‘Perhaps she was,’ Taid said thoughtfully. ‘The mind of a young woman is a closed book to me, but I imagine she must have felt herself rejected when they quarrelled yesterday, which you tell me they did, though I saw no sign of it. She’s had so much rejection that more would have been hard to bear.’ He frowned. ‘But if you suspected that she was going to run away, why did you not try to stop her? I know she isn’t a young girl – she’s twenty-six isn’t she – but she’s young in experience.’ He looked reproachfully at his wife. ‘You should have stopped her, Myfanwy.’

Nain, however, shook her head. ‘No, I thought it was the most sensible thing she could have done. She needs to mix with men and women of her own age. You see, Gethin, here on the farm she only meets folk like ourselves. The services need bright, clever girls and Glenys is very bright and very clever. She will begin to see that she is appreciated and admired, no longer in the background but a valued member of whichever discipline she chooses. Her self-confidence, which is nil at the moment, will grow and flower. Leaving us will be the best thing she’s ever done.’

Taid reached across the table for the butter and began to spread it on his toast. ‘You’re a wise old woman, Myfanwy Griffiths,’ he said. ‘I always knew you had the brains and I had the brawn. Unfortunately, brawn lessens with age, but wisdom increases.’

Nain laughed and tapped him affectionately on the cheek. ‘Nonsense; it was just women’s intuition,’ she assured her husband. ‘And now let’s get on with our chores; Sam will be wondering what’s happened to you, leaving him with all the milking to do when he gets back from his unsuccessful search.’

Taid got stiffly to his feet. ‘So you don’t think Sam will find her?’ he asked, and was not surprised when Nain shook her head.

‘No, I don’t, and a good thing too. Sam’s had months to make her love him if he had wanted her to do so; as I said, she’s gone in search of herself, and woe betide anyone, even Sam, who gets in her path.’

Chapter 17

March 1941

GLENYS SWUNG HER heavy lorry into the parking space, cut the engine, switched off the lights and sat for a moment, arms crossed on the wheel, staring dully ahead. The trouble with driving, she reminded herself, was that it left you a great deal of time for thinking, and in her case, hard though she tried to prevent them, her thoughts tended to go straight back to Weathercock Farm.

It was all very well to tell herself that she was living a different life, owed allegiance to the ATS and to her work: she still could not banish the ache which crept into her mind the moment she let down her guard. She told herself that she had chosen to leave the family who had been good to her, that she had done the sensible thing, and when she was actively engaged she could control the impulse to send them her address, beg them to write, perhaps arrange a visit.