Sibyl’s laugh carried over to them, but to Effie’s surprise it wasn’t coming from the direction of the fireplace. She wasn’t already holding court with her two hundred closest friends . . . she was only just coming in. Effie turned to see what was going on but she couldn’t see past the wired, flowing scarf of Amelia Earhart. Instead, she saw a ripple in the crowd, like a snake swimming in a river, making its way through, coming closer . . .

Laughs and shouts accompanied her progress. ‘But who are you?’ someone called, as the sense of scandal deepened.

Suddenly, the snake was upon them. Effie gasped as Sibyl blinked back at her, almost unrecognizable. Her face was smeared with mud, her hair was a wild tangle and her clothes – a boy’s shirt, vest and trousers – were covered with food stains. Her feet were bare and a rope was looped around her torso, a dead pheasant dangling from it at her shoulders.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, flicking at the dead bird. ‘I know it’s supposed to be a seagull or whatnot, but I couldn’t get one at such short notice. The gamekeeper was most obliging, though.’

‘You’re in my clothes,’ Effie whispered in disbelief, looking her up and down.

‘And you’re in mine! Isn’t it just too fabulous?’

Effie felt her eyes sting with tears as she realized what Sholto had been trying to tell her. She felt her humiliation bloom as people looked between the two of them, slowly beginning to understand the ruse. She felt suddenly not beautiful but ridiculous to be made up as that woman, humiliated that Sibyl had depicted her as some sort of primitive savage. ‘Why would you do this?’

‘Darling, it’s an impersonation party! I’m you and you’re me.’

‘But you never told me that!’ The words escaped her as a cry, betraying her hurt so that Sholto looked over at her with a pained expression.

‘Why, I thought it would be a surprise. Don’t you love it?’ For the first time Effie noticed a flatness to Sibyl’s voice, a deadness behind her eyes. There had never been kindness or friendship in her actions. She was cruel. Malicious.

‘Sibyl, what the hell are you doing?’ Sholto’s voice was a growl, white spots of rage in his cheeks. ‘You know this is completely unacceptable.’

Sibyl’s smile disappeared like the sun behind a cloud, throwing a shadow onto her face as she saw his anger. ‘Why? Why is it? She’s dressed as me. Why can’t I be her?’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Isn’t that what you really want, Sholto? Her, but me? Or is it me, but her?’

He swallowed at her bold words, the party pulsating around them like it was a heart and they were a blockage. Something stuck. Something dangerous.

‘Stop it,’ he snapped. ‘Not here, Sid. Not now.’