‘Father!’ Charlotte said. She frowned, pretending to be cross, before slipping her arm through his. ‘My father delights in teasing me, Louisa,’ she said and kissed him on the cheek.

‘And my daughter is an unruly and wilful child, Miss Arnold. Ever since she was this high,’ – he placed his hand so that it was flat beside his knee – ‘she has had opinions on every subject, which she has not been afraid to air. Including to the Home Secretary himself when he and his wife came to stay for a weekend.’

‘And you wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Mrs Hart chipped in. ‘You would soon grow tired of a daughter who behaved like a doll, whose only ambition in life was to look pretty. Remember how proud you were of Charlotte when she was just seven-years-old, yet held a perfectly lucid political conversation with Mr Lloyd George?’

‘Perhaps.’ Sir Charles patted Charlotte’s hand. ‘But it might be nice to have a daughter who spent her time in more ladylike pursuits – tapestry or embroidery or whatever it is you women enjoy – rather than with her nose stuck in the pages of The Times.’ Before Charlotte or Mrs Hart could respond, he indicated for the second footman to offer Lou a drink. She took a glass of sherry from the silver tray, wondering what it would feel like to have a father who actually cared about her. Sir Charles looked past her. ‘At last,’ he said. ‘I thought we were never to be graced with your presence.’

‘Sorry, Father.’ Edward stepped into the room. Without lifting his eyes from the floor, he said, ‘I hope you’re well.’

‘Never better. Which is more than can be said for you. You look as though you haven’t seen the sun in weeks.’

‘Edward is now nocturnal, Papa,’ Charlotte grinned. ‘He stays in his room all day, and only comes out after dark to growl at us like a wild beast. Last night, he –’

‘Shall we go through?’ Lady Mandeville rose to her feet. ‘Monsieur Gotti does get terribly upset if we keep him waiting.’

The table in the dining room was laid with more crystal, more silver and more candles than the previous evening. Sir Charles sat at one end, with Lady Mandeville at the other, the purple of the flowers in the vast arrangements perfectly matching her gown. Mrs Hart sat to her brother’s left with Edward beside her. Lou waited to be shown to her seat between Captain Mandeville and Charlotte. She ate every spoonful of the soup placed before her and devoured every flake of trout. For someone who had spent most of the last two days either at a table or preparing for a meal, she had eaten surprisingly little. She was ravenous; far too hungry to concentrate on the conversation bubbling around her. Perhaps an insatiable hunger was a side effect of being fed an unsatisfying liquid diet through a tube in hospital.