‘So what?’ He shrugged, genuinely baffled. ‘I like childs . . . children . . .’

Katie edged a little further along the wall, feeling its roughness snagging the cotton of her dress. Piotr gazed longingly and sorrowfully at her breasts.

‘You are lovely . . .’

‘Yes, but . . .’ She would have to be blunt. ‘I don’t want to be courting with you. I’m sorry.’

He frowned. ‘I am not man enough?’

‘Man enough? Of course you are. I’m just – I’m sorry. I just don’t want it, that’s all.’

‘We are good friends. You marry me?’

‘No!’

‘I tell Marek same? He like you too.’

Katie’s heart thudded hard and blood flooded her cheeks. Marek – did he really like her? More than like? For a moment she was filled with enormous joy, before it was overtaken by panic. She had to put a stop to this! ‘Yes. Tell him the same. We are friends – yes? Not courting.’

Piotr looked disappointed. ‘You do not want a husband?’

The question, as well as Piotr’s strong gaze, drilled into her. Did she? She tried never to think about it, or allow herself to think she might be loved or have a life with someone. Until now, everything had led to rejection. Better to put up with being lonely than the pain of all that. And even if Marek did like her, could he not tell her himself? None of this felt right, and her main feeling was wanting to get away from it. She was happy how she was – she had Michael and Maudie, and this house. What more could she want?

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

She told Maudie about it the next day, when she’d had time to think, making a joke of it. Maudie, who had only met Marek and Piotr in passing, smiled at first, but then eyed Katie seriously over the ironing board.

‘It’s a pity, though,’ she said.

‘What d’you mean?’ Katie was indignant.

‘Well, they seem rather nice. I know people say things about the Poles, but these two seem really decent – all they do to help Miss Routh and everything. Do you not think you could develop some feelings for one of them?’

Just then, little Petie, Maudie’s son, came roaring up in fury at some falling-out with his sisters. Most of their conversations happened in broken threads, in between the needs of children. In those seconds Katie thought of Marek’s eyes, his gaze often quietly resting on her. When Maudie returned, having sorted out the squabble, she looked squarely at Katie.

‘Well? You don’t want to be on your own forever, do you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Katie protested, though she knew Maudie’s remark had hit home. ‘I mean, what’s the use in thinking about it? Que sera sera. And they’re – well, I don’t really know them very well. So much has happened to them, and I don’t really know what, and . . .’