‘I think I’ll be the one deciding that, not you.’ Eliza couldn’t believe she was talking to her like this. It felt like she was channelling someone else. Someone fearless. Like her mother.

Celine narrowed her eyes. ‘So get started, then. But I’m watching you, missy. Like a hawk.’

Or a deranged otter, Eliza thought. Fighting a smile, she turned back to the paper-crammed boxes.

Four hours later, she’d sorted through six full boxes. She’d found photos, letters, theatre programmes and newspapers dating back years. Olivia had told her Celine had shipped them all from France. Billed to the Montgomery, of course.

She’d have done even more if she hadn’t been regularly interrupted by messages from Sullivan. His father was at the hospital. His stepmother had gone to visit her parents, taking The Baby – Sullivan always used capital letters – with her, he told her.

Are you home on your own? she typed, concerned.

No, Dad’s PA is here. But she’s busy working. What are you doing, FF?

I’m working too, actually.

I thought you were unemployed?

I’m doing a temp job. To help my godmother.

The one that just got married?

Another one.

Two godmothers AND a new job. Sounds great! I look forward to hearing all about it!

‘Stop that bloody messaging, would you?’ Celine said loudly. ‘That pinging is driving me insane.’

There was a knock at the door.

‘Get it,’ Celine said.

Eliza stood up, found a path through the boxes and opened the door. It was Olivia.

‘Is everything okay?’ her godmother whispered. ‘Do you need anything? Tea? Something to eat?’

‘Who is it?’ Celine shouted.

‘Olivia,’ Eliza called. ‘She’s asking if we’re hungry.’

‘I’m starving. I want a club sandwich and a glass of red. Same for you.’

‘I’m not hungry yet and I don’t drink.’

‘You don’t drink? Jesus, religious and a teetotaller.’

Eliza turned back to Olivia and winked. ‘Just tea for me, thanks Olivia.’

Olivia brought her hands together in an expression of gratitude, then left.

‘Why don’t you drink?’ Celine asked as Eliza started sorting again. ‘Are you an alcoholic?’

‘I don’t like the taste.’

‘What about drugs?’

‘No,’ Eliza said, moving over to a new box filled with what appeared to be theatre tickets.

‘How tall are you?’

‘Five foot ten.’

‘Too tall. Bet you’ve had trouble getting a boyfriend. Are you single?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not completely hideous-looking. You could make more of yourself if you tried.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It wasn’t a compliment. So are you a virgin as well as a religious teetotaller?’

‘No,’ Eliza said. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘I’ve had more lovers than I can remember. I’m trying to decide whether to weave my love affairs through the book, or have a separate chapter.’

Eliza kept sorting.

‘Elspeth?’

‘It’s Eliza.’