After that the talk became more general, and when Jonty and his father came in Tess was able to examine Pamela more closely. She saw a woman not a lot older than she was herself, with soft fair hair pulled back from her face, steady blue eyes, and an air of self-confidence which, Tess assumed, nursing the sick had given her. She wore no make-up and her skin was clear, her nose commandingly high-bridged and her lips firmly set. Tess simply could not envisage her as the ideal mate for easy-going, fun-loving Jonty. She herself had been at the farm now for two whole days and had begun to believe that she would be very happy as a farmer’s wife, particularly if that farmer was Jonty. But though he was friendly and charming towards her, there was nothing lover-like in the way he behaved. And very soon, when the meal was over and they went through into the parlour with a tray of tea, she was able to see that he showed no ardency in his dealings with Pamela either. Nor did Pamela herself evince any of the signs of young love, which gave Tess hope, for she had found to her dismay that she rather liked Pamela, admired her absorption in her work and her good sense, and did not think she could bring herself to compete with her for Jonty’s affections. Indeed, had either of them shown any deeper emotion she would have dismissed the idea of competing with Pamela in any way, but as it was she was pretty sure Jonty had no stronger feeling for Pamela than he did for herself, so she would be entitled to lure him back to her in any way she could.

But at the thought of luring Jonty she had to fight a desire to laugh. How ridiculous she was being! The only sort of lure Jonty would recognise would be the one falconers used to bring their birds back to the glove. Jonty’s not in love with anyone; if and when he does decide to marry it may well be to someone he’s not even met yet, she concluded. But thank goodness I’m not jealous of Pamela; in fact I really like her. So, when I get the opportunity, I shall buttonhole her to talk about her relationship with Jonty, a thing I could never do if either of them was in love with the other. But do it I shall, and before I return to Liverpool.

Albert was making breakfast as his daughter came, or rather slouched, into the kitchen, still in her nightie and dressing gown. The reason she was slouching was probably because she was wearing a pair of his old slippers, but even so she managed to produce a smile before slumping into a chair.

‘Good morning, queen. You didn’t have to get up so early, you know,’ Albert said rather reproachfully. He had grown accustomed to a solitary breakfast and enjoyed propping the newspaper up on the marmalade pot whilst eating his porridge or cereal. But now there was Janine, sitting in the creaking old chair which had been Louisa’s and asking rather pettishly whether he had any cornflakes since she supposed he had eaten all the porridge.