Ruby walked across to the old wooden counter, trailing her finger in the dust that had accumulated. She had saved every penny she could over the last four years, going without and working extra hours at the laundry whenever possible in order to accrue more funds towards her dream of owning her own dress shop, but would her family see it like that? If she had rented a place it might have been different, but in becoming a property owner she had moved into another stratum, that would be their view. She was elevated into the ‘them’, but in her case she would be labelled an upstart too. Perhaps not by her mam and da, or if they thought it they wouldn’t say it, but Adam . . .

She brought herself up sharply. What Adam did or didn’t think was of no account. And she wouldn’t apologize for being ambitious, not to anyone, but she could appreciate that the timing of buying the shop was perhaps not ideal, not where her own folk were concerned. Businesswise, it made sense, though. The estate agent had told her that because of the way the depression was beginning to take hold, she had got the premises for a good deal less than they would have been just a couple of years ago. And the signs were that things would get worse, for the working class at least. The upper classes and the gentry were a different matter, of course. Being born with a silver spoon in your mouth meant your whole view of life was rose-coloured. She’d said as much to Edward and when he had protested that he was a self-made man and his little business empire had come about by his own financial astuteness, she had reminded him, rather cuttingly she remembered now, that his maternal grandmother had had rather a lot to do with it too.

As though her thoughts had conjured him up there was a knock on the door of the shop and when she peered through the window there he was, grinning widely and looking as pleased as a dog with two tails.

What on earth? As she opened the door she stared at him in astonishment. He had been up for the weekend as usual but she had expected him to be on his way to London by now. By the look on his face she didn’t think there could be anything wrong with Clarissa, but she said anyway, ‘What are you doing here? Is Clarissa all right?’

‘In the pink. I left her tucking into her eggs and bacon this morning.’ When she continued to stare at him, he said, ‘Can I come in?’

‘What? Oh, yes, yes, come in.’ When she’d shut the door she turned, saying again, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Not to me, no.’

‘I’ve come to help you get started.’

‘Help me . . .’ She shook her head. ‘What about your work?’