Olivia stared at him in disbelief. ‘And to think I was worried about how you’d cope without me.’ Shaking her head sadly, she laid her hand on the door handle just as her father called out to her from behind.

‘You leave this house and you’d better take everything with you, because you shan’t be coming back.’

She stood frozen to the spot, her hand still on the handle. She knew that this was another way of manipulating her into staying, because she couldn’t possibly take everything with her in one go. She thought of her mother, and how she had stood for none of her husband’s nonsense. She addressed him without turning. ‘If you want me to stay, you’re going to have to say it, no more games.’

There was a moment’s hesitation when Olivia thought her father might actually say the words she was certain he was longing to voice.

‘Close the door on your way out,’ William replied quietly.

Olivia turned the handle and walked out. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it whilst she came to terms with what had just transpired. She listened intently, waiting to see if she could hear the regretful footfall of her father as he hurried to take back words spoken in haste, but there was nothing. A tear trickled down her cheek as she went up to her bedroom. To change her mind now would be to resign herself to the life of a spinster who’d never been lucky enough to marry. She had no choice but to follow through and leave her past life behind.

She entered her bedroom and took down the suitcase from the top of her wardrobe, then methodically began to pack her most treasured possessions. Once she’d finished, she glanced briefly around the room, making sure that she hadn’t forgotten anything. Heaving the case off her bed, she descended the stairs and headed towards the front door. As she passed her mother’s room she decided to take one last look before leaving. She wandered over to the window which looked out over the garden. Her mother had spent many an hour gazing at the tulips and dahlias which filled the flower bed outside. Turning, Olivia’s eye fell on her mother’s dressing table. She picked up the mother-of-pearl-backed mirror and gazed at her reflection. How many times had she brushed her mother’s hair with the matching hairbrush? She recalled the last morning her mother had been alive.

‘Having my hair brushed always makes me feel better,’ Catherine had said, as Olivia gently patted her mother’s hair into place, ‘like I’m still part of things.’

She had smiled as Olivia held up the mirror so that she could see the result of her efforts. ‘You should be a hairdresser, Liv. It’s not easy making me look presentable these days, yet you still manage it.’