‘I think that’s what Rubens must have thought. Her breasts are bare.’

‘This painting makes me feel so very angry.’

Howard looked proud, exhilarated. It was important. Still feeling, in this world when anaesthetising was easier. Feeling was the ultimate bravery.

They went to Fortnum and Mason to shop. Vivian thought she had become indifferent to luxury, above it, but she found she couldn’t help but be seduced by the exhilarating sight of the goodies on offer. Had she ever truly appreciated the beauty of the trays of sweets and tins of tea lined up like soldiers? Mr Walker’s modest displays had become her only measure and expectation, but, of course, they paled into insignificance compared to these temptations. There were cakes that were pretty enough to be ornaments, wispy pastries and tantalising, intricate hand-made chocolates, all displayed in endless glass counters. It took them an hour to decide, but in the end he bought her nougat and marshmallows.

‘Are you happy?’ he asked.

It had been such a redundant question for so long that at first her response was simply that of surprise. Astonished that anyone still cared who was happy. Alive was enough. Bearing up was what was expected.

‘Yes, yes, I am.’

They did at last go dancing. They avoided the traditional haunts, where iced coffee was served and one knew the evening was over when the band struck up the National Anthem. The problem with that sort of place was that all the men wore white tie and tails or uniform. It went without saying that as Howard had neither, they would not get access. They found a grubby, vibrant hall instead, the sort of place shop assistants and ladies’ maids might enjoy. Vivian clung to his arm as he walked her into the centre of the room, packed and swollen with hot, excited people. He held her close, tight; she was sure he’d never let go. She didn’t mind the fusty smell, the heaving, sweating bodies; she simply noticed that there were perhaps a hundred couples dancing cheek to cheek.

Everyone seemed desperately in love, or at least desperate to be in love. It was marvellous, although she was confident that none of them felt as intensely about one another as she and Howard did. She swayed, stepped and swooped in his arms. The movement brought a happy thought flooding into her mind. What if they did feel as she did? Every one of them might be besotted, enchanted, enthralled. Imagine the energy these clinging couples were generating. Shouldn’t it have an impact, a real-life consequence? She closed her eyes and felt the love, the passion, the power and the accompanying anguish that had to escort love throughout a war. It soaked the room. Cloaked the room. Then she opened her eyes and noticed a row of young men with pegged-up trousers or folded jacket sleeves designed to disguise the loss of a limb lined up forlornly along the wall. Dancing days over. Some were still wearing their uniforms, hoping to kick-start if not actual desire or passion then at least some decency and compassion. One man rocked left to right on his chair, nodding his head, his eyes staring off peculiarly into the distance. Vivian watched as a tired-looking girl in a cheap, ill-fitting dress and scarlet lipstick took his hand and led him, falteringly, to the dance floor. From his tentative, inching movements it was clear that he was blind. It was a touching scene until the moment the woman accepted a coin for her trouble, clumsily fished out from the soldier’s jacket pocket.