‘It’s what I really wanted. Was that so wrong of me?’

I reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘Of course not. Look, they’re far too protective. They’re trying to run your whole life for you.’

I had spent much less time at the Kemps’ house over the months since Alec found William and Olivia together. That summer of 1938 had felt like the end of our childhood, changing all of us. Alec and Elizabeth were civil enough to me still – more than civil in Alec’s case. He was clearly very embarrassed and went out of his way to win me over. But I was on my guard now and couldn’t trust him as I had before. I avoided the Kemps as much as possible.

Although I’d tried to talk to Livy about what happened after it was over I couldn’t get her to open up on the subject. I knew she was aware of my stinging censure of her parents. When we met now it was nearly always somewhere away from either of our houses. It was sad. Both of us knew we had lost something.

The waiter approached our table and hovered discreetly. Olivia forced her attention to the menu. When he had taken our order and departed with dignity Olivia leaned closer and whispered across the sugar bowl, ‘I’ve got to get away. It’s suffocating me. I’ve got to do something.’ She seemed frantic.

‘Gracious, Livy – ’

‘I’ve thought about it over and over. I was going to try and find a job in London. But now with the war everything’s changed. It seems so trivial and selfish to think about it. After all, we could all soon be dead . . .’ She pressed one hand over her eyes, trying to hold back tears. Her nails were the same colour as the lipstick.

I reached out again and took her other cold hand across the table. ‘Livy, darling – don’t. I do wish there was something I could do for you. Can’t you ask your mother? No, I suppose she wouldn’t put her oar in for you.’

Wiping her face, Olivia said, ‘Don’t be too hard on Mummy. It’s not her fault. Not really.’

‘She said it wasn’t his fault,’ I said, more harshly than I’d intended.

Olivia looked me in the eyes. ‘I wish I could hate them. I wish it so much.’

‘Livy – can’t you tell me what’s so wrong at home? Is it – what you said that day – about your father?’

She rearranged her cutlery with nervous movements, half looking up at me, a fierce blush rising in her cheeks. ‘No. I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry, Katie.’ She tried to sound brisk. ‘I really shouldn’t have said anything that day. I must have given you quite the wrong impression. Please forget I said it. Mummy and Daddy are just a bit over-protective. That’s all.’

Our food was served: roast chicken and vegetables. Livy was treating me.

‘This is so nice,’ I said to her as the waiter spooned potatoes on to our plates. ‘Thank you for it – very much.’