‘I just miss him,’ Rosie blurted out. ‘There’s not a day goes by when I don’t think of him – where he is, is he safe, is he suffering? I’ve been hoping and praying for so long, and so have my children. Look at the mad risk Ronnie took to find his dad.’

‘You don’t need to remind me,’ Sybil laughed.

‘My poor little lad,’ Rosie said with tears in her eyes. ‘That’s how much he loves his dad.’

Rosie and Sybil’s last evening together (when cook had gone home) was spent cooking corned-beef fritters and drinking sherry.

‘This is the life,’ Rosie sighed, as they sat in comfortable chairs by the crackling log fire with the curtains open so they could watch the light fading fast over the lake.

‘It’s been so lovely to have these unexpected few days together,’ Sybil sighed. ‘I’ve no idea when it will happen again, but I’ve enjoyed every minute here with you.’

Rosie reached over to grip her friend’s hand. ‘Thanks again for throwing a bit of light on what might have happened to my husband. At least it gives me some hope, which is better than none at all.’

‘I only hope it helps,’ Sybil said, then, raising her cut-crystal stemmed sherry glass, she toasted, ‘Here’s to our days at Mary Vale, and to friends, wherever they are.’

Raising her glass while blinking through tears, Rosie echoed Sybil’s strong sentiments. ‘To friends, God love them, wherever they are.’

52. Golden Autumn Days

On a fine early-autumn morning, Ada, dressed in her freshly starched and ironed sister’s uniform, wheeled Catherine (wearing a pretty new dress knitted by Sister Mary Paul) up the farm track towards Mary Vale House.

‘We’re starting work today, my precious,’ she beamed at her gurgling baby. Little Catherine, now nearly three months old, flashed a toothless smile at her mother. ‘You’ll be fine in the nursery with Dora,’ Ada assured herself more than her daughter. ‘She’ll be looking after you while I’m working on the wards, though I will pop in to feed you from time to time.’