‘Let her finish the cleaning. The last time she did this Mrs Datchett free-wheeled for weeks.’ Emily switched on the television and lay back on her pillows to watch a programme on fashion. ‘Look at those skirts, Nicholas, right up to their crotches!’

‘There is a lot of banging and destruction going on downstairs,’ Nicholas remarked, returning from a trip to the lavatory. ‘She has the bit between her teeth. I trust she won’t destroy anything precious. She is filling bin liners with all things unburnable.’

‘Having a happy time. Did she bring up the books?’

‘I fetched them. Shall we read and compose our reviews?’

‘Let’s see what there is.’ Emily seized the parcel.

‘She is burning Bonzo’s old basket,’ said Nicholas.

‘He doesn’t use that one any more.’

‘And his blanket, probably thinks it full of fleas.’

‘It probably is. Fleas’ eggs last. Do you think she is making the house ready for the undertakers?’

‘In which case we have a surprise for her, but no need to be morbid, Em. I say, let’s have a look.’ Nicholas reached for the books. ‘I love the innocent smell of a new book. What shall we be this month, mean or charitable?’

‘Let’s damn with faint praise.’ Emily relished their power. ‘Oh, darling, you do look fierce, what’s that sack for?’ Emily clutched the duvet to her breast as Laura came into the room. ‘What are you up to?’

‘I am degenerating into a dutiful daughter,’ said Laura lightly. ‘Actually I am collecting empties to throw out, bottles, cartons, that sort of thing. Why do you never throw anything away? Look at all this.’ She opened a cupboard. ‘Gosh—’

‘It might come in useful.’

‘For what?’ Laura snatched up paper, small boxes, empty tubes of toothpaste, old jars of face-cream and broken combs, dropping them into her sack.

‘Mrs Datchett is going to be pleased if she ever comes back,’ said Nicholas placatingly. ‘Especially if she only wants to do light work. Sit down a minute, Laura, and talk to us.’

‘When I’ve finished this. She is coming back. I have been to see her.’ Laura continued her clearance. ‘Don’t worry. What’s all this?’

‘We have something to tell you,’ said Nicholas.

‘Let her finish her wave of destruction,’ said Emily. ‘Have you had a go at your part of the house, Laura?’

‘Yes. That wasn’t too bad. What are all these?’ Laura sat back on her heels. ‘What are they?’ She sniffed at a box of empty bottles. ‘They smell—er—funny.’

‘There was a shortage of bottles in the war; one returned the empties to the barber. One did the same with Fortnum’s jars,’ said Nicholas. ‘One didn’t always keep up the impetus.’

‘The war ended in 1945,’ said Laura, still thoughtfully sniffing. ‘This was hair oil,’ she said, puzzled.

‘Penhaligon’s best. Has it kept its scent?’

‘You have not used it for years and years—’

Laura held a bottle to her nose. ‘Oh—’

‘Stop sniffing like that, Laura. What’s the matter?’