I had to laugh at this. “Belinda, you are awful.”

“Just practical, darling. I’m a survivor like your mother.”

I glanced at my watch. “I should probably go. Mummy hates to be kept waiting.”

“Well, let’s see something of each other, now we’re both in town. I may be short of funds but I still have enough for the occasional nightclub or play . . . and I’ll spread the word that we are available for party invitations. We’ll have fun, won’t we?”

As we left the coffeehouse, I really believed that we might. Mummy departed the next day, dressed in her floor-length dark mink and a cloud of Chanel No 5. “Have fun, darling,” she said, kissing me about two inches from my cheek to avoid spoiling her makeup. “And come out and stay with us once we’re settled.”

I watched her go, wondering how any woman could breeze through life so completely unaware of other human beings, even her only child. The taxicab door slammed, she waved and then she was gone.

Mrs. Tombs was standing behind me in the hall, wiping her hands on her pinny. “My rheumatics are playing up something terrible,” she said. “You don’t mind having the leftover stew for your dinner, do you?”

I stomped upstairs in deep gloom. I didn’t think I could endure staying here until the end of the month. I opened my bedroom door and was met by an amazing sight. Someone was sitting at my dressing table—someone with scarlet lips, red cheeks, eyes lined with kohl and hair piled on her head. The effect was like a cheap celluloid doll they sell at funfairs.

“What in heaven’s name?” I began.

My maid jumped up guiltily. “Sorry, miss,” she said.

“Queenie, what were you doing?”

She hung her head, embarrassed. “Your mum left some of her makeup behind. In fact, she threw it away. Seemed a shame. So I rescued it from the wastebasket for you. I thought you might look better if you tarted yourself up a bit.”

“You obviously thought you might look better too,” I said, not knowing whether to laugh or frown.

“Well, I ain’t never had the chance before to tart meself up,” she said. “You never know, I might look good as a vamp.”

“Queenie, only ladies of the night wear that much makeup,” I said. “And servants none at all. Now go and wash it off.”

“Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said. “I only did it for a bit of a laugh. Don’t get too many laughs around here, not with her down in the kitchen with a face that would curdle milk.”

I shook my head. “Queenie, I don’t know why I keep you as my maid.”

“I do, miss,” she said. “You can’t afford one of them posh maids what talks proper and knows how to behave.”

“True. But I did hope you might learn to behave like a posh maid.”

“I don’t burn your clothes when I iron them very often these days,” she said defensively.