The woman walked towards the portico, her red lips parting to reveal a dazzling smile.

‘Emma,’ Tom said, stepping away from Lou.

‘Tom, darling.’ Emma met Tom in a warm embrace. ‘How tanned you are!’ she said, a laugh in her voice. ‘It suits you. Perhaps next summer I should dispense with the parasol and go au naturel on the Riviera.’

‘Emma,’ Tom said, only half turning to Lou. ‘This is Miss Louisa Arnold, my aunt’s guest for the week.’

“My aunt’s guest” no longer “our guest”? How cold that introduction sounded. How distant.

‘Miss Arnold,’ Miss Caxton said, treating Lou to the warmest of smiles. ‘It’s delightful to meet you.’

‘And you, Miss Caxton,’ Lou said.

‘Oh, call me, Emma,’ she laughed. ‘And may I call you Louisa?’

Charlotte ran from the house. ‘Emma!’ she called and threw her arms around her cousin. ‘Come inside,’ she said, taking Emma’s hand. ‘Mama is beside herself waiting to see you. I want to hear all about London. Did you go to see the exhibition at The Natural History Museum, like you said you would? Was it marvellous?’

Emma and Charlotte disappeared inside, followed by George Caxton. Tom walked beside Lou, but the look on his face didn’t invite conversation. In the hall, Sir Charles, Lady Mandeville, Mrs Hart, and Edward waited to greet George and Emma. A maid hovered with a tray of mulled wine. She offered a glass to Lou, but she shook her head. Other staff helped the guests with their outdoor clothes. Lou tried not to gawp when Emma unfurled her scarf and removed first her hat and then her coat. Beneath the white fur, she wore a simple dark green dress, shorter in length than any Lou had seen in her time at Hill House; so short, that it was possible every now and then to catch a glimpse of Emma’s ankles. It was lower cut too, revealing just a hint of the swell of Emma’s bust, so perfectly in proportion with her slim waist.

Lou frowned at her tweed skirt and high-necked blouse. She looked like she’d dressed herself in cast offs from an old lady’s wardrobe.

Emma chatted easily with everyone, and her eyes brimmed with what appeared to be genuine happiness. She was so unlike her brother, who brooded in the corner, helping himself to a glass of mulled wine. He knocked it back, returned the glass to the maid’s tray and immediately took a second. Sir Charles engaged him in a conversation about his car. It was new – apparently – and incredibly expensive. Lou looked from the burly George Caxton to the slight, childlike Charlotte. It was impossible to imagine a day when she would stand by his side at the altar.

‘Emma, you look beautiful,’ Lady Mandeville said. ‘Thomas, doesn’t Emma look beautiful?’

Tom took two glasses of wine from the maid’s tray and handed one to Emma. ‘A true English rose is always in full bloom.’

Emma slipped her arm through his and tapped his hand. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take that as a compliment since it’s the closest I’m likely to get from you. Why must you always talk in riddles?’ She took a sip of her wine and looked up to the bare boughs of the tree. ‘What a beautiful fir, I’d say it’s the finest yet.’