‘Not this time, but next, I hope,’ Sybil promised.

‘I know they write to you,’ Rosie said.

Sybil chuckled. ‘Ronnie’s letters are more like Just William book reviews, and Sally’s letters are full of drawings of rabbits and fairies – sometimes the occasional cow makes an appearance. Their letters make my day when they arrive.’

After lunch, as they walked in the garden, Rosie asked about Sybil’s training.

‘All the recruits are frightfully brainy.’

‘Just like you,’ Rosie teased.

‘After our short stint in Manchester it looks like we’re going to be posted to somewhere on the east coast – it’s all terribly hush-hush. Even now we don’t know exactly where and won’t until we fetch up there. I do know that it’s mixed, men and women working together side by side around the clock.’

‘You might get to meet Mr Wonderful yet,’ Rosie teased again.

Sybil wagged a warning finger in the air. ‘Don’t run away with yourself: there’ll be no young men, just middle-aged boffins in underground bunkers.’

‘Not so romantic, then?’ Rosie decided.

Sybil turned down the corners of her pretty mouth. ‘I don’t give a fig about men and romance right now,’ she declared. ‘I’m so pleased I was accepted for radar work; it feels like at last I’m doing something really important instead of frittering away my life with fools like Monty.’

‘I’m quite sure Lady Veronica must be feeling the same: she’s in London right now sorting out her separation,’ Rosie said with some satisfaction. ‘Have you heard any news on the Brigadier?’

‘I occasionally hear gossip about Monty from my chums in London,’ Sybil replied. ‘Apparently he’s not changed a jot, still chasing after the next pretty thing in a skirt, though apparently without his aristocratic connections he’s not quite so irresistible any more,’ she said with a gleeful smile. ‘In fact, somebody mentioned he’s living in a flat in Earls Court.’ Sybil smirked. ‘Not quite Dowry House, eh?’

The two women exchanged a wicked conspiratorial smile.

‘My, how the mighty have fallen,’ Rosie purred.

Rosie made sure that she had completed all her chores so that on their last day together, when there was just a whisper of autumn in the air, the two women could set off for a walk along the lakeside. Taking a picnic in a rucksack, they followed the path that meandered around the edges of the vast lake, on which fishing boats bobbed. After a few miles they climbed up to a high crag that commanded spectacular views of Windermere. Spreading a picnic blanket for them both to sit on, Rosie handed out meat-paste-and-cucumber sandwiches, while Sybil poured tea from a Thermos.

Carefully choosing the right moment to open a topic that was painful to her friend, Sybil started tentatively.

‘So, Rosie, remember I said I would make enquiries on your behalf about Mick?’