‘Please don’t take too long. I’d like to start on final plans and elevations by next week. We’ve really got to get this scheme pinned down today,’ said Mr Mayhood. ‘And it’s your project now, your vision.’

‘It’s ours,’ she answered. ‘Last I checked, we were a team.’

‘Well, either way, you’re steering it from this point on. We can’t be long without you.’

‘Fifteen minutes, at the most. Relight the fire and I’ll be back.’

‘I’ve got a pile of useless paper we can burn, all right.’

She didn’t laugh, just creased her mouth at him. ‘Better yet, start writing. It’ll come down to how well we can describe the scheme to them. It’s salesmanship that wins you competitions and we’ve hardly got a word on paper that’s persuasive.’ Then, catching Charlie’s eye, she added, ‘What’s the betting Joyce is coming up the drive once I get out there?’

‘If she is,’ he said, ‘please tell her that we ate her lunch.’

‘Don’t either of you dare.’ She went to fetch her coat, then came back through the kitchen on her way outside. He watched her from the steamy window with the hot tap filling up the sink. How was it she could look so beautiful from such a distance with her back turned and her woollens on? It was unfair to his poor heart. He scrubbed the pots and cleaned the dishes for the second time that day, and Mr Mayhood dried them. After that, they went to get a fire started in the draughting room. He twisted up some newspaper and poked it in between the kindling Mr Mayhood laid out in the hearth. They watched it all take flame and smoulder, breathing in the earthy flavour of the smoke.

‘I’ll put some coffee on for us,’ he said, but Mr Mayhood shook his head.

‘No, that can wait. We’d better take a good look at the site survey again and make sure we’re not likely to encroach on any boundaries. This new idea we have is looking right, I think, but if it doesn’t fit the plot, we’ve got to work out how to alter it.’

They were still there, loosely measuring the boundaries of the site with a scale ruler, when Florence got back home. Charlie spotted her head bobbing past the window, heard the brisk thump of her footsteps on the porch. She breezed in with her overcoat on, pulling off her scarf. ‘Arthur,’ she said, ‘could I have a word, please?’

Mr Mayhood looked at her. ‘Of course.’ He put the ruler down in front of Charlie. ‘Hold that thought,’ he said, and followed her out into the hallway.

For a moment, Charlie rested in the wing chair by the fire, lifting up his stocking feet towards the blaze. He knew they were discussing Joyce but didn’t want to press his ear against the door: he’d had enough of hearing other people whisper their displeasure at his sister.

When Mr Mayhood came back in, he had an air of disaffection, striding up to gather a few papers from his bureau. ‘Shall we carry on?’ he asked.