I sighed. ‘OK, but say you did find one of them, or both of them, as I keep saying, so what? All it proves is that two people of that name existed, end of story.’

‘You don’t know that. You’d have made a crap detective, Bea. You look at clues, one leads to another. Anyway, I’m not giving up. So. London. Excellent. Second World War and Saranya Ji said that he went to war and didn’t return. If they were to be married, chances are they were quite young.’

‘Not necessarily. They may have met later in life.’

It was no use. Marcia was away. ‘The dates of the Second World War were 1939 to 1945. If I allow for them being engaged as young sweethearts, they could have been eighteen, nineteen or early twenties, and often young men of that age went away to war.’

‘Apparently some lads of only sixteen went to fight.’

‘Doubt if they’d have been engaged to be married at that age, though. And what was the maximum age for soldiers?’

‘I seem to remember it was forty, but older if called for Home Guard duty. I know because Richard was always watching documentaries about the war.’

‘But Saranya Ji said he went away to war, right? So he wouldn’t have been in the Home Guard.’

I nodded. ‘I think she said that. I didn’t make notes because it’s a load of baloney, Marcia.’

Marcia ignored me. ‘Hmm, but you’re right, Grace could have been in her thirties or forties.’

‘Unless he liked older women. He might have had a mother complex. She might have been ancient.’

‘I’ll get Pete to find out. I’ll ask him to look up the exact age men were no longer eligible to go to war so that we’re certain. He’ll probably already know but, by my reckoning, it gives us about twenty-five years as a time frame to look at. Men between sixteen and forty, women the same. If Grace was born around 1919, she’d have been around twenty when the war began. We can begin with that, and the fact that we’re looking in London also narrows the field. Other facts, her name and that she was a dressmaker will also help. I’m sure Pete will find her.’ Her face looked flushed with excitement. ‘Don’t you see, Bea, we’re making progress.’

I laughed. ‘Not we’re making progress: you’re on your own with this. I’m really not interested.’

‘Spoilsport. Where’s your sense of romance?’

‘As you know, that died a long time ago. Look, you go ahead, but don’t ask me to get involved.’