‘Thank you for awaiting orders, Mrs Baxter. You may fetch in the coffee tray now.’

Ann went to sit beside Margaret on the sofa. ‘I do hope Bridie is safely home now?’

‘Yes, she is. It was as if she was emulating the cat, prowling around at night, trying to find a male to mate with.’

Ann’s eyes opened wide. She had never heard Margaret be so base.

‘Well, that is good she is home, the children do love the dog.’

The door swung open and Mrs Baxter shuffled in with the tray.

‘Leave it there, Mrs Baxter. And shut the door tight.’

Ann reached to pour the coffee. ‘You like just one spoon of sugar, do you not, Margaret?’

Margaret nodded; Ann noticed that she was strumming her fingers on the side of the brocaded armrest. She took the coffee and turned to Ann so they were face to face. ‘Ann, first I hear my husband is not at home in the middle of the night. Then I find this!’

She delved into the carpetbag at her feet and pulled out a mustard-yellow waistcoat.

‘What is it, Margaret?’ Ann tried to speak normally but found her voice was croaky.

‘It is my husband’s silk waistcoat. His favourite.’

Ann looked at her, expectant.

‘Smell it,’ Margaret said, a disdainful look on her face. She thrust it into Ann’s hands. She took it and sniffed. Dear God, it was too obvious.

‘The aroma – no, I must call it an odour – is one of jasmine with a hint of bergamot, the stench of someone who wears more perfume than a common whore.’

Ann gulped.

‘It has a strong and lingering smell and my husband’s waistcoat is reeking of it. Do you have any suggestion as to how this might have happened? While I was away?’

‘I have no idea, Margaret. Perhaps when I saw him last week I had too much perfume on and it lingered on the fine silk.’ She stroked the material.

‘Take your hands off it, woman!’ Margaret yanked it from her.

Ann blinked and looked deep into Margaret’s eyes. ‘What are you suggesting, Margaret?’

‘I am not suggesting anything. I am confirming what I know happened during my absence.’

‘I do not seem to be following you, Margaret.’

‘Let me spell it out so you are in no doubt. You and my husband were cavorting together during the nights I was away.’

Ann gasped. ‘Oh, such accusations, Margaret!’

‘Your girl Jessie told my Aggie that there were blankets and hot water bottles in the summer house at the weekend. Why would you, in January, wish to heat the summer house? My contention is that you and Archibald were in there.’ She looked away, eyes narrowed. ‘Together!’

Ann’s heart hammered against her ribs but she sat quite still. ‘I am sure there is some misunderstanding, Margaret.’ She thought fast. ‘What does Dr Donaldson say about this nonsense?’