That evening, Gwen located some tissue paper and ribbons, then sat down in Little Ronnie’s playroom and wrapped the present for Tommy. Another normal thing that normal mothers do, she thought. Maybe I am becoming normal again.

Then she thought about the next day’s activities and rescinded that thought.

In the morning, she kissed Little Ronnie goodbye. He was in a little blue suit, with short pants. A blue-and-yellow-striped cap sat on his head. He could not have looked more darling, she thought, trying not to cry in front of him.

“You make sure you take your jacket and cap off before you play,” she instructed him.

“Yes, Mummy,” he said.

“And no roughhousing!”

“Yes, Mummy.”

She handed the wrapped gift to Albert, the chauffeur. Lady Carolyne strode in, dressed to kill, an ermine wrap around her shoulders.

“This is a children’s party, you know,” said Gwen.

“A party at a fine house deserves one’s best,” said Lady Carolyne. “We must set a good example for the children.”

“Of course,” said Gwen. “Give them my love. I’ll be at the office today.”

“On a Saturday?” asked Lady Carolyne. “That’s unusual.”

“Not everyone can meet us during the workweek,” said Gwen. “And sometimes we get more done when the block is less active. The noise levels are lower.”

“Very well,” said Lady Carolyne. “May you have a productive day.”

“Thank you.”

She watched them drive away, then pinned her hat on and left for the office.

It was eleven when she arrived. Mayfair was bustling with shoppers, searching for whatever was available with limited supplies on the one hand and limited coupons on the other.

The block on which their building was situated was comparatively quiet. The work crews who had been clearing the bombing debris on either side were off. Gwen realised that she had become oblivious to the noise since they had taken possession of their office on the fourth storey. She let herself in the front door, then climbed the steps to The Right Sort. She found Iris already there, leaning out their window with her hands gripping the sill.

“What on earth are you doing?” asked Gwen.

“Figuring something out,” said Iris, pulling herself back in. “No trouble getting away?”

“I impressed my mother-in-law with the lengths of my dedication to playing Cupid.”

“How are things going with her?”

“Peaceful. We’re both waiting for Lord Bainbridge to come home before we resolve anything with Little Ronnie.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you do it,” said Iris. “You’re like a prisoner of war in that house.”

“A prisoner of war in a Kensington house with a full staff,” said Gwen. “Let’s not overstate the horrors of my life.”

“But to live full-time biting your tongue,” said Iris. “I think it would drive me mad.”

“I do it for my son,” said Gwen simply. “Every time I want to grab my mother-in-law by the throat and shake her until all of her jewelry goes flying in different directions, I think about Ronnie, count slowly to ten, and go about my business. And I have my job to escape to.”