Peggy turned to watch her in astonishment. ‘What the hell was that all about?’ she muttered before shaking her head and going into the factory.

Sitting behind her desk in her glassed-off cubicle, Peggy sat and watched the women who were busy at their machines. The workings of Pauline’s mind had always been difficult to fathom, and frankly, Peggy had given up trying. She was an unpleasant, selfish woman who’d alienated her only surviving son, her mother and her sister, and made poor Frank’s life a misery. It was no wonder he spent most nights at sea in the trawler.

Jack had taken his time to wash and shave and clean the dirt and grease from beneath his nails before getting dressed. He could hear Rita and Peter talking in the kitchen and could smell the turkey roasting in the oven, but the last thing he needed tonight was food – or company – and he was dreading having to smile and pretend that everything was all right.

He regarded his reflection in the bedroom mirror and plastered on a smile which was more of a grimace really, but that couldn’t be helped. He didn’t want to upset Rita and spoil her last night in England, so it was time to pull himself together, ignore his bruised heart and get on with it.

He emerged from the bedroom just as Rita opened the door to Peggy, Cordelia, Danuta, Daisy, Ron and Rosie. ‘Glad to see you all,’ he said with forced cheerfulness. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a squash, so we’ve put up a trestle table in the sitting room and borrowed chairs from the scout hut.’

They all trooped in as Rita picked up Daisy to give her a kiss and cuddle, and Peter rushed to make sure everyone had a drink.

‘Here you go, Jack,’ said Ron, handing over a crate of bottled beer. ‘And there’s a nip of the hard stuff to stiffen your spine,’ he added quietly, slipping him a half-bottle of gin. ‘Just don’t let Cordelia catch sight of that or she’ll have the lot.’ He winked, patted his arm and followed the others into the sitting room.

Jack managed to survive the evening by letting Peter and Rita do the honours as hosts, and drinking his way through several bottles of beer. He laughed at the jokes, joined in with the reminiscences of Rita’s childhood, and even supplied a story or two of his lighter moments and mishaps during his time in the army. However, he hadn’t really tasted any of the meal Rita had cooked so beautifully, and was fully aware of the surreptitious looks of concern Peggy and Ron kept darting at him. They understood what he was going through, but thankfully had said nothing.

‘By the way, Danuta,’ he said during a lull in the conversation. ‘I was up at the Cliffe estate yesterday to look over the cars Lord Cliffe took on in the deal he did with Chumley’s receivers. And there’s a nice little Austin 7 with low mileage on the clock and a good service history which I thought might suit you.’