The women shuffled in their seats. One or two touched the back of their hair and straightened their skirts. His mother used to host knitting circles and although Esther hadn’t kept up the tradition, clearly Mrs Mason had.

Some of them looked familiar. Joseph had known many of the villagers, by sight, at least, most of his life.

‘This is Mrs Enid Brown and her sister-in-law Joyce Matheson, your Lordship. They live in the old vicarage …’ Mrs Mason introduced each of the ladies. Joseph smiled and made an appropriate comment each time, his mind half on the documents he needed to sign and the calls he needed to make.

Then, finally, ‘And this is Mrs Nicholls. Gwen Nicholls. Her parents—’

‘—ran the village shop,’ he finished, feeling the blood drain from his face and then, in the next moment, his heart lift.

He could hardly breathe. Gwen. Gwen Tapper, as he’d known her. It was her, after all these years. He knew she didn’t live in Snowden village any longer so what was she doing here? And then, his next thought was, how can I make her stay?

‘Gwen, how lovely!’ he said, not caring how that might sound or that Gwen’s pale cheeks suddenly had roses. ‘How … good to see you!’

He stretched out his hand and there was an awkward pause as she put down her knitting and shook hands with him. It was so formal, after all they’d been to each other. Her hand was warm and slightly coarse. She’d been working, all these years. No life of leisure for Gwen Tapper.

‘What brings you back here?’ he asked. He couldn’t stop smiling.

‘I … I came to care for my mother. She isn’t – wasn’t – too well,’ Gwen said, eyes downcast.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Do give her my best, won’t you?’

Gwen nodded.

The room was silent. Joseph had almost forgotten where he was. He pulled himself together and stepped back, rubbing his hands.

‘It’s rather chilly in here, Mrs Mason. I’ll send someone in to light the fire, shall I?’

‘No, no, there’s no need, Sir,’ Mrs Mason said. She seemed anxious to be rid of him now. ‘We’ll be at Mrs Henderson’s next time, so we won’t be troubling you again. We take it in turns to host, you see. Only we’d never have taken the liberty, had we known you were home. We were expecting you later, Sir.’

He clasped his hands together. ‘Do you have everything you need? Tea? A small sherry perhaps?’

‘It’s only ten o’clock,’ someone pointed out.

‘Ah yes, a little early. But then again, why not? I have my evening whisky earlier and earlier these days. We’re not living in normal times, so why be normal?’

‘We shall have tea later, in the kitchen,’ Mrs Mason said firmly, when the laughter had finally died down.