‘Ah there you are, Maguire, good man, come on through.’

His thoughts were interrupted by his Nibs, welcoming him into the drawing room, where the fire was blazing in the hearth and the gramophone was playing Christmas carols.

Don’t be such a miserable Scrooge, Ray told himself. It’s Christmas Day, you’re spending it in the lap of luxury, while other poor sods are down in the shelters, damp, cold and terrified. Things could be worse.

He could smell the dinner cooking in the kitchen down the hall. ‘We’re having goose,’ Lady Ashford was telling Jack Rosman. ‘Of course, it’s not a proper Christmas. No plum pudding, although Cook assures me she’s made a stack of blackberry mince pies instead.’

Ray had only stayed here for Christmas because of Maggie. At last, they’d have some time together. He was planning to tell her, finally, how he felt and ask if she wanted to be his girl.

Being out on the tandem was all very well but they were usually freezing cold and he couldn’t even see her. You couldn’t speak properly when the other person – the girl you couldn’t get out of your mind – was sitting behind you.

They’d sat with the house staff at breakfast and exchanged presents. She’d knitted him a pair of gloves and a balaclava helmet and he’d given her the box he’d carved from a block of wood he’d found in the barn.

‘I was half expecting you to give me a pair of bicycle clips!’ she’d said and then, opening it, ‘A jewellery box!’ In the next breath she’d added, ‘I don’t have any!’

He’d explained then, that it wasn’t necessarily for jewellery. It was for trinkets or anything she wanted to keep safe.

She had seemed pleased, though. ‘It’s beautiful, Ray,’ she’d said. ‘Aren’t you clever?’

Then they’d been out on the tandem. She hadn’t minded when he’d teased her about her red nose. She’d held the ladder for him as he’d climbed up an apple tree in the orchard and cut down some mistletoe. His legs had only wobbled a little.

‘Too bad Charity’s not here!’ she’d said, as they gathered it up. Why did she think he held a torch for Charity? Because they’d spent all that time together, organising the concert? She was pretty enough and she had class, you had to admit, but Charity Richmond wasn’t a patch on Maggie.

Here she was, now, coming into the drawing room.

Before Ray could say a word, Jack piped up. ‘Hey, Poppy! Merry Christmas! You look a picture. New dress?’

Ray was still clutching the present for Rudi to his chest.

‘Here, come and put that down and have a drink,’ Lady Ashford said. ‘Actually, there’s something I’d like to ask you, Ray, if I might. A favour …’