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‘I don’t want Irma involved. I don’t want her to be in a position to interfere at all in this new venture.’

And in that admission she saw his expression close off. ‘You really do hate her, don’t you?’ he said sadly.

She really didn’t want to answer that question so she dodged it with a shake of her head. ‘I cannot think of her as a mother, Dad, no matter how much you wish it to be so. And I know you’ll argue that she’s been in my life since I was small, but if you’re really truthful with yourself, you might admit that Irma would have preferred there to be no child existing in the marriage.’ She was being careful. She didn’t tell him about all the times that Irma was hurtful or cruel to her behind his back; to his face she’d always played stepmother as a fine actress.

‘Irma came into my life at a time when I needed her, Fleur.’

‘I know,’ she said, dropping her gaze. She wanted to add some accusations but she wisely held her tongue. ‘And perhaps she was good for you at that time.’

‘You seemed happy enough at first, weren’t you?’

Nothing was further from the truth. She had simply tried to appear happy for his sake, and she continued to lie for his feelings now. ‘I was so young. I was in grief. I clung to you, and Irma seemed kind and affectionate at that stage.’ She paused; time to lean into some honesty. ‘But then I grew up, Dad. And I realised that while Irma might feel affection for you, there was and still is no fondness for me. I’ve become a burden for her, which is why there’s one more part to my vision.’

‘Which is?’

‘I want to leave home. Find my own place.’

‘Live alone? Don’t be ridiculous. What would people say?’

‘Why should we care?’

‘Because I have a reputation to protect, Fleur, that’s why?’

She wanted to ask him how much he valued his reputation as he lurched a slightly weaving path out of the pub most evenings. But all the men who went drinking were the same. Those who called in for a beer after work were just one of the boys, but the hardened drinkers like her father were drowning invisible sorrows, in no hurry to return home. They were alcoholics; they just wouldn’t admit it. But she didn’t want to argue, so she tried to inch him forward with her plans.

‘There’s a lovely flat available. I could live above the florist, just a short walk away.’

‘No, Fleur, absolutely not. You might be unhappy at home but it’s not Irma’s fault,’ he said. ‘You’re a very headstrong young woman and you want it all your way.’

‘So let me live alone and have it my way,’ she said, feeling suddenly as though her father believed all the fractiousness in the house was her fault. Perhaps it was . . . That felt like a revelation. Immediately, she wanted to tell him about Irma spitting at the photo, to accuse him of being absent or witless when it came to the conniving Irma; she wanted to rage that his wife was trying to heave her out of the business and was probably looking forward to the day Henry died and she could get her hands on the proceeds of his will, but she realised she had no proof. It would sound like a petulant grievance against a woman who managed to give a solid impression – even Fleur had to admit that – of trying her utmost to be accommodating . . . supportive, even.

Her father’s lips had thinned and she knew she had lost him before he’d even opened his mouth to speak again. ‘She wants to see you married with your own family, Fleur. What’s so wrong in that?’

‘Nothing, Dad,’ she said, in a neutral voice, ‘but she doesn’t get to choose who I marry, and right now you’re allowing her to choose Jimmy Coglin. Jimmy, Dad! Even you’ve started complaining about the quality of their carpentry. Can’t you see why Irma thinks now is the time?’

‘No,’ Henry said, sounding both perplexed and frustrated at once. ‘Irma thinks the match with James is perfect because he’s part of our industry.’

‘Dad, you’ve got blinkers on, or the drink is dulling you. I don’t know how Irma does this to you, but somehow she gets you to see only what she does. The Coglins want your business. You know they want to move into undertaking, but no one is taking them seriously because of their shadowy past. Blimey, Dad. I think Irma wants to sell off your business so she can live off its fat – and probably without you.’ There. She’d said it.

‘What do you mean without me?’

‘She’s gloating that you don’t have long to live.’ That was not something Fleur had wanted to slip out but she couldn’t take it back, so she pressed on. ‘Did you plan on mentioning this to me . . . your only child . . . that you are dying?’ Tears were glistening in her eyes now, threatening to run.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fleur. Who says I haven’t got long to live?’ he blustered.

‘Irma!’

‘And Irma’s a doctor, is she?’

Fleur felt stumped. Perhaps Irma had lied. Why, Fleur couldn’t imagine, but she shouldn’t be so surprised; it could be anything from wanting to unnerve her stepchild to simply being cruel. Irma was capable of anything, Fleur was sure. And there was no point, she now realised, in pursuing this conversation, because Irma would simply deny it, making Fleur look stupid and forcing her into finger-pointing and accusations. Well, she wouldn’t fall into Irma’s trap; she needed to be smarter.

‘No, I must have misunderstood,’ she answered, realising her father was waiting for a response.

‘You must have. I am not at full health, I’ll grant you. I’ve been feeling fatigued and not very hungry. But that’s just a phase. I’ll be fine once summer arrives and I get some warmth on my back. Let me say firmly to you, child, that Irma has no interest in the business . . . only in a happy life.’

Oh, Dad, she thought. You are delusional. That woman wants you gone and that’s how she’ll achieve her happy life, the chance to start again as a wealthy widow without an annoying stepchild. But she sighed the thought away and managed to keep her tone neutral.

‘Well, let me be clear. I will not marry Jimmy Coglin,’ she said, drawing a firm boundary line.