‘I’d like you to be my mummy, but I don’t want you to die.’

Evie pulled up short, horrified. She bent down beside the little girl and scooped her into her arms. ‘Of course I won’t die, Jasmine. What on earth gave you that idea?’

‘I’m the only girl in my class at school who doesn’t have a mummy. Betty Foster says my mummy lost the will to live. She said her mummy told her.’

‘What nonsense. Betty must be a very silly girl. Your mother got sick and that’s why she died. It’s terribly sad, but it does happen to people. Remember how I told you my daddy had died as well?’

‘Did he get sick, too?’

Evie swallowed, hating to lie to Jasmine, but she couldn’t possibly tell her what actually happened. Anyway he was sick – sick in the head to do something so stupid. She nodded. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘Were you a little girl?’

‘Not as young as you. But still a girl.’

Jasmine’s arms went up around Evie’s neck and clung to her tightly. ‘I thought I didn’t want a new mummy.’ The big eyes narrowed and the rosebud mouth formed a pout. ‘But I changed my mind. Will you be my new mummy, Evie?’

Tears sprung to Evie’s eyes. ‘I’d like that very much indeed.’

‘And can I call you Mummy?’

’Nothing would make me happier.’

Satisfied, Jasmine dropped her arms and took her stepmother’s hand. ‘Come on, Mummy, before it gets dark.’

That afternoon proved to be another turning point in her relationship with Jasmine. Evie found herself looking forward to the child’s homecoming from school each day and she relished the chance to spend time with the little girl. Jasmine was clearly desperate for affection but there was still a slight caution, as if she was nervous that Evie, like Felicity, might suddenly disappear from her life. Evie wondered what Jasmine had meant when she’d told her that Felicity had been mean to her. If only there were someone she could ask. She was afraid to bring it up with Douglas. The obvious person would have been Arthur, but after what had happened between them, he’d be going out of his way to avoid seeing her alone and it wasn’t something she could ask him about in company.

Douglas returned to the house the following Sunday morning and told her he would be staying for one night and they would be spending the evening with the Leightons at the Eastern & Oriental hotel, where every Sunday evening the house orchestra performed a concert on the lawns. His manner was brusque, businesslike, as though he were addressing an employee, not the woman he had made love to with uncharacteristic tenderness only a week before.

‘Will anyone else be going?’

‘No. Just the four of us. It’s my birthday. September 3rd.’

‘Oh my goodness. I’d no idea, Doug. I haven’t got you a gift.’

His voice was a snarl. ‘I don’t want a gift. I’m not a schoolboy.’