‘I’d better get a move on. Let’s have another chinwag about the wicked Brigadier soon, eh?’ she said with a cheeky wink.

Moving off with her trolley, Sybil smiled to herself. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ she thought. ‘Now I’ve started I can always go back for more.’

Once they had established a tacit understanding that neither of them could stand the Brigadier, it became easier to stop by and chat to Rosie.

‘I worked my way up from housemaid,’ she told Sybil with an uncharacteristic ring of pride in her voice. ‘Course it didn’t just happen overnight – I had to be trained proper for the role. I thought when I applied for the more senior post Lady Veronica would turn me down, me being common and that, but she took me on and trained me up herself.’

Sybil checked her wristwatch – she would have to bring the conversation to a stop very soon or get a ticking-off for delivering cold food to the entire ward. Seemingly oblivious of Sybil’s body language, Rosie rambled on.

‘Dowry House belongs to Lady Veronica’s father, the Earl Stow, though watching the Brigadier striding around the place like lord of the manor you’d wouldn’t have guessed it.’

‘He certainly thinks he rules the universe,’ Sybil said encouragingly, but was immediately disappointed by Rosie’s reaction. Instead of rubbishing the Brigadier, Rosie returned to eulogizing her former place of work. Sighing, Sybil smothered a yawn.

‘Dowry House was a big beautiful place, hundreds of windows to clean, balconies back and front overlooking the wide streets and the grand white stucco houses. Massive marble-floored entrance hall with stairs running off either side, and chandeliers everywhere,’ Rosie burbled on. ‘Summer was wonderful, with the rose garden in full bloom and …’

Interrupting Rosie mid-flow, Sybil lumbered heavily to her feet. ‘I really mustn’t let the food go cold,’ she said, as she playfully wagged a finger. ‘Now eat all your dinner, Mrs Pickles, or you’ll get me into a lot of trouble with Sister Mann!’

‘Then do me a favour,’ Rosie joked. ‘Bin that blasted plate of liver and onions that you keep shoving at me!’

By the end of the week Sybil knew the colour of just about every set of curtains that hung in Dowry House, the brand of Lady Veronica’s expensive perfume (Givenchy), where the family tiara was kept (in a vault in the library), what her ladyship preferred for breakfast (salmon and scrambled eggs) and what her favourite cocktails were (Dry Martini and Pink Lady). She also knew everything there was to know about her only child, Marigold, whom the Brigadier had barely mentioned in all the time Sybil was having an affair with him. Sentimental Rosie could barely stop talking about her.