‘Quite so.’ Sybil smiled in agreement as she handed the children another present. ‘Writing sets. I’ve got one too. Look inside the wallets,’ she instructed. ‘They contain a writing pad, envelopes, postage stamps and a pen. Now you have no excuse not to write to me, and I’ve got no excuse not to write to you.’

‘How do we know where to send our letters?’ Ronnie asked.

‘I’ll leave a forwarding address with your mother,’ Sybil explained.

‘I’m not a very good writer,’ Sally confessed. ‘Could I draw pictures instead?’

‘Yes, one of your lovely pictures,’ Sybil agreed. ‘Just so long as we keep in touch, that’s really all that matters.’ Looking from one child to the other, she added, ‘Promise you’ll both write.’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ Ronnie declared, as he made the sign of the Cross over his heart.

‘Me too,’ Sally said as she followed suit.

‘Good,’ Sybil said, as she got to her feet. ‘Now let’s go for a swim.’

Later that afternoon, after the children, proudly clutching their new books and writing sets, had returned to Hope Farm, Rosie joined Sybil in the garden, where they took a stroll before the gong went for supper.

‘How did it go?’ Rosie asked.

‘I gave them both writing sets and they promised to keep in touch,’ Sybil told her. ‘I hope you will write too,’ she added with a hopeful smile.

‘Me, I can’t spell for toffee!’ Rosie exclaimed.

‘Get Ronnie to teach you – his reading has come on in leaps and bounds since we got back from London.’

Rosie grinned. ‘He used to be a big mouth, but these days he’s more of a bookworm …’

Her voiced trailed away as a large open-topped silver Daimler came cruising down the drive.

‘Who’s come visiting in a swanky car like that?’

The car pulled up at the door of Mary Vale House and the smartly dressed chauffeur leapt from his seat to open the passenger door for a tall, elegant lady who was wearing a cream chiffon tea dress and an exquisite canvas-and-straw boater decorated with pink silk roses. Stepping out of the car, the woman turned her head in order to survey the sweep of garden that ran down to the sea, at which point Rosie visibly swayed on her feet.

‘Oh, my God!’

Clutching her friend before she stumbled, Sybil cried, ‘Rosie, what is it? What’s the matter?’

Flushed and trembling, Rosie burst into a run. ‘Your ladyship!’ she cried. ‘Lady Veronica!’

Sybil stopped dead in her tracks as she watched the two women greet each other: poor Rosie in her faded pinafore and the glamorous new arrival.

‘Rose!’ the woman exclaimed. ‘We were beginning to think that we might have got the address wrong.’ Hurrying forwards, Lady Veronica shook an astounded Rosie by the hand. ‘How wonderful to see you.’