‘What makes you say so?’

‘You have that papery fine skin and it’s now brushed with the outdoors; apples sit in your cheeks, like a child’s.’ Ava’s compliments were always the most wonderful to receive because they were scarce and sincere, like her visits and correspondence, come to that. Her life was too full for Vivian to expect multiple visits throughout the year, or indeed long letters, which were extremely time-consuming to write. However, since Vivian had married and moved to Blackwell, Ava had visited once every six months, as regularly as the chime on a cuckoo clock, and the consistency was appreciated. This particular visit was in addition to the timetabled ones; the response to an SOS, therefore still more meaningful and delightful. Ava had even visited when Mabel was just a month old, because that was their routine, although no one could imagine she had actually wanted to be around such a small baby. She’d arrived laden with gifts – a cashmere blanket, a silver rattle – and had declared she’d be delighted to be godmother before Vivian had yet asked. Although she’d twice commented how terribly dull it all was (‘all’ being the feeding, the bathing, the sneaking around the house so as not to disturb Baby), she hadn’t cut her visit short to dash back to London and the War Office, where she was now employed. Instead she had added that Mabel was, ‘utterly beautiful. I don’t accept for a moment that she looks like Aubrey. Your eyes, your colouring. Thank goodness.’ Her visits were a highlight in Vivian’s calendar.

‘Apples in my cheeks? Is that a polite way to say I’m tanning? I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Mother won’t like it. You know she thinks freckles rather than the Germans are the enemy. She ruins entire summers worrying about them.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘I do rather,’ Vivian admitted.

‘Me too. Your eyes look more piercing and knowing shining from your tanned face.’

Vivian’s hair had bleached in stripes; the bits around her forehead and ears were almost golden. She patted it self-consciously. The summer had arrived obligingly early. It had seemed to arrive at about the same time Howard did.

Ava cast her gaze about. ‘I always forget how brown the countryside is. Brown. Nothing more.’

‘That’s not true,’ laughed Vivian.

‘Brown and green,’ Ava conceded.

‘A purplish brown, a fading green. Look, yellow and russet here, and over there . . .’ Vivian pointed to a flaming shred of exceptional colour on a hill, ‘I can see a distinct splash of crimson and a streak of gold.’

Ava looked bemused. ‘Gosh, you’ve changed. I need a cocktail. You do still drink cocktails, don’t you? You haven’t altered that much.’

They spent the visit doing pleasant, easy things. Strolling, chatting and sipping tea and cocktails. Ava’s presence somehow released Vivian from dealing with anything more arduous, either physically or emotionally. They talked about girls they knew in common. Their conversations were light, peppered with history and a touchstone to Vivian’s former life.