Stanislaw read out the many telegrams that had come in from Australia, the cake was cut, and then the five-piece band struck up with ‘Moonlight Becomes You’. Peter led Rita onto the small dance floor for their first waltz as a married couple and minutes later were joined by Ivy and Andy, Sally and John, and Peggy with Frank – who turned out to be a surprisingly good dancer.

‘Why didn’t Pauline come?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t she well again?’

‘She’s got one of her heads,’ Frank said gruffly. ‘The doctor’s given her some pills, but they don’t seem to help much.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘She didn’t want me to come today, but Rita’s been so much a part of the family that I felt I should be here to wish her well. Do you think that was wrong of me?’

‘Not at all,’ she replied firmly. ‘You have absolutely no reason to feel guilty, and I want you to enjoy yourself today, Frank. God knows you deserve to after all she’s put you through lately.’

‘She is trying to make amends with Brendon and Betty,’ he replied. ‘But Brendon’s very protective of Betty, and Pauline’s rejection of her bit deep. She’s accused me of taking sides, but what else could I do, Peggy? He’s my only surviving son, and I refuse to let her cause a rift between us.’

Peggy watched the young couple making their way slowly around the dance floor, and thought how tragic it was that Pauline couldn’t accept their marriage because it had come some months after their son had been born. But she’d said her piece to Pauline and made it clear what she thought of her; now it was up to Pauline to make amends – to swallow her stupid, all-consuming pride and enjoy her family. Yet it seemed she was unwilling to make the effort, and poor Frank was shouldering the huge burden of trying to please everyone and still hold the family together.

Danuta knew it would happen, and that there was no point in trying to avoid it if she was to discover more about her brother’s exploits after he’d left Poland. As expected, Stanislaw made a beeline for her the minute the band started playing, and as he plumped down in the chair beside her, she gave him a wary smile.

‘Sadly, I cannot dance,’ he said, tapping his prosthetic legs with a walking stick. ‘But if I had my legs, I would have liked to dance with you all evening.’

‘I’m not much good at dancing, so it really doesn’t matter,’ she replied. ‘May I ask what happened to your legs?’

‘I was in dogfight over the Netherlands at very end of war. My plane was shot up and I crash-landed into trees,’ he said with little emotion. ‘But I still live and love life, and one day I will learn to walk again without these,’ he added, jamming the sticks between his knees. ‘You are nurse. You know of these things.’