Isabel Littlemore presses the satin at her thigh, smoothing out an imagined crease in her gown. It is new and she is not at all certain about it, but after the deprivations of recent years she has taken to treating herself now and again. Not that the Littlemores had needed to draw in their belts too tightly during the war, but it had not seemed right to run about buying fripperies when so many were apparently going short. She licks the corner of her mouth and touches her knuckle to her lip. They will be here soon. She resists the urge to stand up and pace about; she sits, straight-backed, on the edge of her chair in the receiving room.

It will be easier once they arrive. It is always easier once the conversation is flowing and Gerald is holding court at the table. She will enjoy watching him take the lead and rely on him to decide the subjects they will discuss, knowing that her own duties will have been discharged.

She has already reprimanded the cook. When she peered into the kitchen an hour ago, she found the staff idling. There was, cook had said, nothing at that precise moment that needed doing. Everything was under control. But they should have been doing something. A frenzy of activity would have reassured her far more than the shrug of laissez-faire she encountered. At least the dining table is gleaming. Hanson has spent the afternoon polishing the silver and added extra candles.

She did not dare look in at Harriet’s room, for fear of causing an attack of nerves. Harriet will not be dressed, even now. She will be gazing out of her window or fiddling with something at her dressing table.

Gerald is relaxed. He is always relaxed – even when wearing his stiffest evening collar. He has not overseen any of the dining arrangements and is unperturbed by his daughter’s tardiness. He strokes the leather arm of the chair and gazes benignly at his wife, confident that she will have everything under control. Besides, the MacKenzies are friends – not the sort to stand on ceremony. He is looking forward to a simple evening of good company and honest food.

Isabel twitches when the doorbell rings. They are early and Harriet has still not appeared downstairs.

She hears Hanson opening the door and greeting the first guest. Ralph’s rich baritone reaches her ears as he exchanges a few words with their butler. Then he laughs – a solid, hearty sound – and her nerves melt away.

‘Darling, you look wonderful. Yes, I love it.’

Harriet.

Isabel sits a little straighter and smooths her skirt once more, waiting for Hanson to announce Ralph.