‘Hello, Tamsyn,’ she said as I approached. She was filing her nails. There was a gold bag in front of her with scissors and nail polishes visible within. ‘What a surprise to see you again.’

I said hello, then paused to catch my breath having walked over at quite a pace. ‘Thanks for letting me come.’

Eleanor smiled. ‘E-dith!’ she called. ‘Tamsyn’s here!’

Edie shouted from the house to say she’d be there in a second. I saw her standing at her window. She pointed at her wrist and gestured to tell me she’d be down in five minutes.

I hovered, not sure what to do, but then Eleanor patted the other chair. ‘Do sit.’

‘Your nails are nice,’ I said after a moment or two.

She laughed as if I’d told a hilarious joke. ‘Would you like me to do yours?’

I splayed my hands in front of me and grimaced. ‘They’re awful. I’m not sure you can do much with them.’

She flicked her hand a couple of times indicating I should show her. When I did she made a face. ‘Good God, child. Give them here.’

It tickled as she filed and I had to fight to stop from flinching and pulling my hand back. She worked quickly, stopping every now and then to inhale from one of her gold-tipped cigarettes, which smoked in the ashtray to the side of her.

It wasn’t long until my nails were neat and round and even in length.

‘Better,’ she said. ‘You should look after yourself. You’re a pretty girl. I’m amazed your mother doesn’t insist on doing them for you if you aren’t going to do them properly yourself.’

‘She’s never done my nails.’

‘Really? How old are you?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘Goodness, at sixteen you should have a manicure at least every six weeks.’ She rifled in her bag and retrieved a soft coral-coloured polish. ‘You’ll see such a difference when I’ve finished.’

My chest swelled with joy as she grabbed hold of my finger. I was mesmerised by the way she painted each of my nails, rhythmically drawing one stroke down the centre, then one to the left, then one to the right. No mistakes. No smudges or wrinkles. Not a spot of colour smudged my skin.

‘Thank you,’ I said when she finished. ‘I love them.’

‘My pleasure, cherie.’ She screwed the lid back on to the varnish and dropped it into her bag.

I held out my hands and tipped them from side to side to admire them. They looked like they belonged to somebody else, as if they’d been cut from another person and sewn on to me.

‘It’s perfect here, isn’t it?’ I said, without thinking. ‘Like heaven on earth.’

‘Perfect?’

‘Yes. All of it. You. Mr Davenport. Edie.’ I paused. ‘The house. You’re so lucky.’