“What time did you get home?”

“We didn’t,” said Gwen. “Ronnie had booked a room. I don’t think we left it for two days after that night. And the first thing he did when we got to it was massage my feet for an hour.”

“What a lovely man!”

“He was. And then he shipped out, and I barely saw him after that. And then—oh, I’ve got to stop talking, or I’ll start crying and ruin the wonderful work Millie did on my face. I used to so love this life—the seasons, the dressing, the music, the champagne, the romance. It’s over, isn’t it?”

“It will come back,” said Iris. “The war is a year behind us, and rationing can’t go on forever.”

“It may come back, it may not,” said Gwen. “Even if it does, will I?”

“I would think Ronnie would want you to.”

“He does, that’s the thing,” said Gwen miserably.

“Excuse me?” said Iris, startled. “How would—how do you know?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not communing with his ghost, as much as I wish to.” Gwen sighed. “I found a letter he had left for me, one of those ‘In case I don’t come back’ missives.”

“What did he say?” Iris asked.

“Quite a lot about Little Ronnie, which has provided some useful ammunition in my personal World War. But the part that relates to me—basically, he urged me to remarry. He gave me permission.”

“Ah.”

“The problem is that I haven’t given myself permission,” Gwen continued. “In fact, I’m more than a little peeved that he had given me up so easily.”

“What did you expect?” asked Iris.

“That he’d want me to wait until he either figured out some way to claw his way back from death, or until I had joined him in the afterlife, preferably in some place with a dance floor and a decent band.”

“The first won’t happen,” said Iris. “And postpone the second for as long as you possibly can. You are needed in this world.”

“By a son whose custody I don’t control.”

“By him. But also by me, darling. I can’t run this place alone. And how would I be able to sneak into this reception without you?”

“You’d find a way.” She got up and paced the small room, executing the turns at each wall with dance steps, then stopped. “I haven’t danced properly in years,” she said. “I’m going to be terrible!”

“You’ve danced at weddings.”

“Yes, but you know what those are like for a recent widow? One or two turns around the floor out of pity with married cousins who are woefully out of practice. I’m blanking, Iris! Every step I’ve ever learned has vanished!”

“Come on,” said Iris, grabbing her by the hand and leading her out into the hallway.

“What are you doing?”

“Foxtrot, for a start,” said Iris, turning to face her. “Give me your hand, other on my shoulder. Basics first. Slow, slow, quick quick!”

She danced Gwen down the length of the hall, then led her through an outside turn. “You remember twinkles?” she asked. “Good! Promenade. Turning box. See, it’s all coming back.”