My sister telephoned. ‘Shall we go for some cold fish?’ she asked.

I laughed, happy those words sounded familiar. They had come from behind the veil. I did not know in what context, when or where she had said them to me before, but I knew she had. That was how she described Japanese food. ‘Why? Are you on a diet?’ I asked.

‘A bit,’ she admitted.

We agreed to meet for lunch at Nobo in Mayfair.

I arrived early so I ordered a glass of pale cream sherry and waited for her upstairs. She breezed in looking very Sloaney in a vintage Hardy Amis pantsuit and camel hair coat. I smiled and gave a little wave as she approached.

‘Traffic was a nightmare,’ she complained as she plonked down her Gucci tote, took off her coat and dropped it carelessly on the seat next to me. Elegantly she eased herself into our banquette and turned to me with a flick of her head. ‘You look well. Are you off somewhere nice?’

‘No, I’m going home after this.’

She lifted a languid finger at a passing waiter and he made for her, smiling. He obviously knew her.

‘I’ll have whatever she’s having,’ she told him and he disappeared with a deferential nod. That was the thing about my half-sister. She was like her mother—no matter where she went, she immediately and effortlessly commanded fawning respect. She was so different when I first met her after my amnesia it surprised me we even shared the same gene pool.

I took a sip of my drink. When she turned toward me, I said, ‘I saw Maurice the other day.’ Maurice was a friend of hers.

‘Really? Where?’

‘At the butcher.’

‘How is he?’

‘Still reeling from his divorce, I dare say. He asked after you.’

‘Did he? I wonder why. He’s a blithering idiot,’ she dismissed callously.

The waiter came with her glass of sherry and we placed our orders.

She turned to me resolutely. ‘So how are the sessions with the hypnotist coming on?’

I shrugged. ‘All right, I suppose.’

‘What on earth does that mean? Have you or haven’t you remembered anything yet?’

I shifted uncomfortably. ‘A bit.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘What, exactly?’

‘Well, I remembered a few occasions. The birthday party when I was five, my mother telling Daddy she had cancer. Oh and I remembered finding Jacobi in bed at fifteen with his hardcore German transsexual magazines.’

We grinned at each other.

‘Well,’ she said with a mischievous look. ‘He’s a screaming transvestite now.’

‘What?’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed briefly and suddenly changed the subject. ‘What else have you remembered?’

‘The other memories are unimportant little pieces of the big puzzle.’

‘That’s it? Unimportant little pieces of the big puzzle. At his prices?’

I colored. ‘We are making progress, but Dr. Kane is cautious so there is no question of false memories occurring.’

She stared at me. ‘I can’t imagine there are any buried memories, can you?’

‘I don’t know. I do have the odd unsettling dream.’

‘What kind of unsettling dream?’

I bit my lip. ‘Just strange things that don’t make sense.’

She laughed. ‘Dreams are not supposed to make sense. You should see what mine are like. That’s no excuse for dragging out your…treatment.’

That tiny pause was meant to tell me she did not think much of my treatment. ‘He’s not dragging out my treatment. He’s just being cautious. He thinks I could be damaged if the process is not done properly.’

She looked at me in a non-committal way. ‘Like what happened to his wife?’

He was married! I gazed at her in shock. ‘His wife?’ I croaked, feeling such a fool.

She leaned forward, her eyes shining with some emotion that I could not figure out. ‘Yes, didn’t you know? She committed suicide in the most horrendous way. Locked herself inside her car in a Starbucks car park with their two children and a few gas tanks and pulled the pin off a grenade. From what I understand the children were just babies.’

The world tilted to an unnatural angle and my mouth dropped open with horror. ‘What?’

At that moment the food arrived and Daphne transferred her attention from me to the two waitresses who were standing by us.

I shut my mouth with a snap. My order of rock shrimp tempura was carefully placed in front of me, and a platter of iced Kumamoto oysters topped with caviar, and a trio of Nobu sauces on the side, was set in front of Daphne. I stared at my food blankly. When I raised my head Daphne was smiling at me.

‘Did you remember that you always have the tempura here?’ she asked.

Again I felt the rug pulled out from under my feet. I had no memory of ever ordering tempura. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever coming to this restaurant. ‘Did I?’ I asked.

‘Yes, always,’ she confirmed merrily as she picked up an oyster, expertly detached it from its shell, and delicately swallowed it. She pulled a face. ‘The caviar is not very good.’

I picked up my knife and fork in an effort to be casual. ‘Daphne, you were telling me about Dr. Kane.’

‘Yes, it was a terrific shame. He had to leave the States in disgrace. Completely ruined his career.’

‘Why?’ I whispered.

‘I gather she had planned it so he would see them all burn. Eye witnesses said she looked directly at him and smiled.’ She shuddered. ‘It was one of those revenge suicides.’

‘How absolutely awful.’

She helped herself to another oyster. ‘Yes, ghastly. Especially when you take into account that he had treated her with some experimental new method he pioneered and helped her recover memories of childhood sexual abuse.’ She dabbed her mouth and took a slow sip of wine. ‘I expect he had ruined her and she hated him and wanted him to know that he had. And she took the children with her so he wouldn’t be able to do the same with them.’

My mind went blank with dismay. ‘How absolutely awful,’ I repeated stupidly.

‘Probably why he wants to take it slow with you. He’s afraid that history might repeat itself.’

I leaned back, my appetite gone, and looked through the full-height windows at Hyde Park. ‘I’m not suicidal.’ I brought my gaze back to her. ‘Am I?’

She laughed, carefree as a bird, and picked up another oyster. ‘Obviously not, silly. But from his point of view—once bitten, twice shy, and all that. I’d be careful, all the same, that you don’t go falling for him. He is attractive.’ She paused with a conspiratorial half-smile. ‘In an obvious, common sort of way, I suppose.’ The mollusc slipped noiselessly down her throat.

The remark was so catty it took my breath away and the rest of the meal passed in a daze of gossip about people we knew. I answered all her questions automatically or nodded and shook my head where appropriate.

The black cod marinated in sweet miso sauce arrived soon after and I consumed it without tasting it. I watched Daphne delicately nibble at razored vegetables and chow down Nobo’s signature dish, yellowtail sashimi fired with a slice of jalapeño in yuzu dressing.

A waiter tried to get us to look at the dessert menu.

‘I couldn’t do pudding, but I wouldn’t mind the Suntory whiskey cappuccino,’ Daphne said sweetly.

I picked up the bill and then we were outside kissing.

The valet brought her car around and handed her the keys with impressive sucking up. She passed him a ten-pound note. He seemed happy with it.

‘Do you need a ride to your flat?’ she asked.

I shook my head. ‘It’s a lovely day. I’d like to walk for a bit before I go back.’

We kissed each other quickly on both cheeks.

‘Cheer up, darling. It might never happen.’

I smiled weakly.

‘Will you be home for the weekend?’ By home she meant Marlborough Hall. Even though we both had apartments in London and spent more time there, we never referred to them as home. Only Marlborough Hall was ever called home.

‘Yes, I suppose I will,’ I said quietly.

‘Well, I’m off. See you at the weekend,’ she called and slipped jauntily into her Audi. I watched her drive away before I set off on my walk.

It was a cold, crisp day and I turned my collar up and walked past the car showroom. They had a bright yellow Lamborghini in the window. I walked down Park Lane, crossed the road, and entered the park.

The afternoon sun had come out from behind the clouds. The blades of grass looked as clear-cut and bright as jewels. I strolled to a bench and sat down. The park was peaceful with only a few people hurrying along the path. I looked at the bare trees waiting for spring to clothe them again, and sensed inside me a puzzled wonder.

Why exactly was I so troubled by what Daphne had revealed?

And then I knew. It pained me to think of him suffering. More than anything else, I couldn’t bear the thought of him in distress. The sun dipped behind thick clouds again and the temperature began to drop fast.

I stood and left the park, now filled with lengthening shadows. I made a wide circuit round it and came out of the screen of fluted Ionic columns of Aspley Gate. As I hurried away the last rays of the weak evening sun flared briefly on the windows of the Hilton across the road. Then it was gone. I clutched the edges of my coat, and carried on past Green Park Tube station. Up ahead I crossed the street and entered the Ritz.

The heat inside brought a delicious languor to my frozen limbs.

Shaking my fingers to bring some warmth back into them I went up to the concierge’s station. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a booking but…’

‘Lady Olivia,’ he greeted so loudly and obsequiously that people turned to look. ‘But of course we have a table for you.’

He signaled to a passing waiter who escorted me into the splendidly lavish Palm Court with its walls of beveled mirrors, trellises, marble pillars and its apricot and cream palette. He led me to a table to the left of the elaborately sculptured gilded central fountain—Ivana’s favorite table, actually. With an effusive smile and a smooth flick of his wrist he lifted the sign that said RESERVED from the table and, pulling out an oval-backed chair, seated me in it.

Some people I knew waved and nodded and I returned the gesture. I ordered high tea. It was the least I could do after they had given me someone else’s table. Tea was served in a silver teapot with a silver strainer. I poured it out and held the cup in my hands and sighed with the simple pleasure of its warmth. I took a sip and felt the scalding brew flush into my body.

I planned on staying there under the lofty ceiling listening to a quartet play until my body warmed right through. Lord Merriweather and his wife stopped by my table.

‘Hello, dear. Are you here on your own?’ he asked, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

‘Yes. I thought I’d treat myself,’ I said, looking up with a smile.

Both smiled back warmly.

‘How are Wombat and Poppet?’ Lady Merriweather asked.

‘They’re fine,’ I replied.

Wombat and Poppet were my father’s and Ivana’s nicknames. We all had infantile nicknames in our circle. We were all Bow-wow, Cookie, Pip or Squeak or something just as babyish. The names were derived from our childhood days and carefully preserved through old age.

So my father was Wombat, because his first name was William and when he was taken as a toddler to Australia he called himself Willie Wombat. Ivana was Poppet. She was not born a lady. She met my father when she was nursing my mother and it was his nickname for her, so when he married her after my mother died, everyone was so eager to please him they quickly adopted it.

This immaturity generally served two purposes. Not having one would instantly announce you as an alien to our set. In fact, even the act of using another’s first name would imply a lack of intimacy, a suggestion that you met after their childhood days were dispensed with, and were therefore not of the same class. The second and more important purpose means an outsider could never become part of the set.

‘I’ll give her a buzz this weekend,’ Lady Merriweather said.

‘She’ll love that, Lilibet,’ I replied. Her nickname was Lilibet because she couldn’t pronounce Elizabeth when she was a child.

After they shuffled away, I ate finger sandwiches of smoked salmon, cucumber, and chicken from the silver cake stand. They were delicious. I was hungry. Really hungry. Next I tucked into a warm soft scone that I generously filled with a thick layer of silky cream and jam. A rose macaroon followed that, and finally an inch of a sinfully gooey chocolate layer cake.

When I could eat no more I was ready. I knew exactly what I wanted to do and no one was going to stop me. Least of all well-meaning, disgraced, horribly unhappy, silky-haired Dr. Kane.