If this wasn’t so utterly tragic, and bloody freezing cold – he couldn’t feel his fingers and he felt like he had frostbite in his nose – then it would actually be funny. The flipside of tragedy was comedy, wasn’t it? If you could laugh at your troubles, you were halfway to conquering them. Him stuck out here, hiding behind a bush and likely to get pneumonia, while his girl – that was how he thought of Maggie now – while his girl was there, a few feet away, with another man. Why, it was like one of those French farces. People would pay good money to watch a funny scene like this. They’d laugh their socks off. Yes, very amusing if you weren’t the one being made a fool of.

* * *

‘We mustn’t be too long,’ Maggie said. Even with Jack’s jacket over her shoulders, her teeth were chattering and it was so dark out here, she could barely see him. ‘They’re doing the presents for the kiddies next. Father Christmas. I don’t want to miss that.’

Did that sound ungrateful? She was pleased he wanted to be with her, of course and she was excited about the present he was about to give her but when he’d asked her to come outside, she’d rather he’d done it more discreetly. She’d seen Gwen and Lord Ashford’s gaze follow them as they’d left the drawing room together.

She was feeling a little weepy after the King’s speech. His Majesty had spoken about everyone doing their bit to make Christmas a happy one for the children, ‘wherever they may be’, and her mind had drifted to Vi and Mutti. She wished they could have all been together.

Now, the sound of the gramophone was a faint noise from the house – ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ was playing. But otherwise, it was quiet and still out here and so bitter they could see their breath billowing out every time they spoke.

Maggie stamped her feet to try to keep warm. ‘Do you think it’s right, what the King said?’ she asked Jack. ‘About our “feet being planted on the path of victory”?’

Jack seemed distracted. He was pacing the terrace, back and forth. Had he even listened to the King’s speech?

‘I don’t know!’ he said. It wasn’t like him to be snappy. He sighed and said, ‘Yes, yes. Try not to worry, little Pops. I’m sure we are.’

He’d stopped pacing now and was standing near her. He took a deep breath and Maggie felt a thrill of anticipation. So, this was the present. She hoped it wasn’t going to be something too extravagant. It would be embarrassing. She’d only given him a handknitted scarf, after all.

‘We rub along quite well, don’t we Pops?’ he said suddenly. ‘We’re good friends, aren’t we?’