‘Because I did, you see. Like him.’ Hopelessly intrigued, Vivian was gratified when Enid added, ‘He never struck me as a womaniser, yet he did leave for another woman. I think men tend to, don’t you?’ Vivian thought it astounding that Mrs Henderson believed she might have an opinion. It was liberating to find she did.

‘Yes.’

‘Not secure enough to simply walk away, they have to have someone to walk towards.’ Enid sighed, pitying and regretful at the same time, as a mother might sigh if her son had chopped the heads off a neighbour’s roses with a stick. Vivian’s experience, for the first time, did not seem a disgrace to be worn like a scarlet letter, but something a little more commonplace. Women made mistakes in love. It was as simple as that. ‘I was so shocked and hurt. I had to get on with it, of course. There was no point in making a fuss. Chin up.’

Mrs Henderson could have pretended he was dead if she’d wanted to appear to be respectable. If she’d gone down that route, Vivian would have accepted it, perhaps even admired her all the more for her discretion, but she was prepared to share secrets, to be forthright. Vivian was grateful for her confidence. Friendship, a demonstration of trust, was more important than even the most heartfelt admiration for discretion. However, she didn’t know how to reciprocate.

‘Is it chilly in here?’ She stood up, noticed the scuttle was empty so rang the bell.

It was all very slow and awkward. Mrs Rosebend came into the room and Vivian explained there was no coal; the housekeeper left and eventually waddled back hauling a full scuttle, reminding Vivian that the housemaid had been given the day off because she had gone to try to see her brother off at Portsmouth.

‘A wild idea. She’ll never find him in the crowds,’ muttered Mrs Rosebend with exasperation. She glanced at Enid and threw out a brief, tight smile. ‘Your Michael going?’

‘Yes. And you have a nephew leaving today too,’ replied Enid.

‘That’s right. My brother-in-law tried to sign up, but flat feet and too old, so you know.’ A shrug.

There were posters everywhere urging men to join up and insisting that if a chap couldn’t join himself he must try to get a recruit to fill his place, so zealous men were sending their green sons. The adverts promised, ‘There’s still a place in the line for you!’ They made it sound so irresistibly cosy and chummy. The stations and ports were always crowded with soldiers. War involved a lot of movement and confusion. It was all about taking people away. Enid and Mrs Rosebend were too mature to dash to Portsmouth on the off chance they’d spot their boys in the crowds of khaki, but it was clear where their thoughts were. The men of the village had left for training camp in a blaze of brass bands and bunting; now the mood was considerably more sombre. Vivian understood. The papers were full of casualty lists.