I absentmindedly took a withered rose out of the wastebasket and twirled it in my fingers.

“Oh, I don’t know. We can play Old Maid, as we used to when we were little girls. I don’t know about you, but I am quite looking forward to laying out in the sun. Doesn’t it ever stop raining in London?”

Isabelle sat down on the edge of my bed and crinkled her nose as she surveyed her arms. They were so white they looked as though they were made out of porcelain.

“Oh, coz, I don’t know about laying out in the sun. I go through so much trouble to keep my skin fair. You know how Mama gets if I so much as sprout one freckle on my nose.”

Isabelle’s mother, my aunt, Valentina, was a highly sensitive creature who believed a woman’s only role was to be a beautiful piece of property, maintained in perfect condition for her future owner – The Husband.

“Oh yes,” I began in a high-pitched voice, doing a fair imitation of my aunt. “We must keep ourselves pristine for The Husband.”

We both erupted in a gale of giggles.