‘Half-brother and -sister,’ Ella corrected her and then went on to give her the full story.

‘Why didn’t she ever tell us?’

Ella shrugged. ‘Perhaps she thought you wouldn’t understand. That it would all sound a bit, well, not quite nice.’

Mavis stared at her. ‘Mmm, you could be right. Can’t say I blame her, now I think about it. Old Iso could be a bit tart with some of her judgements about people,’ Mavis pulled a wry face, ‘though by that time we were all pretty good friends.’ She was quiet for a moment, perhaps recalling the time the three of them – Kate, Isobel Cartwright and herself – had all been together during the war.

There was the sound of a door opening, a voice and a dog barking. Mavis, levering her bulk up from the low chair, said, ‘That’ll be my Dave with our Benji. Come into the kitchen and meet them.’

Without waiting for a reply, Mavis went through to greet her husband with a rapturous hug as if he had been gone for a week rather than just to walk the dog. More slowly, Ella followed, fishing in her bag for her handkerchief in readiness.

‘Ella’s come to see us. This is Dave. We met in the war, too. He was in charge of the control room where I was an R/T operator.’

A grey-haired man with a warm smile was holding out his hand to her and the dog, a long-haired Old English Sheepdog, shook itself and peered up at her through woolly-covered eyes.

Ella pressed her handkerchief to her nose and, between sneezes, managed to gasp. ‘Hello – so pleased – to meet you. I’m so – sorry. I’m allergic to dogs.’

Mavis was standing quite still, staring, open-mouthed, at Ella. ‘Well, that settles it, then!’

Ella blinked and dabbed at her streaming eyes.

‘You’re Philip Trent’s daughter all right, Ella, and no mistake. He had an allergy to dogs and horses too!’

‘Do you think I should phone or write?’

Back in the terraced house in Lincoln after her trip to Grantham to see Mavis, Ella stood in the middle of the living room biting the side of her thumb in indecision.

‘Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t phone,’ Peggy said, placing a steaming plate of tripe and onions on the table. ‘Come and eat and we’ll talk about it.’ Sitting down, Peggy went on, ‘I should write, or you could go to see him. It’s half-term next week, isn’t it?’

Ella nodded, suddenly nervous. ‘He might not be at that address any more. I mean, it is about six years ago . . .’

‘But it would be a starting point. You’ve nothing else to go on, have you? You could stay in a small hotel or a guest house.’

‘I haven’t any money, Aunty Peg.’

Peggy flapped her hand. ‘Don’t worry about that.’