‘Who is this?’ Ann looked closely at a photograph of a couple in their best clothes. A man with a large grey beard and heavy moustache seemed to look back at her, and in front of him sat a small woman who wore a dress with a lace collar, her shoes peeking out at the hem. She didn’t have a hair out of place; it was as though she had been to have it styled especially for the occasion.

‘My parents.’

‘Tell me about them.’

‘My father was an engineer, just as Finlay wants to be. He invented things and taught at a college for apprentices. I think he would have liked your curiosity; he never minded answering my questions, even when they were probably a bit foolish.’

‘What was he called?’

‘Bernhardt. He was from Germany, and he came to London when he was a very young child, just two or three years old. And then when he grew up, he changed his name.’

‘You can do that?’

‘You can. There are legal papers that need to be dealt with but I don’t think it’s very complicated. He was Bernhardt Schmidt, and he became Bernard Smith.’

‘Why did he want to change it?’

‘I’m not sure. He never spoke about it. Perhaps it was easier for him. He didn’t have an accent; he sounded like you and me. Maybe he just wanted not to have to answer questions about where he came from all the time.’

‘I didn’t know you could change your name,’ said Ann quietly. ‘I thought you were stuck with whatever you were given.’

Ursula pressed on. ‘And this is my mother, she was called Veronica.’

‘Speedwell.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I read it in my flower book. Those little purple flowers that we get in the lawn if the gardener doesn’t mow it often enough. They are called speedwell, and the proper official name for them is Veronica.’

‘You’ve taught me something today.’ Ursula touched the photograph with her forefinger. ‘She was a kind woman, but she didn’t always understand me. I think she would have liked to know she was named after a pretty flower.’

‘Why are you called Ursula?’

‘I was named after my grandmother, my father’s mother.’ She spread the loose pictures out on the table. ‘Have you decided which of these new photographs you would like for your frames?’

Chapter 30

September 1911

Ann sat at the kitchen table, and watched Isobel knead the bread dough.

‘You always look as though you are enjoying that.’

‘There are a lot of things I don’t like doing in this kitchen, like black-leading the range and mopping the floors, but yes, I do like making the bread.’ Isobel pushed the edge of the dough away from her and then grabbed it and folded it over towards her before pushing it away again.