‘Such a warm, sultry afternoon. I remember walking to the march and watching unconcerned straw-hatted men punting on the Thames while their girls loafed under parasols. I wanted to yell at them, insist they join me, but I also had an equal impulse to just ignore the talk of war and do something more fun instead. I thought about drivers in goggles hurling their roaring cars round the track at Brooklands. I had a ticket you see. I could have been there instead.’

‘Or any number of places.’

‘Yes. I could have gone to Brighton, squeezed in amongst the hired bathing machines that trundle on to the crowded beaches.’ He thought of the huts designed to protect people’s modesty; nothing could offer protection now.

She must have been thinking along the same lines because she commented, ‘Tragedy was inevitable by then; there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.’

‘Yes. All the arrangements were in place.’

He wondered whether she understood he was still talking about the Great War, not her marriage. He thought not when she added, ‘So many hasty marriages since.’ She shook her head. He thought it was a peculiar thing for her to concern herself with. There were countless tragic consequences of this war: death, children being orphaned, women bearing babies forced upon them by their enemies, destruction of cities and ancient art; he’d never thought that hasty marriages deserved comment. But then he wasn’t a woman.

‘Did your brother have a sweetheart?’ she asked.

‘Of sorts. He’d been courting just a few months.’

‘So he never married?’

‘No, he didn’t make that leap. He didn’t think he’d die so soon, I suppose.’

‘What do you mean?’ His observation seemed to draw her focus.

‘Those who marry in a hurry before they rush off to the Front seem to me to be leaping to fulfil the instincts of mankind. They want to have sex, ideally to breed. I don’t think Michael thought he’d die. His lack of marriage is evidence of that.’

She nodded and fell silent as though she was considering his words. He could see her chest rising and falling ever so slightly; it was mesmerising.

‘Aubrey wants me to persuade you to join up.’

‘I see. Is he going to withdraw his sponsorship? You know, even without my position as an essential worker, I won’t go to war.’

‘Yes, I do know that. You’d go back to prison.’

‘I would. Sorry.’ He seemed quite cheerful about it all. His ‘sorry’ tossed out light-heartedly, as though it was all a rather marvellous game and he’d won.

She sighed heavily, closed her eyes for a moment as though desperately trying to shut something in, or out. ‘Everyone is appalled by what is happening over there. It makes no sense at all that they want to send you.’ She corrected herself. ‘Send anyone. Everyone.’

‘But they do.’

‘Yes. I’ve noticed in the village . . .’ She clearly didn’t want to offend him by finishing the sentence. She pointed to his black eye.