Vicky gave her a hug and a kiss, hiding the concern she felt at Nancy’s appearance, for though Nancy’s voice was as brisk and no-nonsense as ever, her face was pale and there were deep circles carved beneath her eyes. ‘Will isn’t here,’ she said, wishing she knew how best to comfort her. ‘He’s gone to Northumberland for Christmas.’

‘Well, Paul and Adam, then. Where are they both? And are those freshly baked mince pies I can smell? I’m starving. There wasn’t a buffet car on the London train.’

Avoiding her mother’s eyes, grimly behaving as if she hadn’t a care in the world, Nancy headed for the kitchen.

Not fooled for a moment, Vicky followed in her wake. ‘Paul is out searching for a suitable Christmas tree,’ she said, her heart hurting at seeing her daughter so bitterly unhappy, ‘and Adam has gone to buy a sledge for Emily Elise.’

‘Good. I love sledging. Happy Christmas, Josephine. The cake looks smashing. Did Emily Elise help ice it?’

‘I did, I did,’ Emily Elise abandoned the pastry Josephine had given her to roll and hurtled across the large kitchen, flinging herself into her half-sister’s arms. ‘Your hair is all tickly and wet,’ she said as Nancy scooped her up off the floor, hugging her tight. ‘And you smell of smoke, Nancy. You don’t smoke cigarettes, do you? Mummy doesn’t smoke cigarettes. She doesn’t like people smoking them.’

‘It’s smoke from the train,’ Nancy said, lowering Emily Elise back to ground level and resolving to have a little chat with her about tact. ‘Did you put the snowman on the Christmas cake?’

‘Yes.’ Emily Elise’s blue eyes shone. ‘And I made those little marks to show where he’s walked across the cake. I did them with a fork. And then I ruffled up the icing to make a little hill for him to stand on.’

‘Here’s your cup of tea and two mince pies,’ Josephine said, handing Nancy a steaming mug and a plate. ‘Now tell me about this new job of yours in London. You’re still a journalist, aren’t you? No change there, then.’

By the time Max arrived, just before lunch, Paul, Adam and Nancy were busy shovelling snow from the drive so that cars could navigate it without becoming snow-bound.

‘Get yourself a pair of wellingtons,’ Paul said to him as a giggling Emily Elise pelted him with snowballs. ‘There are spare shovels in the potting shed.’

‘So why isn’t Pa coming this year?’ Max asked an hour and a half later as, weary with shovelling, they sat around the huge kitchen table, enjoying home-made chicken soup and freshly baked bread.

‘He’s had an alternative offer.’ Vicky passed a napkin to Emily Elise, who was finding her soup spoon difficult to manage. ‘He’s spending it with a lepidopterist friend.’

‘Male or female?’ Josephine asked, cutting to the heart of the matter with Yorkshire bluntness.

‘I don’t know.’

‘It would be nice if the friend was female.’ Nancy carved herself another wedge of bread. ‘He might marry again.’