It was less than two weeks to Christmas, and she knew that within the next few days the whole issue of the holiday period would be raised again. When she thought about it her stomach churned and she had a taste of ashes in her mouth. She had been invited to Morocco to stay with friends from Tatler, but she was stalling. Her need to escape was close to desperation and she longed to go away, to be left in peace, to forget for a short while the miseries of her situation. It would be a blessing to give herself up to the exotic offerings of a country she wanted very much to visit. But Marina would be devastated and hysterical if she spent the holiday in Marrakesh, knowing they would never spend another Christmas together. And there was George. It was only a matter of time until the pressure began again, rekindling Camilla’s guilt, and the shame she felt over her continuing refusal to contemplate a reconciliation with her father.

She was weary and dispirited when she rang Marina’s doorbell some hours later. The housekeeper answered the door and took Camilla aside in the hall. She was a kindly woman in spite of her glum expression and the grey, wispy hair scraped back into a severe knot.

‘She hasn’t been at all well either yesterday or today, dear,’ Mrs Maskell said. ‘I offered to take her to her appointment this afternoon, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Dr Hayford phoned afterwards to see if she was home safely. He’d had his nurse put her into the taxi, but he said he was worried about how poorly she looked. Your father will be back at the weekend. Perhaps she’ll feel better then.’ She pursed her lips, highlighting the strange lack of communication between father and daughter, even in such dire circumstances.

‘Thanks, Mrs Maskell. The nurse will be here around nine, and I’ll stay tonight.’

Marina was in bed. Her face was grey, her skin chalky, and Camilla saw that her fingers and her wrists were swollen and bruised. She took her mother’s hand and felt the heaviness of pain and fatigue.

‘Sorry I’m so late. The session dragged, and the designer was behaving like a prima donna over some very ordinary clothes.’ She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘You should have taken Mrs Maskell with you, Mother. You can’t go out alone if you’re not feeling right. What did the doctor say?’