The day had passed in a flash. Vivian couldn’t quite catch her breath. The ceremony seemed brisk; soon they were in their carriage, next at the hotel, where wraps were removed and deposited in a dressing room, guests filed past the wedding party shaking hands, shaking heads, murmuring about the war rather than expressing simple wishes for a happy future, as they ought. Vivian had tried to catch Aubrey’s eye, tried to talk to him about something other. She’d wanted to be fun and flirtatious with him that day of all days; they hadn’t had a chance to develop any level of intimacy or playfulness. When she’d smiled at him, he’d summoned up a grimace that seemed to fall somewhere between an apology and a rebuke. At the wedding breakfast, just before the toasts, he’d sent a boy dashing out for the final edition of the Standard.

At least Vivian’s wedding would be forever memorable. Coming towards the end of the nuptial season, there had been the fear that it would blur in people’s memories, smudge as it amalgamated into a vague collective memory of all the weddings of 1914. Now it was distinct. Vivian’s was the one at which people excitedly took bets and talked about how long our plucky pals in Belgium might hold up.

‘It’s nonsense. Isn’t it? Such a fuss?’ Vivian had asked her father. He hadn’t replied or looked her in the eye, just patted her hand.

Whilst she was changing into her going-away outfit, Aubrey had knocked at the door and asked permission to enter. The maids giggled and blushed, which caused Aubrey to be awkward too.

‘Are you decent?’ He kept his eyes on the floor as though fascinated by the grooves carved into the boards by years of tread.

‘Absolutely. I’m almost done, just fastening the buttons on my gloves. I can’t shock you.’ She’d wanted to sound light and humorous but feared she came across irritated and knowing. It had been her turn to blush. Despite having assured him that she was quite proper, despite the fact that she’d shooed away the maids and despite the fact they were legally married, Aubrey did not enter the bedroom and close the door behind him; instead he stood on the threshold, holding the door wide open. Vivian didn’t understand why he didn’t take the opportunity to sweep her into his arms and kiss her at last. This was her lot so it was not unreasonable that she was a little curious as to how his kisses would be. Their three-month engagement had not afforded a single occasion for them to so much as hold hands. She told herself that it was natural that being alone together, after constant and intense observation, was bound to feel a little uncomfortable. They’d get past that awkwardness; things would get better.

He coughed. ‘I’m terribly sorry about the honeymoon. You must be awfully disappointed.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with the honeymoon?’ she asked.

‘Well, obviously now that the Germans have invaded Belgium and declared war on the French and Russians, we can’t go to Nice.’