I went upstairs to change, but what to wear? I opened the wardrobe and looked at the meagre collection of clothes I’d brought over in my pink suitcase. I’d imagined buying an amazing new wardrobe out here, but I only ever went to grocery stores and had no idea where to find nice things. Rodeo Drive was obviously out, as well as being on the wrong side of town. There was no high street nearby, no H&M or Primark to pop to. I was in a foreign land. I had one nice-ish dress that Jenna had made me buy for my nanny interview, which fell just below my knees and buttoned up the front, with short sleeves. Demure. I took it out and looked at it, and then something in me reared its head. Some kind of stubbornness, after weeks of being put upon and scolded, getting by on snatched hours of sleep. Instead, I took out my shortest, tightest denim skirt, a trashy one I’d bought from a market back home, white with a frayed hem. I put on a bra that was a bit too tight after months of American eating, and a vest top I normally just slept in, with spaghetti straps that rarely stayed up. I outlined my eyes in liner and glitter shadow, made my mouth big and red and sticky. Sod Ruth. Sod Abby. I was nineteen years old and I was sick of being buried in this house.

When I came downstairs David was passing into the kitchen, a platter of seafood in his hands. He stopped to stare at me, half-frowning. I felt like a girl in a film, as I slowly descended, never breaking eye contact. My heart thundered, even as the too-tight clothes dug into me. What was I doing? I went up to him, took a prawn from the plate, and put it in my mouth, holding his gaze. I’d seen that sort of thing in films, though I felt stupid doing it.

‘Don’t let Abby see that,’ he said lightly, and he could have meant the prawn or something else.

‘I shelled these,’ I said lightly, not deferentially. Not like I was talking to my boss. Then I went outside to the terrace.

Abby was there, making microscopic realignments to the tableware. Ruth was sitting in a chair, with the only alcoholic drink she allowed herself, a diluted Martini. Despite the hot night she was wearing slacks and a silk blouse, heavy old-fashioned lipstick. She and Abby turned to stare at me. I could see they both wanted to say something about my outfit, but Abby wouldn’t dare to in front of Ruth. Better to pretend it was all fine. Ruth didn’t say anything either, just raised her eyebrows. ‘I hope you won’t catch cold, dear.’