Ginnie was late for her fitting. She bounded up the stairs in her jodhpurs, her cheeks flushed with exercise. ‘Won’t be a sec! Just a quick shower.’ And she flung off her clothes, going through the door. On the four-poster bed were laid out a fine French corselet and silk underslip in coffee silk trimmed with blue lace. Netta unpacked the pieces of the wedding dress carefully. This was the first trial fit of the bodice.

She had to admit the colour suited Ginnie’s fairness, a rich fizzy pink with tinges of oyster, apricot and a hint of cream. Ginnie called it, ‘My pink gin and champagne.’ The guipure lace was heavy, sculpted into florets, every piece handstitched and appliquéed into one flowing whole. No seams were to be visible to the naked eye. Polly was spending hours preparing the lace and now the three layers of bodice were ready.

‘Only got half an hour to spare. I hope it fits this time. You know I’m off to France with the girls for my trousseau in May? Going to have my hen party in Paris. Meeting Dr Stirling now, off to dinner with the Macmurrays. You won’t know them, Irish not Scotch. Ouch!’

Netta pulled out the offending pin with satisfaction. The bodice was perfect but the line of the panels at the back needed attention. She gave Ginnie a stiffened petticoat to wear underneath to see the effect. She twirled excitedly in the mirror. ‘Hmm… Andrew was right. You can sew! I wish he’d take a bit more interest in the wedding… left to muggins as usual. Just hasn’t had the time, poor darling, all this National Health nonsense. I’ve told him when he moves in here, Daddy will find him plenty of customers for a private clinic.’

‘But…’ Netta bit her tongue. She was not supposed to know that he had rejected that offer already. ‘You’ll both be staying here then?’

‘Of course. Daddy would rattle round this place like a pea in a jar on his own. And I’m not leaving my horses. Masses of room for all of us. I don’t intend to live in some street down there.’ She dismissed the whole of Ilkley with one flick of her elegant wrist.

It’s none of your business what your customers do after their wedding, thought Netta, but her heart lurched with pity for Drew. Dr Begg’s grand surgery came to mind. She could not see Drew in the same mould, not after what had happened last week. Ginnie was not the right girl for him. She needed all her corners knocking off: this spoiled daddy’s girl who would not give up any comfort for her man. Surely one-sided giving came to nothing in the end?