They’d all had to wait until Miss Sharp agreed with Mr Maguire, that the working day could begin. From the glances around the table, Maggie knew the others were thinking the same as her; it was queer how both Miss Sharp and Mr Maguire seemed to think they were in charge.

It was a relief to settle at her desk with a pile of letters and memos for typing and have something to concentrate on. But her eyes kept drifting to the windows and the view outside.

It was all such a far cry from the city, like a dream from which she’d wake any minute and find herself in the shelter, shivering and cuddled up next to a stranger.

Now, Maggie glanced at the clock on the wall, behind Miss Sharp’s desk. She’d missed her cuppa but never mind. It had been more important to write to Vi as soon as she could.

She reached into the desk drawer, took out a brown envelope and carefully folded her letter inside it. Then she sealed the envelope and started to copy down Vi’s address on the front. She’d made a note of Vi’s address before she left home. She’d left the postcard behind, for Dad.

Someone coughed nearby, then a man’s voice said, ‘Is that a private letter, Miss Corbett?’

Ray Maguire was standing over her. His shadow had fallen across her desk a moment before he spoke, making her jump.

Was he making polite conversation or was she in trouble?

Everyone was filing back to their desks. Elsie Davenport, the feisty redhead that Maggie remembered from her first day at Rosman’s, was taking her seat in front of Maggie’s desk. ‘Take no notice,’ she said. ‘He’s gone queer since they put him in charge.’

Ray opened his mouth but before he could reply, another voice rang out.

‘Actually …’ It was Miss Sharp, who’d swivelled around and was now marching down the aisle towards them. ‘I think you’ll find that I’m still in charge of this office!’

Ray crossed his arms and faced her. ‘She’s using company stationery,’ he said but his voice faltered. Miss Sharp was almost as tall as him and she was stern.

‘I’m sorry—’ Maggie started.

Miss Sharp put her hand out, all pointed nails and slender fingers.

‘Don’t apologise, Miss Corbett.’ She looked around and addressed everyone. ‘You’re all allowed to write one letter home each week, using company paper and an envelope.’

‘Says who?’ Ray asked.

‘Says me!’ Miss Sharp said. She frowned slightly and then added, in a quieter voice, ‘Say I. Anyone wishing to write more often will need to purchase their own supplies, of course.’

Maggie watched as her colleagues exchanged surprised glances and then pretended to resume work. Typewriters were silent, no one picked up a telephone. They were all listening.

‘Satisfied, Mr Maguire?’ Miss Sharp asked.