‘Nigella was bold, brave and beautiful.’

Nigella ripped the page free from the pad, brushing a tear aside before it could stain the next one.

‘Nigella was naive, ridiculous, and stupid, stupid, STUPID.’

Yes, Nigella sniffed, this was much closer to the truth.

‘Nigella was naive, ridiculous, and stupid, stupid, STUPID. She thought she knew everything about the world, about her father, and about herself, but the truth was-‘

She paused, fountain pen poised to strike paper. But strike it with what? These weren’t her words, they were Richard’s. Her brother had made it abundantly clear that she was not entertain any more thoughts of leaving London.

“You don’t know anything, petal,” he’d said over breakfast that morning, “you can’t leave the city, that’s a ridiculous idea.”

The memory stung like a fresh bruise. Nigella clenched the page in her fist, smearing the ink across her palm.

‘Nigella wasn’t being ridiculous when she told her brother she planned to leave. But she was being careless.’

Yes, Nigella smiled, this is more like it.

‘Nigella wasn’t being ridiculous when she told her brother she planned to leave. But she was being careless. She would still leave the city, because she was smart. She knew how to hide things from her brother.’

And with that, Nigella got to planning her escape.