‘Merry Christmas!’ the locals had called to them and she and Ray had waved and yelled it back.

It would have been perfect if it had snowed. When she’d passed Lord Ashford in the corridor, he’d apologised for the lack of snow.

‘You’d have thought we could have magicked some up,’ he’d said. ‘The house is named for snow, after all. We could have taken the children sledging.’

Some of the vackies from the village were coming later, for tea. Maggie had heard that news with a pang. She’d have liked nothing better than for Violet to be here too, but she consoled herself with the thought that Vi was quite happy where she was, among her beloved animals. They’d see each other again, soon enough. She mustn’t be greedy and wish for too much. And then, there was Jack. He’d promised to try to come to Snowden for Christmas. She was bubbling with excitement about seeing him again.

There was an eight-foot Christmas tree in the hall, covered in snakes of glittery tinsel and decorated with glass baubles, that had, according to Mrs Mason, been in the family for years. They were nothing like the decorations that Maggie was used to: paperchains and fringes made from newspaper.

She’d only ever seen anything as beautiful as the tree at Snowden Hall in Harrods, when Mutti took her and Violet up West to gaze at the window displays at Christmas.

And now, before lunch, she was back in her room to change. She smiled to herself. Goodness, she’d become quite gentrified.

She opened the wardrobe and gazed at the array of dresses. She had her pick of any of Pam’s. She moved her hands through the rail, feeling like a lady in an expensive dress shop. Jack had told her blue suited her, once, so that was decided, she’d choose a blue one.

* * *

Ray came downstairs, carrying the wooden plane he’d so carefully made and wrapped for Rudi. Damn! That was the unmistakeable booming voice of Jack Rosman. What was he doing here? Ray’s good mood evaporated in an instant. He hadn’t dared ask but he’d prayed Rosman would get a sudden posting, now that he was fit to fly again, and would be elsewhere for Christmas.

That was the day spoiled.

Call-Me-Jack would be all over Maggie, flirting and calling her by that stupid nickname and he, Ray, wouldn’t get a look in. This hadn’t been the plan at all.

He’d missed his chance now, good and proper. He should have said something to Maggie when they were out on the tandem this morning. But how could he, when he couldn’t even look her in the eye? But later, when they’d collected that huge ball of mistletoe, that had been his opportunity. For Gawd’s sake, how much more romantic could you get?