‘No!’ Douglas shouted, his face flushing a deep red. ‘Don’t you dare. I’m not having you going down there behind my back.’

‘Don’t shout at me like that.’ I was furious with him for reacting like this. ‘It wouldn’t be behind your back, would it? I’ve just asked you.’

Without turning round again he said, ‘Well, the answer’s no.’

After a few moments he hobbled over and put his arms round me. ‘I’m sorry, darling. Don’t be angry – please.’

He wrote an immediate reply to them saying that we wouldn’t be coming. I felt angry, guilty about treating them in such a way. Eventually I dropped them a brief note myself, trying to sound as pleasant as I could, saying I was sorry for our lack of contact, but that I hoped to meet them in the near future. By return of post I received a strange note from Mrs Craven.

Dear Katherine,

I was most relieved to receive your letter. I suppose Douglas has stopped you coming to visit us, being the stubborn boy he is. He doesn’t find it easy to forgive, the poor darling. He won’t change, you know, they never do. If you can persuade him to let us meet you I should be very grateful of course. I’m sure you’ll look after him. I shall do all in my power to be at the wedding.

Best if you don’t mention to my husband that I’ve written.

Sincerely, Julia Craven.

Soon after she heard of my engagement, Ruth Harvey came to our house. She stood on the doorstep, her bag on her arm and an odd look on her face which reminded me of the day she had come to tell me Angus was missing. I showed her into the front room. She refused to sit down.

‘You’re marrying someone else.’

I hadn’t anticipated such directness. I nodded, not speaking.

‘Oh ye of little faith.’ Her voice was low, almost menacing. Her belief that Angus was not dead had reached the point of obsession. She was a thinner, stranger woman, hair now pepper-and-salt grey.

‘He’s dead. He’s not coming back,’ I said, pitying her. ‘It’s not that I don’t love him still. I shall always love him, Ruth. But we have to face up to it. We shan’t see him again, however much we still feel for him.’

‘We’ll see,’ she said, though I thought I heard the beginnings of resignation in her voice. Opening her handbag she drew out a white envelope and handed it to me. ‘You’d better have this.’

I stared at it for a few seconds, unable to give any meaning to it. I saw my name written carefully in blue ink and knew immediately that the writing was Angus’s. Frowning, I looked across at her.

‘He left it with me. That Christmas, when he was on embarkation leave. For me to give you if he – ’ she struggled for a second to steady her voice. ‘He said I was to give it to you at the right moment.’