Why had she let herself go this far? She’d known what Harold was really like. Known him to plot a murder, to get at the inheritance he thought was rightfully his. Known him to abandon his own sister, when he must have realized that his mother’s hatred of Flors was irrational. And a lesser charge: she’d witnessed his lack of drive in business, preferring to hand over to a manager than see his factory through a crisis.

But what now? Oh God, he’ll go back to her – to his mistress. I’m certain of it. And I’ll be left here pining for him, raging with jealousy and hate. It will destroy me.

Uncurling her body, Mags got off the bed. Walking with determination towards the bathroom, she told herself: No. I won’t let that happen. I must be strong. I have to be, for Father, if not for myself.

This resolve didn’t sit in her for long. As she soaked in a hot bath, her whole body wept for her loss, and she knew that love can offer pain-filled agony as well as exquisite joy.

On the hall table there was a note. The sight of it stopped Mags in her tracks as she descended the stairs an hour later. What would she read in it?

Forcing herself forward, she picked it up. A waft of Harold’s aftershave assailed her. The woody, provocative aroma mocked her. His hands would have had traces of it on his palms as he applied it after his bath.

Not wanting to, but unable to stop herself, she lifted the note to her nostrils and drew in a deep breath. Her eyes closed, and emotions assaulted her in a painful rush. I love him. Oh God, I love and need him so much.

Going through to the sitting room, she sat down where Harold had sat, hoping to feel something of him left there:

I am appalled at what happened to you, my dear Mags, but even more appalled that you kept it from me. You cheated me of being able to come to terms with it before we took the next step.

To me, this is a rotten act on your part. I am the man you love. Didn’t you trust me?

Yes, I can accept that the memory was painful to you. But if you wanted to keep it to yourself, why did you not pretend? I had so much trust in you – and love for you – that I wouldn’t have guessed. You needn’t even have faked extreme pain, as I know many women hardly feel a thing, but are resistant to a man entering them fully at first. You could have done that – you are not a fool. You know the way of things. You were a nurse, for God’s sake!

But you chose not to do that for me. You chose not to keep me innocent of what had happened. You let me find out during what should have been a wonderful occurrence between us.