou said, ‘with Tom. It didn’t mean anything. There was nothing going –’

‘Of course it didn’t mean anything.’ Emma’s words slammed down on Lou’s with the precision of a guillotine. ‘But Louisa,’ she said, discarding the empty shell on a platter with a resounding ring, ‘do not make me regret taking you into my confidence. It’s important that you know I despise traitors. You’re not a traitor, are you, Louisa?’

‘No.’

‘And you were listening the other evening when I told you about Sir Charles’ debts?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then, you know that only I can dig the Mandevilles out of the financial hole they have found themselves in with my father’s money. And since you know that, then we understand each other. Like you said earlier, Tom wants to marry me.’ She grabbed Lou’s wrist. ‘I’m going to speak to my friends. You must join us. I insist.’

They joined a group of people, and Lou instantly forgot the names that Emma rattled off by way of introduction. Two men fought to hand Emma a glass of champagne. When she touched the arm of the man whose glass she refused, saying she would accept his next, he visibly grew a few inches taller. She laughed at another’s joke, and the blush in his cheeks showed she had made him feel wittier. When she encouraged a plain girl to tell a story, the girl basked in the light of Emma’s attention. Emma Caxton was the very epicentre of her universe. She was so at ease, so captivating; a planet with stars circling around her. Tom may not realise it yet, but he would be drawn into her gravity, powerless to resist, like everybody else. Had Emma known that when she asked Lou for help to plead her case to Tom? Had getting Lou onside been Emma’s way of saying “hands off, he’s mine,” without having to utter a single word? So what if that had been Emma’s intention? Wasn’t that what Lou wanted too? Because whatever she felt for Tom, it was nothing compared with how important it was to see him married. She was a speck of grey matter floating in the dark sky, waiting to burn up in the atmosphere. If she were to be remembered at all after she left, it would be with a vague, fleeting memory of a reasonably pleasant woman who had spent a Christmas as their guest. In the history of this house and family, she was nothing.