But that’s preferable to turning to drink, thought Marianne, as Leona’s mother had years ago. Or to the tranquillizers Harry’s wife was prescribed to help her accept her German daughter-in-law. Was Ann still taking them?

Marianne was thankful that work had always served as her own therapy. Had she not had to meet the deadline on her next novel, she might after Ralph’s death have found herself resorting to all three of the comforts upon which she had just mused, such was her sorrow.

‘Arnold should’ve married someone like Shirley,’ Lyn went on. ‘A woman who wouldn’t have to dress specially for the part, and look all wrong when she does, like I do.’

‘You’ve never looked less than presentable to me,’ Marianne replied, ‘and I like the dress you have on today.’

‘Arnold doesn’t. The first thing he said, after he’d pecked my cheek, was that I hadn’t made much effort for the occasion and how does that look for him!’

At least they were on speaking terms again. ‘Well, my brother’s the family bigwig, isn’t he?’ she said with a laugh.

Lyn managed to smile. ‘That’s certainly how he sees himself, though we have names more well known than his to boast about. You and Laura and Matthew haven’t done too badly. And now Shirley’s getting a millionaire for a son-in-law the whole town will know it, she’ll make sure of that!’

‘But,’ said Marianne, ‘she’ll have a fit when she finds out that Jake is her generation, not Laura’s, and I have to say I myself am wondering if it will work. Laura’s going to have to put her liking for discos and all that behind her.’

‘But she’s starting out with a big advantage,’ said Lyn. ‘What I mean is – well, how could I have known that the boy I fell in love with when I was a Wren would turn into the man Arnold became?’

Arnold was then an officer on a minesweeper, one of the war’s unsung heroes, and Marianne remembered how proud of him she was. And how handsome he had looked in his uniform. But the war had lent a glamorous aura to all who served in it. Even Harry, missing in action for so long the family had believed him dead, had not looked his nondescript self when clad in khaki.

Harry’s son returned Marianne to the present, raising his voice above the hubbub of conversation. ‘Would everyone mind being quiet for a minute? I’ve got something to tell you.’

And from the expression on Howard’s face, it wasn’t good, thought Marianne.

‘If it weren’t for one aspect of it, I’m sure you’d be pleased,’ he said when he had his relatives’ attention. ‘Christina hasn’t gone to Munich to visit her parents. She’s left me.’