“I’ll show you where you’re sleeping,” said Sofia, getting up from her chair with some difficulty. “Actually, I should give you the tour.”

“I’ll get the couscous going?” said Skylar. “I hope you haven’t all ruined your appetites?”

There was another staircase that went down instead of up. Up contained a huge drawing room, a master suite with a dressing room and two bathrooms, and a pristine guest room, then up again under the eaves were the children’s beautiful rooms in sailor prints and White Company fairy lights and bunting. Carmen smiled tightly at the tour as Sofia, slightly apologetically, then took her down to the basement.

“So I thought . . .”

Sofia was using the bright tone of voice Carmen recognized from childhood, from when she had to deliver disappointing news like she’d got only an A-minus instead of her usual A-plus, or Carmen couldn’t keep that cat she’d found in the street, as it belonged to somebody else.

“. . . you could sleep down here. It’s got its own bathroom, so you wouldn’t have to share with the kids, and its own entrance, so you can come and go as you like!”

She made it sound so appealing there had to be something wrong with it, and sure enough, as they passed through the beautiful, light-filled paradise of the warm kitchen upstairs and descended into the basement, it became apparent.

There were three tiny rooms ahead of them, obviously once used by servants, and a bathroom with a shower but no tub.

Behind them was a large utility room full of all the rubbish most people had to fit into their real houses: ironing boards, washing machines, Wellington boots, winter coats. No wonder their house could look tidy, thought Carmen crossly, when you could just throw all your stuff down the stairs.

“And you’ll be next to Skylar so you two can get along!”

“As the hired help,” said Carmen.

Sofia sighed. She was doing her best, but it never seemed to work with Carmen.

“Look,” she said. “It’s just a couple of nights. Just to help me, that’s all. Sometimes I get in late. And some mornings.”

“Well, I might get in late,” said Carmen. “What is this job anyway? Mum just said retail.”

That was not remotely true, but Carmen hadn’t really been listening. Also, Sofia hadn’t been a hundred percent open with Carmen about how bad things were at the shop in case Carmen went off on one and refused to come.

“It’s a bookshop,” said Sofia. “One of my clients owns it. Mr. McCredie. Needs someone to help him over Christmas.”

“Well, that sounds okay.”

“You like reading, don’t you?”