‘Will she? Will she really? I’m glad.’

After twenty minutes, Ava stood up and Vivian’s heart sank, certain she was about to leave. She felt abandoned, lost. She wanted to cling to Ava’s skirt like a life raft. This last twenty minutes had reminded her how life had been before, and she didn’t want to lose it again. However, Ava didn’t make her excuses and exit. ‘Miss Foster, your garden looks charming; you must have the most frightfully clever man to manage it. Do you? Would you be so kind as to show it to me?’

The Fosters’ garden was a modest one, prim and trim, and besides, Ava hadn’t so much as glanced out of the window so she couldn’t possibly have known if it was charming or not. Still, Vivian jumped up and practically ran to the door, ignoring her mother’s calls that she probably needed a shawl and would she like Susan to accompany them.

The air was colourless, ghostly. A flat April day, not one of those boastful ones that offered a cobalt sky and vivid-leaved trees, bursting with bud and promise. There was a disconcerting hint of the bittersweet scent of decaying vegetation. Summer seemed a long way off. It was as though winter would never leave. Ava made an expected comment about the extraordinary selection of perennials in the borders and then immediately lost interest in the garden. Vivian’s eyes stayed trained on the long fingers of ivy clasping the wall around the perimeter, clambering and pouring over the top. Momentarily she imagined doing the same – clawing at the wall until she could get a grip and then vaulting right over, escaping. But to where?

‘I’m so sorry for your recent disappointment.’ Ava’s voice was clear and sincere. It was not dripping in pity, or urgent with nosiness. Vivian knew she ought to pretend not to know what was being referred to, but her head ached and she was too weary to feign.

‘Thank you.’

‘I admit I was surprised by his late U-turn. I thought you had him bagged.’

Vivian was taken aback that Ava had taken any interest whatsoever in her romantic life, and simultaneously gratified that she was not alone in feeling astonished. The beautiful and worldly Ava Pondson-Callow thought he had – well – cared. She felt a little bit less of a fool.

‘Men.’ Ava exhaled, and the way she blew out her breath was very articulate. She found them discouraging. Second-rate. The idea that it might be Nathaniel’s behaviour that was below par, rather than Vivian’s, was refreshing. Although Ava didn’t know everything, of course; what would she say if she did? Would she admire Vivian, a minuscule amount, or would she be shocked?

Vivian walked slowly because it took just a matter of minutes to cover the garden but she didn’t want to go back inside. They lingered by the bench but neither girl sat; the creeping moss would ruin their clothes.

‘Your mother seems disproportionately irritated that your liaison with Mr Thorpe came to nothing. I never guessed she’d be so worried that your heart might be broken.’