‘I can show you my discharge letter, if you like,’ Molly said quickly. ‘I don’t have any references as such – not for cooking, I mean . . .’

‘No, that won’t be necessary. That wasn’t it – it was just to ask something much more pressing. Are you a Christian, dear?’

‘Um . . .’ Molly stuttered. She’d got no idea of religion except for army church parades. ‘Well, I s’pose I’m sort of Church of England.’

Mrs Lester blinked rather sorrowfully at her for a moment, then said, ‘I think that will be all right. My husband is rather a devout man, you see. He likes certain standards met. We have our little meetings here, of course . . .’ She indicated the chairs. So they were indeed set up for a meeting. ‘On Tuesday evenings.’

Within minutes, Molly was in the attic room, settling in, before Mrs Lester showed her her duties. It had all been so easy! She was feeling quite high as she looked out of the window. She associated the coast with happy times, an open landscape where you could see out. All things seemed possible.

Molly soon realized that the cooking that was expected of her was going to be rather different from that in the army. She was used to cooking mountainous quantities of stodgy, if not necessarily palatable food for hordes of young active people. Despite food shortages, the army had been a priority and they had taken their rations more or less for granted. Now she was out in the civilian world of making do, eking out and watering down.

Once she had settled into her room, feeling quite hopeful, Molly went down, as Mrs Lester had requested, to see her in the kitchen. She found her stirring a pot of some sort of watery stew.

‘We’ve one couple staying,’ Mrs Lester said, her eyes blinking nervously. ‘So we’ve got an extra bit of beef on their points. I believe they’re on their honeymoon.’ She gave a shrill little laugh, then stopped herself with her hand over her mouth as if this was naughty.

‘I’m afraid I do add a little water to the jam,’ Mrs Lester said later, when telling Molly about breakfast. ‘And of course now there’s such a shortage of bread – of everything . . . Mr Lester does most of the shopping . . .’ Her voice faded again as if all was hopeless. ‘Now I do undertake what I can. We shall just have to take it day by day and work together. All we can do is keep going and trust in the Lord: that’s true of all of life, isn’t it?’ Molly thought it best to nod. ‘I hope that suits – it sounds a little vague? Mr Lester doesn’t like me being vague. He’s always so precise.’

Molly felt she could rise to the challenge of watery gravy and stews padded out with vegetables. She realized that she was better fed, and her nerves in a less frayed state, than many people who had been civilians. When Mrs Lester showed Molly her other housekeeping duties, most of which consisted of cleaning and laundry, she felt well able to take them on. She wondered quite what it was that exhausted Mrs Lester so much.