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‘It’s my pleasure to look after my husband in this way,’ she insisted to Nan, who offered to pour. Irma’s voice grated; to Fleur it sounded insincere with its high-pitched, nasal tone that she managed to achieve without really trying. ‘You can clear the table instead.’ Irma kept her back to Henry and Fleur, finally returning to the table with two steaming cups.

‘You can fetch your own, can’t you, dear?’ Irma said lightly to Fleur. The arrangement of the words probably sounded caring to her father but all Fleur heard was Irma’s careless attitude towards her.

‘Of course.’ Fleur frowned. ‘I thought you prefer tea in the morning, Dad.’

He flicked the newspaper. ‘I do. But Irma believes the tea is giving me indigestion.’

‘Nonsense. You’ve drunk it all your life,’ Fleur said, giving Irma a perplexed stare. Her father was not giving any eye contact, apparently more interested in his morning news.

Irma returned Fleur’s stare with a mind-your-own-business glare. ‘Well, I spoke to my doctor, and he said we should eliminate certain things one by one. We’ve begun with tea.’

‘But your doctor doesn’t have my father’s history, does he?’ Fleur countered.

‘You came home late.’ Irma changed the subject, as dismissive as ever, faking a smile. ‘I presume your evening went well?’

‘It did.’ Fleur allowed her question to be set aside, giving an overly sugary smile to her stepmother.

Irma looked vaguely surprised and even smacked at her husband’s newspaper. ‘Henry, dear, please pay attention. This is about Fleur and her engagement.’

Fleur tried not to bristle at Irma’s rudeness, and instead decided to use it to her advantage as her father reluctantly folded up his newspaper and sipped his coffee. She watched him make a face as he tasted it.

‘So . . . last night? Is that what I’ve been interrupted for?’

Irma gave him a warning glare. ‘Tell us about it, Fleur, dear.’

Ooh, she could be so phoney. It made Fleur want to shake her father. Instead she smiled. ‘I did have one lovely dance in the arms of a man I haven’t seen since he was a boy.’

Irma’s expression dissolved into confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Dad,’ Fleur said, ignoring Irma’s question and touching his arm. ‘Do you remember that funeral we prepared for the Darnell family in the city many years ago?’

Henry frowned and then the skin on his creased forehead slackened. ‘I do. Mother and newborn had died. The other child, a son, accompanied them.’

Fleur grinned. ‘Nothing wrong with your long-term memory. That’s spot on. The little boy’s name, you may recall, was Tom Catchlove. I met him last night by chance at the Palais.’

Her father gave a sound of surprise. ‘Ah, yes, I do recall. And this is the fellow you danced with?’

‘It is.’

‘What about James?’ Irma demanded.

Fleur turned to her. ‘Jimmy couldn’t care any less, actually. He was quite unpleasant to be around.’

‘Who wouldn’t be if his date was whisked away by another man?’

‘He was rude, Irma, and he had nothing to say to me or I to him.’

‘And I suppose this Tom chap had plenty to say for himself?’

‘We seemed to have a lot to say to each other, if I’m truthful.’

‘I’m glad, Fleur,’ her father said, wincing as he finished his coffee. ‘It’s nice to see you so bright.’

‘Henry!’ Irma was unable to conceal her frustration. ‘Your daughter was meant to be stepping out with James Coglin. He’s going to be her fiancé.’

‘He most certainly is not,’ Fleur replied firmly. ‘I agreed to go to the Palais with Jimmy to keep the peace in this house, but what I’ve proved to him and to myself is that we have nothing in common and nothing that we admire about each other.’

‘That’s because you’re too high and mighty, Fleur Appleby.’