You always assure me that you want to know who will be spending Christmas with us, Mama wrote, but I always worry, even as I accede to your request, that I am causing you pain. I hang your stars on the tree each year, those bright jewel colours so distinct even after all these years, and I say a little prayer that you are happy, Margaret. You seem so. You have achieved so much already in your young life that I find it difficult sometimes to reconcile the impetuous, impulsive child with the sensible businesswoman.

Margaret sniffed, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. What she would give if she could be with Mama for just a few minutes! But it wouldn’t be nearly enough. She would almost rather do without than have one snatched moment. She wanted to linger among familiar accents, and to have her own pass unremarked. She wanted to take a walk in the countryside under a driech, mizzling sky, her feet soaked through, the soft rain falling like mist and the smell of peat smoke wafting lazily through the air. She wanted to meet all her nephews and nieces, to hug them, to tell them stories. And she wanted to take tea and cake with her sisters and Mama, to chat about nothing of consequence knowing that there would always be more time and yet more to talk together.

What she wanted was to go home.

But this was her home, wasn’t it? This little town house in this extraordinary metropolis, the place where she had truly grown up, become a woman she barely recognised. She’d had no idea when she sailed from Ireland what path her life might take, but now there was ample proof on her desk of her achievements. The Sanctuary was being expanded and, thanks to the bequest dear Mr. Gordon Bennett had left in his will, would be secure for years to come. Between her work there, her writing, and the few social engagements she continued to keep, her days were full.

Yet watching Randolph revelling in domestic bliss had unsettled her. He would always be her friend, but his marriage had changed things between them. Naturally, Geraldine and now Rita came first with him. It wasn’t that Margaret wanted what he had, but it reminded her that she, too, had a family and that they were very far away.

She loved New York and all the people from every walk of life who had allowed her into their lives. She would never have had the freedom to achieve what she had done here back home, nor even have gained the confidence to try. She loved the fact that every day she could prove herself useful; but as she stared down at her latest turquoise notebook, open on her blotter, Margaret wondered, wasn’t there room for more?