‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, will you stop worrying about the rent!’

‘But people will want to know what the arrangements are.’

Isobel could see that her suggestion had subtly moved from if to when. ‘A quarter.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘A quarter of whatever they earn. If they earn a pound in a week, they pay five shillings, and if they earn a hundred guineas then they pay twenty-five.’

Ann put her head in her hands. ‘But that feels wrong. I don’t need the money. I have all the investments from when Father’s company was sold last year. I don’t even touch the capital; I can live off the interest with quite a bit left over.’

‘Give it back, then. Tell whatever lodgers you have that you expect them to stay for two years and give all the money back at the end.’ Isobel moved the saucepan to a cooler spot on the hotplate to stop the sugary mixture sticking and continued to stir. ‘Don’t tell them what you’re planning, just do it when they leave.’

‘I could.’ Ann’s mind whirred. ‘A quarter is twenty-five per cent, and this is 25 Library Terrace. It fits together quite nicely.’

‘Miss Ann, I pay no rent here. I earn a little from working in the greengrocer in Morningside but they can’t give me more hours, and you still don’t charge me anything. I don’t think worrying about the rent is really what all this is about. If it makes you feel better, I’ll pay a quarter too.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Ann put her hands on her hips and smiled. ‘But would you really move out of that little room? It would be worth doing this just to get you out of there!’

‘I could move upstairs, into your old bedroom if you like,’ Isobel conceded. ‘If that’s what will persuade you. I don’t mind sharing a bathroom.’

Ann reached for her diary. ‘I need to think, and I need a pencil and paper to help me do it.’

Chapter 39

Mid-May 1931

The next time Keith appeared at the scullery door, Ann was ready for him. ‘I’m so pleased to see you again,’ she began. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

He put down the toolbag he was carrying. ‘I know. I do owe you an apology. I said I’d get that front door fixed weeks ago and it’s still not done.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters to me. I don’t want you to think I’m a man who doesn’t keep his word.’ He bent down and opened the bag. On the rough canvas the name G. ANDERSON was painted in worn letters.

Ann shook her head. Why did he have to be so obtuse?