This was in contrast to Christopher and Marnie. It would have been impossible to miss the current that was flowing between them, to ignore the private looks they exchanged or the way they stood so close to each other, and though Louisa was ashamed to find herself minding so much, she suddenly found it hard to bear. It wasn’t that either of them ignored her – far from it. They had both made a point of seeking her out as soon as they returned from Bruar and appeared particularly pleased to see her, but for Louisa, used to being the centre of attention and – in the most charming way – the instigator, rather than the receiver, of acts of social kindness, this only emphasised the situation. It wounded her pride, on top of what she felt to be the rebuff she’d already had from Christopher, and in consequence she seemed distinctly unenthusiastic in response to Marnie’s effort to be friendly.

Marnie, eager to share her new-found happiness, and having thought that she and Louisa were on the verge of genuine closeness, longed to tell her all about her day and show her the beautiful book on fortified Scottish houses and their gardens which Christopher had secretly bought for her in the Bruar garden shop while she was buying shoes. She could see that Louisa was on edge and, guessing the reason, was afraid such a gesture on her part would be insensitive, and might even be misinterpreted as deliberate gloating. As a result she automatically withdrew into her old shell, and became spiky as a sea urchin herself. I never know where I am with Louisa, she thought, or is it just me, reading the signals wrong as usual? It’s like playing Snakes and Ladders – I land on a square that takes me up a little ladder, then I throw the dice again and – whoosh! – I’m on a great open-mouthed snake and back where I started.

Christopher, seeing Marnie’s troubled expression, had directed a coolly critical look in Louisa’s direction, which had hurt.