Arthur Leighton, when he’d returned from the bar, had looked embarrassed on her behalf. Those kind eyes had been full of pity for her and she didn’t want his pity. No. She didn’t want it at all.

She’d pack her bags and tomorrow morning make enquiries as to the next ship back to England. Arthur could arrange it all for her and Douglas would have to pay for it. She knew Arthur would help her. He was the only person she trusted. Maybe she had nothing and no one to go back to in England, but anything, any job, no matter how humble, would be preferable to the torturous situation here. She wouldn’t even need to go through the shame of a divorce. The marriage was unconsummated and could surely be annulled. But she would think about all that later. Besides, it didn’t even matter: she had no intention of ever marrying again.

Deciding to start packing immediately, she clambered out of bed and went over to the wardrobe. Her suitcases, which had been stacked on top, had disappeared. The packing would have to wait until tomorrow. As she went back to bed, she tripped and stubbed her toe, slumping to her knees on the polished wood floor. Nothing was going her way. Powerless, robbed of all agency, even over her own belongings.

At some point, she must have crawled back into bed and drifted off to sleep. The next thing she was aware of was someone silhouetted against the muslin drapery of the open windows. Douglas was here in her bedroom.

How the hell did he have the nerve to come in here uninvited after what had happened? Feeling angry but vulnerable, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. He moved towards her and sat down at the foot of the bed. In the pale moonlight she could see that his hair was wet. She drew her knees up to her chest but said nothing.

‘I’m sorry, Evelyn. I behaved badly. You don’t need to tell me. I’ve already had Arthur Leighton reading me the riot act.’

She remained silent.

He spoke again. ‘Only, I didn’t want a fuss. No party. I told Veronica that. But the bloody woman’s a law unto her self. And I told you too. Didn’t I? I said I didn’t want a big do.’

‘So it’s my fault, is it?’

‘Well you could have told her you didn’t want to go to the damned club.’

‘She’s your friend. I barely know the woman. It wasn’t my place to interfere and anyway I thought you’d agreed. I didn’t know all those dreadful people would be there. She said it would be just the four of us.’ Indignation was mounting. How had what started out as an apology from him turned into an accusation of her? ‘I’ve never felt so humiliated and embarrassed in my entire life. I can’t stand your horrible club. I can’t stand Veronica Leighton and I can’t stand you.’

To her horror he started to laugh. ‘That’s a relief. I thought it was just me.’