A knock sounded on the door, bringing all our attention to the sitting room. Who could be knocking by this time? This question was drawn on all of our faces.

Peter dropped his cutlery, and stood up from his seat.

“You should continue. Let me see who is knocking. It might be a patient.” He addressed us before turning away and walking past the flimsy curtain into the sitting room; his strides were quite overconfident.

My eyes perched on Diana, then strolled to Laura. Peter had told us to continue dinner, but what was going on here was far from it—it was a silent discussion between Diana and her mother....