As always at St Dunstan’s there was a good turnout of spectators, comprised mainly of devoted parents, grand-parents and fond aunts and uncles.

‘I’m going to play for the school when I come to St Dunstan’s,’ Max said to her, his gloved hand tucked in hers. ‘It won’t be long now, will it, Mama?’

She squeezed his hand, knowing that Max would settle into preparatory-school life as easily as a duck taking to water. He was a gregarious little boy, making friends easily and possessing none of his father’s diffidence. Rugby, too, would come easily to him. He was a natural ball player, swift on his feet and, thanks to years of boisterous, friendly scraps with Paul, unfazed by close physical tussling.

As Paul’s team ran out onto the field, eyes glowing and young faces set with determination, a large maroon-coloured motorcar drew to a halt in close proximity to the playing field.

Seconds later, a distinctive red-haired figure stepped out of it and assisted a beautiful-looking woman, heavily swathed in furs, to do the same.

Next to his magnificent physique she looked frighteningly frail.

On the pitch, the two teams were lined up, about to kick off. Vicky was oblivious.

She was watching Adam Priestley as he slid his arm around his wife and, tenderly supporting her, walked her slowly towards the touchline.

Somewhere behind Vicky the whistle blew for the start of play, and as it did so Adam Priestley’s eyes met hers and his face lit with pleasure.

He inclined his head to say something to his wife and she too looked across at Vicky, her mouth curving in a slow, gentle smile.

They began walking towards her and as it was obvious how difficult Adam’s wife was finding the uneven ground Vicky had no option but to narrow the distance and walk towards them.

‘My wife, Elise,’ Adam said as they met in a little group. ‘And darling, this is Vicky Remer, Arthur Hudson’s daughter. It is her nephew we have come to see play.’

Close to, Elise Priestley was even more beautiful than she had looked at a distance. Beneath her sable hat her features were as delicate as porcelain, her skin almost translucent.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Vicky,’ she said, her voice a little breathless. She proffered a kid-gloved hand so small-boned Vicky hardly dared shake it for fear of crushing it. ‘Adam tells me he suggested St Dunstan’s to your father as being a suitable school for Paul. I’m so glad it has worked out for him.’ She stopped speaking suddenly, turning aside to cough.

It wasn’t a short cough, it was long and racking and, as his arm tightened around Elise, Vicky saw a pulse begin pounding at the corner of Adam Priestley’s jawline.

After what seemed an eternity his wife finally raised her head, her face deathly pale against her richly coloured furs. ‘And is the little boy you were standing with, one of your children?’ she asked.

Vicky turned swiftly, terrified in case Max was no longer where she had left him.