Isabel sighed. A livid scar travelled up from the top of Henry’s cheekbone and disappeared into his hairline. It was a startling white and when he was angry, as he was now, it seemed to raise itself from the skin around it. He also had scars on his shoulders and back. Whoever had attacked him had really meant to do him harm. She’d wondered at first why his attackers had not taken his wallet and watch. But the police said that maybe the men had been disturbed, it often happened in daylight robberies. Now her sympathy, and she had been surprised to feel any at all, was slowly disappearing. As he was getting better, he was getting back to his old self. Never an appealing prospect at the best of times.

‘You’re a very difficult man, you know. Since you were attacked you’ve changed. You haven’t left this bed. God knows, you were bad enough before but now you’re impossible. Even the doctor is getting worried. Your wounds are healed, you’re fit and well enough to get up. So why don’t you come down today, have your meal in the library? The garden looks lovely.’

‘Isabel, do me a favour and leave me alone. I still feel unwell and if I choose to stay in bed that is my prerogative. I do not want to sit in the library or look out on the garden. I have no interest in the doings of little people who want to go to that Godawful continent Australia. I don’t care what we’re having for dinner or lunch. I don’t care what you’re doing or what your blasted father’s doing. In short, you bore me. Please go away and leave me alone.’

Isabel pursed her lips and stood up. As she walked from the room, Henry called her back.

‘And keep that child and his confounded dog away from me!’

As she opened the door, Nipper, a large German Shepherd, leapt into the room, closely followed by Benedict. Nipper bounded on to the bed and began a ferocious licking of Henry’s face and balding head. Muddy paws ripped into his copy of The Times. He pushed the animal away with all his strength, knocking it on to the floor.

Nipper was an amiable animal. He was still young, and even though Henry Dumas had never given the dog a kind word the animal lived in hope. Jumping on to the bed once more, he resumed his frantic ministrations.

Benedict stood at the door, his face alive with fun, and called the animal loudly.

‘Nipper, Nipper! Come here now. Leave Papa alone. He’s not well!’

Isabel bit back a laugh as Henry’s face appeared above the mass of fur and said through clenched teeth: ‘Get this dog off me!’