The morning is being spent for Isabel’s benefit. It is she who wants to visit the dressmaker. She is determined to control and organise the wedding, to ensure that it is the society event of the year. Ralph, who will undoubtedly be content to let his future mother-in-law have her way in this regard, has only a passing interest in fashion. He likes Harriet to look well turned out, but not what he calls ‘overdone’, by which, she assumes, he means heavy-eyed with make-up and covered in jewellery. But even he, Harriet ruefully admits, will expect her to look her best on her wedding day.

July. Less than five months away.

In less than five months, she will breathe the fresher air of a different house. She will look up from her breakfast and see Ralph’s handsome, smiling face rather than her father, pushing toast under his grey moustache, into his mouth. Ralph will read out snippets from the newspaper rather than huff and mutter to himself, and she will no longer have to endure her father’s opinions on the shortcomings of Lloyd George’s government or her mother’s constant sniping. Together, she and Ralph will change the world.

‘I can’t wait,’ she says aloud.

‘Well.’ Isabel sits up and smooths her palms over her skirts. ‘I am pleased to hear it.’

‘Tell him I need a word, when you see him,’ Gerald says, still chewing. ‘Ralph. Haven’t seen him at the club for a while.’ He picks up his newspaper and shakes it out to resume his reading. He will not emerge from it again until the maid comes in to clear the table.

Harriet dabs a napkin to her lips and lays it on the tablecloth.

‘I shall do that. But now, I ought to change my outfit. Mummy won’t approve of me dressing like a typist when we’re visiting a fashion house.’

‘Certainly not. Try to look a little more refined than you usually do. And do something with your hair. It looks like a bird’s nest.’

Harriet bends down and plants a kiss on her mother’s cheek. ‘Thank goodness Ralph likes me as I am.’

‘You can be sure that he will like you even more if you make an effort. You know so little of what men want, darling.’ She pats her daughter’s hand. ‘Change your shoes as well, please. Those look dreadfully scuffed and in need of a good polish. Leave them out for Hanson.’

Harriet leaves her parents to their own company, her mother picking at a boiled egg and her father chewing steadily from behind the newspaper.