Kerry, after the trauma, was drinking more than ever and unable to function at work. Briony had had to put the hard word on Victor through the twins, and unknown to Kerry herself, she was going into the clinic in Surrey after Christmas. Satisfied she had done all she could for her family, Briony concentrated on Tommy and Mariah and the businesses. But there were two further shocks awaiting her towards Christmas 1947 and the first happened while she was out shopping.

Coming out of Fortnum and Mason into a thick blizzard, Briony stood under the canopy waiting for Boysie and the car. As she turned round she came face to face with Isabel Dumas and Benedict: a grown-up Benedict carrying a young boy in his arms. Briony knew immediately this was her grandson and the rush of blood to her head made her feel faint.

Seeing his mother’s face, Benedict frowned. Then, looking at Briony fully, he wondered where he had seen her before. She looked familiar. Very familiar. He smiled at her hesitantly. Briony looked into the face so like her own and smiled back, her heart thumping in her breast like the band of the Coldstream Guards. The boy in Benedict’s arms had the green eyes and red hair of his grandmother, though today Briony’s hair was hidden under a large hat.

‘Hello, Isabel.’ Briony spoke carefully, pronouncing her words properly.

‘Why, Briony. How are you?’ Isabel’s voice was strained and Benedict looked from one to the other in consternation.

‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced?’ His voice, soft and musical, was like a dream to Briony.

‘This is Miss Briony Cavanagh. Miss Cavanagh, my son, Benedict Dumas.’

Briony nodded to him.

‘And this little scallywag is my son, Henry. Henry Dumas.’

Briony put up a gloved hand and stroked the plump cheek lightly.

The child had a toy gun. He pointed it at her and said, ‘Bang!’

Briony smiled widely. The child was exquisite. Was beautiful. Was her grandchild. She felt like blurting out the truth there and then. But Isabel, seeing her expression, shook her hand quickly and hustled the others off, away from her. She watched them disappear into the snow-filled street, her heart breaking. She had seen her boy, her son, and her grandson.

She could see the twins in that child, the same shape of head, the same build. She smiled bitterly. He even had a gun.

Boysie drove up with the car and was shocked to see she had been crying.

Benedict waited until they were home before he spoke.

‘Who was that Miss Cavanagh we met? I feel I know her somehow.’

His father choked on his cup of tea and Benedict slapped his back hard.

Isabel shook her head and said dismissively, ‘Oh, she’s a madam to be honest. Did a lot of charity work in the war. Couldn’t ignore her after that. But she really isn’t to be encouraged.’