‘I expect she hoped you’d bring a bloke,’ Brenda said in a low voice, ‘since they’re probably in short supply. I expect you’ll find half your school here.’

‘God forbid,’ I murmured. ‘I must say I did get the impression we were asked to make up numbers . . .’

We must have been almost the last to arrive. The room was well filled by a throng of people all talking loudly, and it felt very warm. A shout of laughter met us from one corner as we walked in. There were plenty of men there, too – a few in uniform, most not.

‘Yanks, a lot of them,’ Brenda observed. ‘Seem to look bigger than our lot, don’t they?’ Brenda, who wasn’t much interested in men, often talked about them as if they were some queer breed of squirrel.

The two of us stood looking round the room, at a loss.

One man – small, English – peeled away from the crowd. ‘Hello, you look lost,’ he said amiably. He had a thatch of dark hair like Marjorie’s and a chubby pink face. ‘I’m Roly, Marjorie’s brother. Come and have some punch? It’s fearfully good. Made by her own fair hands. In fact there’s homemade wine, too. We’re disreputable soaks in the Mantel family, I’m afraid. Make it out of anything that’s going. This is a brew from back in ’38. Those fair, halcyon days . . .’

For a moment I thought he was going to break into poetry. More usefully he poured us some of the fruit cup.

‘The fruit’s a bit limited, of course. Nearly all apples and pears from the garden.’

‘It’s very nice,’ I said politely. ‘Marjorie said you’re both home on leave?’

‘Yes, bang on. I’m army and she’s a WAAF. Marvellous spot of luck being able to take leave at the same time. Not often we coincide. I’m due to be posted soon, so I’m making the most of home.’

Looking at Roly’s face, I realized he was much younger than he seemed. His manner was already so middle-aged.

‘I say – it’s Katie, isn’t it? Kate Munro?’

A face swam towards me which I recognized instantly. The sight of her brought back the classrooms, the very smell of school.

‘Celia Oakley!’

As I stood reminiscing with Celia, Marjorie appeared and pounced on Brenda, saying there was someone she ‘must meet’.

‘And what’s happened to Olivia Kemp?’ Celia wanted to know. She had a very pale face and almost white blond hair and lashes. ‘You were always such friends. I found her a bit, well, odd myself. Rather stand-offish. I always presumed it was because she got fed up with people carrying on about her father. It surprised us all when you two teamed up.’

‘Livy’s in the Wrens,’ I said. Celia made impressed sounds. ‘I haven’t seen much of her, of course, though she was home for a stint of sick leave – ages ago now – end of ’41 it must have been. Went down with pneumonia. I think she’s quite taken to service life apart from that.’