She’d had to ask another nurse to finish her task, not because she could no longer bear the sight and smell of his wounds, but because the fear that the guns had been made by the House of Remer was so intense she knew she was going to vomit.

July brought with it the news that Zelda had given birth to a daughter and had named her Lotti.

‘A pretty name,’ her father said approvingly. ‘Not too obviously German. At least not if you add an “e” to the end of it.’

In September, when his beloved roses were flowering only intermittently and the Michaelmas daisies were in full bloom, Arthur announced that he’d lunched with William Priestley and that Adam was home on leave.

She had been dangling Nancy on her lap and, a little unsteadily, she set her down on the sheepskin hearthrug.

‘Will he be home for long?’ Even to herself her voice sounded odd and tight.

Her father shook his newspaper open. ‘I doubt it,’ he said, as Nancy began tottering away from them on uncertain legs. ‘He’s a captain now and they never get long back in Blighty. Though in Adam’s case, of course, things might be a little different.’

She stared at him. ‘Why do you say “in Adam’s case”? He’s not injured, is he?’

‘No, but his wife is in poor shape. TB, I believe. Great heavens. Have you seen today’s headlines? The Allies have smashed through German lines around Loos. Now will this force the Germans into a retreat, do you think?’

She didn’t know. Having reached the door and not being able to go any farther, Nancy had fallen on her bottom and begun to wail. Vicky hurried across to her, scooping her into her arms, too appalled at Adam’s situation to be able to reflect on the war news.

‘You and Max are coming to watch me play in the house team in the Inter-School Competition, aren’t you, Aunt Vicky?’ Paul said, striding into the room via the French windows, accompanied by a blast of chill autumn air and three dogs. ‘It’s going to be a spiffing game.’

Despite the pain she was feeling on Adam Priestley’s behalf, her lips twitched in amusement.

Paul’s forehead crinkled. For the life of him he couldn’t think what it was he had said that was funny.

‘Yes, of course we will be at the match, and I’m amused because, for an American, you are beginning to use some very English expressions.’

He grinned. ‘It’s going to be a swell game, then. It’s important I play really well because I’m hoping to make Junior School captain next year.’

Her father’s newspaper rustled slightly and Vicky knew what he was thinking. In another year, the war would, with God’s good grace, be over. And when it was, Paul would be twelve and back in Berlin with his mother and stepfather, attending a school that would be different in every way from St Dunstan’s.

On the day of the Inter-School Competition she dressed warmly, having had previous experience of just how cold it was possible to get watching a game of rugby.