Her mother pulled the cardigan from under her and lifted it to her cheek, rubbing the soft wool on her skin.

‘One of the nicest things I ever knitted for you.’ She sighed and put her nose to it. ‘It smells of you.’

Marion gritted her teeth in furious despair.

Maggie shot her an angry look. ‘Can I not say anything to you? Do you speak to the Duchess the way you speak to me?’

Her stepfather came in bearing a tray of tea. ‘I’ve put some sausages under the grill.’

Maggie wiped her eyes ostentatiously. ‘The last thing I want is food. I couldn’t keep it down.’

‘Ah.’ He put the tray down, assessing the situation. ‘You two squabbling?’

Maggie sighed. ‘I just don’t know why she has to go back so soon.’

Robert took charge. ‘Let’s leave Marion to her packing. This is a very difficult time for her. Come downstairs with me.’

With space to herself, Marion collected herself and continued to pack, making a mental list of everything she had to do and would need to do once back in London. She also had to tell someone else that she was leaving today.

George.

George had spent Christmas day with them. Maggie’s determination to matchmake was ironclad.

Marion had been dreading it.

At midday on Christmas day, George’s car had driven onto the frosty drive, the boot laden with presents.

Maggie had made all sorts of fuss, welcoming him as if he were already a son-in-law.

‘Marion, pour our guest a sherry. George, settle yourself on the sofa with Marion. Robert, I need your help in the kitchen.’

Excruciating.

Sitting next to each other, as decreed, George had admired the decorated tree in the corner and the cooking smells from the kitchen.

Marion was impelled to continue a conversation.

‘Are you still helping your friend with the motor sales?’

‘I am indeed. We met during the war. In France. Gordon Highlanders. The kind of friendship that is forged in battle. Brothers-in-arms, if you like.’

‘Where were you in France?’

‘Anywhere they needed us. We saw a lot of action. Lost good friends. Dreadful time.’ He drained his sherry.

‘And that’s where you were given the rank of major?’

She saw embarrassment and modesty in his eyes before she asked, ‘Would you like another?’

‘No. No.’ He smiled at her and she saw how his eyes crinkled at the edges. ‘I want to appreciate your mother’s lunch. So kind of her. It’s a long time since I had a Christmas lunch with friends. Or indeed family.’ He rubbed his moustache. ‘Sorry. You don’t want to hear my woes.’

Marion found that she actually did want to hear more, but as if on cue, her parents appeared.

‘Marion.’ Her mother smiled at her. ‘Would you help me for a moment? And Robert, would you take George into the dining room? Luncheon is ready.’

‘Well?’ In the kitchen, Maggie whispered conspiratorially, ‘How have you two been getting on?’

Marion refused to be drawn. ‘Shall I take the dish of potatoes in?’