Sir William got up and put some coals on the small fire. A northerly wind keened in the chimney stack and blew smoke back into the room. Sir William turned and asked abruptly, ‘Was it on your account that Jane went away?’

‘On my account, Sir? Why would you suppose that?’

‘I do not necessarily “suppose” it. I merely note that something happened to send Jane to London without any warning – something she never spoke of to me. I also cannot fail to notice that since her departure you have not been yourself. There seems to be a matter that is causing you grief and I have begun to wonder whether it is Jane’s absence.’

‘Of course I miss Jane,’ said Ross, as brightly as he could. ‘We couldn’t fail to miss her in this household – both you and I. But I am glad for her that she is enjoying London Society. She works so hard when she is here, it is quite right that she should have a change of scene.’

Sir William looked closely at Ross. ‘A very careful answer,’ he said, ‘but one that tells me nothing. Have you not something else to add?’

‘I don’t know what it might be,’ said Ross. ‘Only that I have been worried lately on account of my brother. As you know, he is travelling very far away and I haven’t heard from him since the letter which told me he was ill. I am very sorry if this worry has made me careless in my work …’

‘No. I’m not implying that. Your work is always very good. It was you who discovered the small, multiple tumours in Mr Latimer’s lung, when at first I could not see them. But I ask myself whether there have been other things that I have been blind to. For I heard today from Mrs Morrissey that you took Jane to the tea room, that there appeared to be some quarrel between you and that Jane made one of the sudden departures for which she is well known.’

‘Oh,’ said Ross. ‘No, you have quite misunderstood. I did invite Jane to tea at Mrs Morrissey’s, but we had no sooner begun our very charming half hour, when she remembered that she had agreed to escort a patient to the Hot Bath at five o’clock. She was enjoying her cake, but alas, she had to leave most of it uneaten. Such, as you know well, is her dedication to her duty.’

‘Ah,’ said Sir William. ‘So there is nothing between you?’

‘What is between us is what has always been there: respect and admiration, nothing more.’

‘But cannot these – respect and admiration – undergo some metamorphosis which transform them into love?’

‘Quite possibly,’ said Ross. ‘But not in this case.’

VANISHING ANGEL

The day after Emmeline’s soirée, with the January darkness closing in upon the long afternoon, a caller arrived at the door.

It was Julietta Sims.

She was shown by the maid into Emmeline’s studio, where the artist was once again struggling to capture the features of her niece in the half-completed portrait.