Rose lay back among the ruffles and lace, letting her hair curl around her fingers and then slide away.

’That’s how it was done,’ she said. ‘You were perfect.’

She took up her mirror and watched with not a hint of sadness as her chest shrank and sagged and the weight fell from her hips to her ankles. Her sapphire eyes turned iceberg, but a web of wrinkles warmed them. The sunset of her hair progressed to night and shrunk to a bob. Utilitarian chic.

She gathered her robe around her and chose an ebony fan. As she stepped out of the room one of her scarecrows gave her a leer that stopped at the fan. Not tonight.

‘Sammy,’ she said.

‘Yes Mother,’ he said.

‘Get Gordon.’

‘I believe he’s with … Yes Mother.’