One day, this would all be Jack’s. It could be hers, too. She could look after Vi and Mutti, bring them here to live with her, in the country. Vi could have a horse – she could do this, if she liked, ride to hounds. Although, knowing Vi she would feel too sorry for the fox. And Mutti need never cook or take in sewing again.

Maggie would be rich. She could have all the compacts and lipsticks she wanted, not to mention dresses and shoes with heels and furs and hats and she’d never be mistaken for a waitress ever again.

But, would she be happy? Look at Lord and Lady Ashford. They had plenty of money – enough for sleek motor cars and horses and visits to The Dorchester – but they didn’t seem awfully happy to her.

* * *

Ray knocked back his second hot toddy. Goodness knew what was in it but whatever it was, it was having the right effect.

He’d hardly slept last night. When he had managed to drop off, he’d had nightmares involving that bloody airman’s face, in a Spitfire, flying at him.

He gazed out at the horses and the riders in their bright red jackets and the hounds, one of which was busy digging up Tonks’ vegetable patch.

He was a bloody fool. He’d left it too late.

Maggie, standing beside him, was quiet. ‘Penny for them,’ he asked.

She blushed and he guessed she was thinking about Call-me-Jack, her fiancé. He’d thought ‘heartache’ was only an expression but he was feeling an actual pain in his chest.

Of course, Maggie hadn’t mentioned Rosman’s proposal. She’d probably guessed he couldn’t stand the fella; he didn’t exactly hide his feelings. What would he say when she finally told him the news? It would be hard to keep his voice even, to sound pleased. He wondered whether, under those mittens, Maggie was wearing Rosman’s ring.

He was torturing himself but he couldn’t stop. The irony of it all. That trinket box he’d made Maggie for Christmas would come in handy now. She wouldn’t be short of jewellery when she married Jack Rosman.

‘Excellent Father Christmas, Maguire, by the way!’ Lord Ashford said, coming back up the steps and slapping him on the shoulder. ‘My own papa made a good one but I think you even surpassed him.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

Lady Ashford had said the same to him yesterday.

‘Perfect, Ray!’ she’d said. ‘Goodness me, you got into the part. A natural!’

He hadn’t thought of it before but he supposed he was good with nippers. Probably because he was still one himself. He wasn’t a grown-up; grown-ups enlisted, grown-ups had proper jobs, grown-ups got the girl.

No, he wasn’t a grown-up. Perhaps he never would be.

Chapter 48

It was a few days after Christmas and the weather was grey and cold.