“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she demanded, sounding for the first time in her life like a mother.

“I told you, he was a perfect gentleman this afternoon,” I said. “I was only wearing a silk dressing gown and he could easily have tried to seduce me then.” The memory of that kiss flashed into my mind—actually, he was probably in the first stages of trying to seduce me.

“He may have behaved like a proper gentleman this afternoon, but that doesn’t guarantee that he’ll behave himself once he has you alone in the back of his motorcar,” she said. “He may have been making sure you let your guard down with him.” She actually came over and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve lived a sheltered life, Georgie, and I blame myself for not being a mother to you. Actually, it wasn’t entirely my fault—the Rannoch crowd made it clear that I was to stay away from my child in case I corrupted you with my wild ways. Still, I should have insisted.” A frown passed briefly over that perfect face. “But that’s all water under the bridge, isn’t it? It’s just that—well, I have met plenty of men like Jean-Paul de Ronchard and they only want one thing. He probably sees it as tremendous sport to seduce a virgin—I take it you still are a virgin? Of course you are. One look and one can see. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

I looked at her almost fondly. It was the closest I remember being to her. “I’m a big girl now, Mummy,” I said. “And I’m not as entirely naïve as you think. If I go with Jean-Paul, it will be because I choose to.” I saw her face then I laughed. “Don’t worry, I probably won’t do anything. That good old Rannoch sense of honor will kick in.”

She pulled my face down and kissed me on the cheek. “In which case go and have a lovely time. And if you decide to do it with him, I expect the sex will be glorious.”

It was rather a strange conversation to be having with one’s mother, but if anyone knew about glorious sex, it was she. I went upstairs to get ready, only to find that Queenie had disappeared down to the kitchen to have her supper, having laid out the strangest assortment of garments for me to wear—a frilly white number that one might wear to a garden party, a full cotton petticoat and a cardigan, in case I got cold, I presume.