‘Yes. Entirely. He spoke to her like shit a couple of times and you could see he was in a rush to leave an’ all.’

‘He’s arranged to play snooker with his brothers, that’s why. Bonnie was better than I expected, to be fair. Shame she’s hawked her mutton so much. Lads will only see her as a slut now, Vinny included.’

‘I liked her. She’s very pretty, polite and seems to have a sweet nature. Oh well, she might grow on Vinny, ya never know.’

‘I know my own son, Viv. All Vinny’s after is a leg-over,’ smiled Queenie. No way did she want a daughter-in-law who’d been around the block.

The following day, Queenie was working at the Huntingdon-Browns. Unusually, Basil was at home. ‘Try not to make too much noise today, Queenie. Basil is in bed, poorly,’ Pearl had snapped the second she’d arrived. The posh bitch never greeted her with a ‘Hello’; her arrival was always greeted with, ‘Oh, it’s you.’

Queenie was cleaning Basil’s office when she knocked her poorly leg against his desk. The letter had gone, she’d noticed. ‘Sod that,’ Queenie cursed, limping over to the big leather armchair that Basil used for reading his newspaper in peace, so she’d been told.

Having been told never to sit on any of the furniture, Queenie ducked down behind it to inspect her leg. Seconds later, Pearl walked into the room and tried the safe.

Queenie had no idea why she did what she did, but something urged her to stay hidden behind the chair.

‘Four, four, two, nine,’ Pearl mumbled, before saying ‘Damn! What’s the code? Oh, I remember. Four, four, three, nine. Bingo.’

Queenie heard a click as the safe opened. Pearl took something out and left the room.

As soon as the coast was clear, Queenie darted into another room.

‘Have you been skiving again, Queenie? Only I popped into Basil’s study, and there was all your cleaning equipment, but no sign of you,’ Pearl questioned.

Queenie never skived. She worked bloody hard, always. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Huntingdon-Brown. I had to use the toilet and now I need to get my handbag and use it again, I’m afraid. Women’s problems,’ lied Queenie.

Pearl turned up her nose. ‘Oh please! Spare me the details, just do what you’ve got to do. You know where your toilet is.’ The house had four toilets, but Queenie was only allowed to use the one Pearl referred to as the ‘staff toilet’.

Queenie shut the toilet door. ‘Don’t you have periods then, ya prat,’ she mumbled. She then took a pen out of her handbag, wrote the safe code on a piece of toilet paper and hid it in her cigarette packet.

Queenie lay in bed that night, deep in thought. She knew there’d been a few burglaries recently near where the Huntingdon-Browns lived as Pearl had told her she must be more vigilant and make sure any windows she opened were closed and locked afterwards. The posh prat couldn’t even pronounce the word cockney. ‘Basil’s policeman friend reckons it is a bunch of cockerknees responsible, Queenie. You know, your people,’ she’d said, a look of disdain on her clock.