At which point Amelia gave in to her shock and anguish. Tears flowing freely, she buried her head in her hands. ‘Oh that poor boy,’ she wept, ‘that poor, poor, dear, sweet boy.’

He stood and, circling the table, sat beside her intent upon offering comfort. He put his arms around her and she accepted the embrace, her cheek resting damply against his, her hands on his chest, clinging to the cloth of his uniform as if she daren’t let go.

‘There, there,’ he whispered, ‘there, there now. Young Anthony would have felt no pain, you mustn’t distress yourself.’

Gradually her sobs subsided, but she remained clinging gratefully to him, as if his support were some sort of lifeline.

‘That dear boy,’ she whispered, ‘why him? Why him?’

Why him indeed, Samuel thought.

As she clung to him, he found himself equally grateful for her support, as if somehow she were also a lifeline to him. And indeed she was. They both needed a friend.

Very gently he took her face in his hands, and very gently he kissed her. A comforting kiss, a kiss shared between friends, no more than that. Or at least that’s what he intended. But as he was about to break from the kiss, something happened. The hands that, in her grief, had been innocently and desperately clutching the cloth of his uniform, were now linked behind his neck, drawing him closer. Her lips were opening, demanding his do likewise. He could taste the saltiness of her tears. She was offering herself to him.

He drew away, shocked. Had she misread his intentions? Was it he who was at fault? Had he misguidedly signalled an interest that was sexual?

He stood. ‘I must leave, Amelia,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she replied in barely a whisper, ‘yes, of course you must.’

She remained sitting, staring down unseeingly at the wooden surface of the table, unable even to apologise. She wanted to beg his forgiveness. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she wanted to say, ‘I don’t know what came over me.’ But she was too humiliated, too mortified, too altogether horrified to say anything at all.

She remained as she was, hearing the sound of his boots as he walked down the hall, hearing the sound of the front door closing behind him. What had she done!

Amelia had never before experienced any form of sexual desire. She had presumed she was one of those women medical experts referred to as ‘frigid’. She had sought no advice, naturally, and had discussed her suspicions with no-one, but she had heard of this term and had presumed it must apply to her.