‘May I see the ring again?’ Grace broke the uneasy silence. Sylvia was immediately distracted and smugly proffered her left hand for all to see.

As Grace stepped forward eagerly to get a closer look, Miriam let out a yelp of pain.

‘Ow! Careful, you clumsy oaf, don’t trample me!’

‘Sorry,’ Grace mumbled.

‘I should think so, too.’ Miriam theatrically examined her stockinged foot. ‘You might have broken my toes.’

‘Pity she didn’t break your neck,’ Dulcie muttered.

It was too much to hope Sylvia had not overheard her conversation with Miriam. Dulcie could see the bride-to-be watching her uncertainly throughout the rest of the evening. And when she finally decided she couldn’t bear any more wedding talk and got up to leave, Sylvia followed her into the hall.

‘May I have a word with you, Moore?’ she asked quietly.

Dulcie’s gaze drifted towards the stairs. She was fighting the urge to run away. ‘What about?’ she said.

As if I didn’t know.

‘About Roger and me.’

Dulcie faced Sylvia. She was a few inches taller than her, slender and graceful-looking, her long, pale face framed with straight, silvery-blonde hair. Her eyes were a limpid grey colour.

Roger had always told Dulcie he preferred brown eyes, like hers.

‘What about you and Roger?’

‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Why should I mind?’

Sylvia’s cheeks flushed the palest of pinks and she averted her gaze delicately to the ring on her finger. ‘I know you were – fond of him once.’

I was fond of him? Dulcie pressed her lips together to stop the words from spilling out. Roger had declared his love for her a million times, sworn she was the only girl for him as he kissed her and fumbled with her blouse in the back row of the Old Ford Picture Palace.

And Dulcie had allowed him to do it because she was certain that this time was different, that he would be the one to keep his promise to her.

She looked at Sylvia, so cool and perfect, her starched collar fastened tightly around her long, elegant throat. She didn’t look like the type of girl to allow any man liberties.

Mustering all her pride, Dulcie managed a light laugh. ‘As I said to Trott, it was nothing serious. And it was a long time ago.’

This time last year, a voice inside her head whispered. Last September they had walked hand in hand through the fallen leaves in Victoria Park, and made plans for their future.

But by summer it was all over. And exactly four months later, he had chosen the very same spot to propose to Sylvia Saunders.

‘Anyway, I’m thrilled for you,’ Dulcie added with a forced smile.

‘Oh. Oh, well, that’s all right then.’ Sylvia’s face brightened. ‘I’m so glad there are no hard feelings. You know I’ve always thought of you as such a good friend. Which is why I wanted to ask you a very special favour …’

‘Me, a bridesmaid! Can you imagine? Honestly, the cheek of her.’