He sat back down on the bed and sighed. ‘I think everyone understood it was simply a welcome, my dear. A small gesture. It’s done now.’

‘It’s asking an awful lot of the house staff.’

Joseph looked up, surprised. Esther didn’t normally concern herself with the staff or their workload. Their employees only had to exert themselves when he and Esther brought hunting and shooting parties up from London for holidays or weekends.

Bringing the bank here changed everything, of course, but he had every confidence in his staff.

Esther glanced around the room, at the two single beds and sighed. Before she started to complain again about their lack of spacious, separate rooms, he said firmly, ‘There’s a war on. Sacrifices have to be made.’

She pulled out her bottom lip in a gesture that he used to find endearing. ‘How long will it be for?’

‘What a ridiculous question! I don’t have a crystal ball, Esther.’

She was in a foul mood, although she’d disguised it well enough at the party tonight. She’d been the life and soul. If he couldn’t get her to buck up, she wouldn’t talk to him for days, or longer. She’d disappear off to The Dorchester and still be in a sulk when she returned.

She’d played her part, tonight, admittedly. She’d been in her element, dressed up to the nines, attracting admiring glances from men and women alike. Esther came alive when she was appreciated like that, basking in the glow of other people’s regard. The worst thing in the world for Esther was to be ignored.

She had disappeared for a while though, taking that girl into the house.

Joseph had looked for her a few times but when she hadn’t reappeared, he’d interrupted the chap who was holding forth, lecturing them all on how America would, eventually, have to join the war, by holding up his hand. ‘Would you excuse me please, for one minute?’

He strode across the terrace, acknowledging his guests with nods and smiles. As he entered the house, Dakin stepped forward. ‘Is everything to your satisfaction, Sir?’

‘Absolutely,’ Joseph said, patting him on the shoulder absentmindedly and looking around. There was no sign of Esther. ‘No, actually. I rather seem to have mislaid my wife.’

‘I think you’ll find she’s in your study, Sir.’

Joseph marched through the Long Gallery and flung open the office door. What was he trying to do? Catch her in the act? Sure enough, there she was, as slim as a pencil, standing at his desk with her back to him, speaking into the telephone. She turned as he burst in and gazed at him with those limpid eyes. She was like a Vermeer portrait.

‘Jay’s here,’ she said, calmly, into the receiver. She was holding it in her right hand and cupping the end nearest her mouth with her left. Almost tenderly.