Edward draped a thick fur blanket about her knees once she was sitting in the car, asking if she was comfortable and warm enough as they left, but saying little else during the journey, which was unusual for him. With every mile Ruby’s heart beat faster. He was clearly vexed, and she guessed it was due to the way she had acted with Belinda Ferne-Rice and their subsequent conversation because everything had been all right before then. Was he going to tell her that this friendship, which wasn’t really a friendship but something much more, was over? Had he finally accepted what she’d known all along: that they shouldn’t see each other again?

The thought caused a piercing pain and panic, even as she told herself it was the best thing, the only thing that could work in the long run. She was a working woman, not a sophisticated socialite, and if she was truthful, that sort of women somewhat repulsed her, women like Belinda Ferne-Rice. She saw all sorts in her shop but mostly her clientele had proved to be from the middle class: wives and daughters of businessmen in the town, councillors, magistrates, solicitors and the like, women who had risen in society along with their husbands but whose basic morals matched hers.

And then Ruby shook herself mentally. Who was she to judge anyone, for goodness’ sake? And who knew what went on behind closed doors anyway? Half of her clients could be dilly-dallying with other men for all she knew and it was absolutely none of her business how other folk behaved, it was just that . . . She felt a stab of the old pain surface and bit down hard on her lower lip. Just that she could never again bear to be betrayed and feel like she had done when she was eighteen; she’d never recover from it a second time. And for that reason she was looking at a single life as a businesswoman. She had never seen herself in that guise but one day at the bank one of the assistants had referred to her that way, and she’d realized that’s how they regarded her.

‘You’re home.’

Edward’s voice was soft and she came out of her thoughts with a start to find he had just drawn up outside the shop.

Before she could speak, he said, ‘You’re tired now, but there’s something I need to say. Could I call round tomorrow before I go back to London?’

‘I’m not tired.’ Part of her, a big part of her, didn’t want to hear what he might say but neither could she endure a sleepless night of wondering. ‘What is it?’