Mrs Mason was peering at him over her spectacles, her face creased in concern. ‘So sorry, Sir. I thought you’d be in London today, what with the move an’ all. Otherwise, I’d never have presumed—’

‘No, we’d never have presumed,’ one of the other women said primly.

Mrs Mason shot her a look over her shoulder.

‘We haven’t touched a thing!’ the other woman added. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

Joseph coughed. ‘At ease, ladies! As you were. No need to apologise, Mrs Mason. I was looking for something.’

‘Your watch, Sir, I’ll be bound.’ She smiled. ‘We haven’t seen it, have we, ladies?’

‘No!’ they chorused. Some of them looked around the room and down at the carpet, trying to help.

‘We’re knitting for the troops, Sir,’ Mrs Mason said. ‘Balaclava helmets, socks, vests and the like.’

‘If you can knit, you can do your bit!’ someone chimed.

Mrs Mason coughed. ‘And we thought this would be the last chance, before the bank staff arrive later today, so …’

Joseph raised a hand. ‘Excellent, ladies. Doing your patriotic duty! You’re more than welcome. I won’t disturb you any longer.’

He started to close the door but one of the women – a snow-haired, hunchbacked creature – waved her knitting needles and croaked, ‘I was only saying, your Lordship …’

‘Yes?’ Joseph asked. It was easy for the older generation to feel invisible, so he focused his attention on the old dear and smiled.

‘I was only saying, Sir, how that Adolf Hitler should have his eyes pulled out with a couple of these!’

Joseph coughed, to hide his smile. ‘Absolutely,’ he said.

‘I mean to say, we used to think he was rather a comical chap, didn’t we? All that shouting and jumping up and down and the silly moustache? Like Charlie Chaplin! Well, we don’t think that now.’ She shook her head and to Joseph’s relief, placed her knitting needles back on her lap. ‘Not at all.’

Mrs Mason looked worried. She was like a shepherdess, whose flock had suddenly gone running in all directions.

He felt he should throw her a lifeline, despite his hectic schedule. The bank was moving today, the telephone hadn’t stopped ringing and his driver was waiting for him to sign a pile of documents that were needed in Bond Street.

And he had to find his watch. The clock on his desk had stopped and it was driving him to distraction, not knowing the time. He kept forgetting and looking at the damn clock and seeing the same time – five past eight – and he couldn’t keep putting his head out of the room to look at the grandfather clock in the hall.

‘Do introduce me to the ladies, Mrs Mason,’ he said.