‘Was ist los, Liebchen?’ Mutti asked. ‘What’s the matter? Didn’t you have a nice time?’

All the joy she’d had from the rare treat of a day out had melted away.

It wasn’t fair, Maggie said to her mother, how rich people lived in big houses like that, while other people were poor and had nothing.

But Mutti said she should be quiet and count her blessings.

‘There is always someone in a worse place than you, Maggie. Always.’

Mutti had been right. The whole of London was in a worse place than Maggie now. She’d left the bombing and the destruction behind and although she was glad – and grateful – she felt horribly guilty too.

She gazed at Snowden Hall. With its golden stone and rows of windows, it really was like a palace. Surely, they wouldn’t be lodging there? More likely, she’d be sharing a room in one of the outbuildings or somewhere in the grounds.

It would all be much easier if Maggie knew her colleagues a little better. They hadn’t made much effort with her after she’d told Miss Sharp she wouldn’t be moving to the country with the bank; she could hardly blame them. By the time Vi’s postcard came and Maggie changed her mind about leaving London, it was too late to make pals.

And now they probably thought she was standoffish as well as flighty, as she’d spent the whole train journey loitering in the corridor with soldiers, playing hide-and-seek with the cat.

As well as the horse and cart, a sleek motor car with running boards and a uniformed driver had been sent to meet them from the train. Maggie didn’t think the other women, in their smart wool suits and overcoats, would take too kindly to sharing the car with a cat, so she’d opted to ride in the cart.

‘We know our place, Tabby, don’t we, eh?’ Maggie whispered into the carpet bag on her lap.

It had been a queer journey from Paddington. Maggie had planned to hide with Tabby in the WC, well out of everyone’s way, but she hadn’t reckoned on the train being so full, or the cat making that sudden bid for freedom.

What a difference from the last time she’d been on a train, the summer before war broke out. That had been a glorious day: the last time she’d been truly happy.

Maggie, Mutti and Violet had gone to the seaside on a Sunday School trip that had been planned, and saved for on a penny-a-week savings scheme, for months. Mutti handed a penny to Violet each Sunday morning and she ran all the way to the church, without stopping, to deliver it to Mrs Bottomley and have the card ticked off.

By the time the day of the trip arrived, they were all paid up.