It was like a craving that would not be assuaged until she was with him. Even then, when he was near, all she wanted was to be in his arms, lying with him, being loved by him . . .

‘Have you mended it, then?’ she asked, truculence in her tone. His face wore a rapturous expression.

‘Oh, hello, Esther, what are you doing here?’ Without waiting for her answer, almost as if he were uninterested in it, he had turned away and bent his head once more into the workings of the great machine.

‘Good evening, Mrs Hilton.’ Martha Willoughby’s voice spoke behind her, with an underlining accent on the ‘Mrs’. ‘And to what do we owe this particular pleasure?’

Esther turned and her chin went a little higher. ‘I came to see how Jonathan – Mr Godfrey – was getting on with repairing the engine.’

‘Really?’ There was a simulated sweetness to Martha’s tone. ‘I hadn’t realized that his – er – services were your particular property.’ The sarcasm was evident and Esther was left in no doubt that Martha Willoughby knew exactly what the relationship between Jonathan and herself was.

Esther smiled with false amiability in return. ‘I’m sure Mr Godfrey is pleased to be able to help. In fact . . .’ She glanced over her shoulder at the two men laughing and talking together, gesturing to the internal workings of the engine, and there was a note of jealousy in her voice. ‘He seems to be thoroughly enjoying it.’

Martha nodded, a malicious smile on her mouth, the fold of fat beneath her chin wobbling. ‘Yes, he seems to enjoy his life here. Made himself quite at home, so I gather. Nicely hidden away from the war.’

‘He came to see Ma – Mrs Harris – to tell her that he had known her Ernie, if it’s any business of yours, Martha Willoughby, which it ain’t. And he was wounded, you can see that for ya’sen.’

Martha smirked. ‘Convenient though, ain’t it, that he can hide in a little out-of-the-way place like Fleethaven Point where the authorities won’t find him in a month o’ Sundays?’

‘Well, at least he’s done ’is bit. I see you hang on to your man well enough. You ain’t goaded him into joining up. Though I’m surprised the poor man hasn’t – if only to get away from you!’

‘Dun’t you get high ’n’ mighty with me, Mrs Hilton. We all know how you come to be where you are. A tramp from the Lord knows where who took old Sam Brumby for the poor old idiot he was . . .’ She wagged her finger in Esther’s face. ‘Getting him to change his will when he was on his deathbed.’

Esther gasped. ‘I never did—’