“Courage? For facing an older gentleman in an office with you guarding me just outside?”

“For facing yourself, darling,” said Gwen. “There’s nothing more terrifying than that.”

They walked out of the café.

“Are you all right with me handling the interview tomorrow with Madame Bousquet without you?” asked Iris.

“It would make sense, given your choice of cover, unless I could be the photographer this time. But that might scare her off, and we do need to have someone in the office. So, go. You have my blessings.”

“Thank you, Gwen,” said Iris. “I should be back late morning.”

“Good hunting.”

They went their separate ways home.

Little Ronnie bounded down the grand staircase the moment Gwen came through the door.

“Mummy!” he cried, jumping into her arms. “You’re home early!”

“The better to see you in daylight,” she said, swinging him up into the air and catching him. “Goodness, you’re getting heavy! I may not be able to do this for much longer.”

“Someday I’ll be big, and I’ll pick you up like this!”

“I bet you will,” she said, lowering him gently to the floor. “Is Grandmother in?”

“She’s in the library. She said you’re not coming to Tommy’s birthday party.”

“I’m afraid not, but you go ahead and wish him a happy birthday for me.”

“Will there be cake, do you suppose?”

“Perhaps.”

“One that doesn’t have toothpowder frosting?”

“It all depends on how many coupons they’ve saved up. Maybe you’ll get real icing this year.”

“I hope so. See you at dinner!”

He dashed off. She thought about her post-session Battenberg indulgence with Iris and felt guilty. Wonderful, she thought. Grist for the psychiatric mill.

She walked to the library and knocked respectfully on the door.

“Come in,” said Lady Carolyne.

Her mother-in-law no longer terrified her, but Gwen could not say they were on cordial terms. More of a tentative treaty, any of whose provisos could be violated by a single word muttered under a breath. Even the most casual of conversation topics required the utmost vigilance on Gwen’s part, and anything involving Little Ronnie could provoke territorial disputes bordering on full-blown war.

“Good evening, Gwendolyn,” said Lady Carolyne, putting down a letter she had been reading. “Any successes on the marital front?”

She was wearing a rose-coloured silk dressing gown with delicate silver filigree woven through it. It was what she wore before changing into evening dress, which meant that she would be going out shortly. Gwen anticipated the coming quiet in the household with relief.

“We’re making progress,” she replied. “Some money has come in this week, I’m happy to report.”

“I find this approach to marriage most unsettling,” said Lady Carolyne. “It would never have been heard of when Lord Bainbridge and I were courting.”

“You and Lord Bainbridge had the advantage of seasons and balls,” said Gwendolyn. “So did Ronnie and I. Those aren’t available to the vast majority of Englishmen and Englishwomen. We’re the next best thing.”

“Parliament should fund seasons for the masses,” said Lady Carolyne. “It would be much more efficient.”