And yet part of her could still hardly believe it was true.

She looked around the kitchen, remembering all the times she and Edward had worked here alongside Papa. She could picture her father, painstakingly teaching Edward how to knead dough and fold cake batter and how to roll and twist pastries into all kinds of intricate shapes. She remembered how Edward would look up and catch her eye across the kitchen, and how they would smile at each other, speaking without words …

Could he really have done that and not loved her? It seemed impossible to think that all that time the only thing in his heart was greed and ambition.

And how would things have worked out if the war hadn’t happened? she wondered. Would he have married her and bided his time for years, just waiting for her father to retire and leave the business to them?

The war had done him a favour, she thought. He probably hadn’t been able to believe his luck when her father was sent back to Germany, leaving the way clear for him to take over.

And yet … She remembered Edward in his hospital bed, just after he had been sent home injured. He had been through so much, Anna still clung to the forlorn hope that he was sick, that the war had turned his mind.

She had just put the first batch of loaves in the oven when she heard footsteps crossing the yard. Anna’s whole body stiffened, thinking it was Edward. But when the back door opened it was Nellie Madigan who stood there.

‘Oh. Hello.’ She looked around. ‘Where is he?’

‘I thought he was with you.’

At least Nellie had the grace to blush at that. But Anna didn’t care. She turned her back on her, reaching up to fetch another baking tray. She could feel Nellie watching her.

‘I dunno why you bother,’ she said at last. ‘After everything he’s said and done.’

‘I’m doing it for my father, not for him.’

‘It ain’t your father’s place anymore though, is it?’ Nellie pointed out.

Anna said nothing.

‘You must have been close to him?’ Nellie said at last.

Anna paused, her hand stilling as she dusted the tray with flour. ‘He was a good man,’ she said.

‘My pa reckons the only good German is a dead ‘un. But then again, he ain’t much to write home about himself,’ she added, her lip curling with disdain.

Anna ignored her and carried on with her work. But still Nellie stood in the back doorway, watching her.

Finally, Anna looked over her shoulder and said, ‘Are you going to open the shop, or aren’t you?’

‘In a minute.’

Anna looked her up and down. Nellie was still a mess, her blouse grubby and rumpled, as if she had picked it up off the floor and put it back on. But there was a wantonness about her, with her tumbling red hair, full mouth and husky voice, that Anna could imagine men found appealing.