‘He’s right,’ Mrs Church said. ‘Terrible shame, it is. All those poor women as have lost their husbands, trying to manage on a widow’s allowance. And with the shortages, and the prices going up, they can’t afford to feed their children.’ She shook her head. ‘I count myself lucky that my kids were nearly grown up when my Ron was taken, God rest his soul.’ She crossed herself. ‘Otherwise I reckon we would have ended up in the workhouse, like a lot of the families round here.’

‘I didn’t realise it was that bad,’ Anna said.

‘Oh, it’s awful. I can’t tell you. Some of the stories I hear – well, it’d break your heart.’

‘For heaven’s sake, don’t tell her any stories like that. She’ll be giving the bread away.’

Anna swung around. There was Liesel, her arms full of baggage and presents. The winter weather suited her, bringing a rosy flush to her fair skin. She was wrapped up in a fashionably loose woollen coat, a felt hat pulled low over her blonde head.

‘Liesel!’ Anna rushed to hug her. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

‘Careful, you’ll squash my wares.’ Her sister dumped the bags down on the ground and wrapped her arms around Anna. ‘I come bearing gifts,’ she said. ‘The farmer’s wife insisted on sending me home with a cake, two Christmas puddings and a chicken she killed and plucked this morning.’ She pulled a face. ‘It smells awful. You can’t imagine the looks I got from the other passengers on the train. I swear they thought it was me.’

Anna looked sideways at Charlie. He was staring at Liesel, slack-jawed, cigarette hanging loosely from his lower lip. Anna wasn’t surprised. Liesel had inherited their mother’s blonde beauty, while Anna was slight, sharp-featured and dark like their father.

But as usual Liesel was heedless of anyone but herself.

‘Help me get these things upstairs, will you?’ she said, pulling off her gloves. ‘I simply must have a rest. That train was packed as tight as a tin of sardines …’

And then she was off, leaving Anna to carry her bags.

There was a familiar blue envelope propped on the mantelpiece. Anna spotted it straight away, but Liesel got to it first.

‘What’s this?’ She picked it up. ‘A letter for you, from France? Who could that be from? I wonder.’ She sent Anna an arch look.

‘Give it to me.’

‘Does Edward know you’re writing to another man?’ Liesel asked.

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘I can’t imagine he’d be too pleased. I know Davy wouldn’t like it at all. And Tom Franklin, of all people. You know how much Edward always loathed him …’

‘Edward would understand,’ Anna insisted firmly.

‘If you say so. Well? Aren’t you going to open it?’

‘I’ll open it later.’ Anna slipped the letter into her coat pocket.

‘Why? What have you got to hide?’ Liesel sent her an eager, searching look. ‘Are you worried I’ll see it’s full of sweet nothings?’