‘Well, I’m not sure I’d go that far,’ Sybil grimaced. ‘The sooner this baby is outside of me rather than inside, the happier I will be.’

‘It’s a pity you don’t relate much to the other girls,’ Ada said tentatively. ‘After all, we’re all in the same boat.’

Sybil shrugged, and avoided eye contact as she busied herself with tying her shoes laces.

‘You know that I have little in common with my fellow residents,’ she reminded Ada, who couldn’t stop herself from bursting out laughing.

‘You have a huge thing in common with us,’ she cried. ‘We’re all pregnant!’

‘That doesn’t mean to say I have to spend every blessed moment talking about the state of my uterus and my bowel movements,’ Sybil declared.

Knowing she was treading on thin ice, Ada continued cautiously. ‘I understand that you’re not happy here – is it because you miss your former life?’

For the first time ever, Ada saw a fleeting sign of vulnerability in Sybil’s witch-green eyes.

‘I desperately miss London and my war work,’ Sybil admitted. ‘You met the Brigadier when he visited the Home; he was my boss.’

Ada nodded. ‘Matron speaks very highly of him.’

Sybil could have kicked herself; why had she gone and mentioned Monty’s blasted name and the fact that she had worked for him? The last thing she wanted was another conversation about the blessed Brigadier and his so-called good works on their behalf. Little did the foolish nuns know that all the bastard really wanted was to entomb his mistress in Mary Vale for the duration of her pregnancy, after which Sybil knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he would turn his back on the place forever. Seeing Sybil’s face visibly harden, Ada suddenly remembered the surprising conversation she had recently had with Rosie.

‘By the way, did you know that Rosie Pickles used to work for the Brigadier’s family?’

Sybil looked thunderstruck. The two people in the world she would never have put together actually knew each other.

‘Rosie Pickles worked for Monty?’ she spluttered.

‘Actually, I think it was his wife,’ Ada corrected herself.

‘Are you sure?’ flabbergasted Sybil enquired.

‘Yes, as I recall she was a lady’s maid.’

Instantly recalling Monty’s wife’s name, incredulous Sybil spluttered on, ‘Rosie worked for Lady Veronica Baldwin?’

Ada nodded. ‘Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

With a frown on her face, Sybil watched Ada walk away. Could it really be possible that the poorest, dowdiest, most pathetic woman she had ever met had been glamorous Lady Veronica Baldwin’s maid? Ada must have got her facts muddled, Sybil decided; there was simply no way that Rosie’s path could ever have crossed with Monty’s beautiful, wealthy, socialite wife.