Stanislaw roared with delight as he drank the vodka. He lifted his glass high, and Danuta followed suit, and then, to protect the new floor, they wrapped them in napkins and smashed them beneath their feet.

The vodka was now flowing and the guests presented the happy couple with envelopes containing money before they sat down to enjoy the first course of cheeses and cold meat which Phoenix Air had flown in the day before from Holland. As the vodka continued to flow and the second course arrived, there were constant shouts of ‘Gorzko! Gorzko!’ urging the couple to kiss, which they did very happily.

‘We’re in for a very long session,’ Peggy warned Cordelia, who was really getting into the swing of things. ‘So take it easy with the drink.’

Cordelia just laughed and knocked back her third vodka.

The imported food kept on coming, the vodka kept on flowing, and by midnight, Cordelia was asleep in an armchair, and Anne had taken the girls home to bed, so they missed the moment when Danuta’s veil was removed to be replaced by a wedding cap to signify her passage from girlhood to wife. It was traditionally given by the bride’s godmother, but Peggy had been given that honour and she’d placed the cap Sally had made on the girl’s shining curls and kissed her cheek, wishing her all the luck in the world.

All the single men and women were lined up at each end of the dance floor, and Stanislaw took Danuta into the centre. He threw his tie to the men while she threw her veil to the women, and like the English custom of catching the bouquet, whoever caught the veil and tie would be married within a year – although not necessarily to each other.

The wedding cake was cut, and then the band struck up and Stanislaw took his bride into his arms and managed a full turn of the floor before they were joined by everyone else. From that moment on the party really got going, and the eating, drinking, dancing and endless toasts continued until the sky grew light and breakfast was served.

29

Ruby stubbed out her cigarette as the train chugged slowly to a halt at Cliffehaven station that Sunday afternoon. She returned her silver cigarette case and lighter to her leather handbag and stood to check her appearance in the small mirror below the luggage rack. Her eyes told of her profound sadness, but otherwise she looked reasonably calm and ready to face whatever happened next – although inside, it was a different story altogether. Adjusting her hat and touching the pearls at her neck, she pulled her expensive overcoat on over her two-piece costume, slung the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and gathered up her suitcases.

This was the sort of homecoming she’d never dreamed she’d make, and as she stepped down from the train, memories of the last time she’d been here came flooding in and made her falter. She’d been so happy then – so in love and excited about the future – a future that had ultimately betrayed her and brought her back.