“I think you ought to take Samuel here to your house, darling, and show him around.” Daddy stands, and his haughty Henningborne profile is as strong now as it was when he was a young man. I got his nose, sadly. It’s a strong nose, good on a man, less so on a woman. I would have preferred Mummy’s cute button nose, but hey-ho.

I fluff my hair, shorter now than usual. I was feeling bored and trapped by not working, and so I had my hairdresser come to my parents’ house and cut it to a long bob. It isn’t straight anymore, as the shorter cut and layers brought out my natural wave, and my hairdresser told me to go with it instead of always battling with the irons.

“Darling?” Daddy fixes me with the look. The one that urges you not to argue.

Taking a deep breath in, I smile at my father. “Of course, Daddy. Excellent suggestion. I’ll pack my things.”

Samuel’s brow crinkles.

“I’ve been staying here,” I explain. “Daddy doesn’t think it is safe for me to go home, or to work. I’m taking a sabbatical for now. Luckily my employers have been very understanding.”

Heading out of the room, I hear my mother asking Samuel questions about where he’s from, and he replies, “Moved around, army brat,” before his voice fades. The man isn’t very forthcoming or chatty.

Then again, I tell myself, as I enter my childhood room, that’s a good thing. I don’t want to have to make small talk with the bodyguard.

Packing only takes me five minutes because many of my things I never took out of my bag. I always have clothes here anyway for when I might come stay for the weekend. Same goes for the country estate my parents own. The biggest pile of stuff I need to gather are work notes, books, and my toiletries. I have an unhealthy addiction to skin products and have spent the economy of a small nation in my lifetime pursuit of perfect skin. I might not have Mother’s natural beauty, but I have damn good skin because I’ve taken care of it since I was twelve. That was the age my mother sat me down and told me that one day I’d get old and invisible so not to rely on my looks because when they went it was heartbreaking.

I spent years in my teens trying to ensure I stayed young, and it became a habit. All in the pursuit of not becoming invisible, which Mummy told me was a living death.

She lied that day. She never became invisible and yet I’ve always been invisible; next to her anyway. Age has not withered her.