‘So when are you coming back to York?’ Grandmother Trent’s voice could be heard clearly above the muted chatter in the living room. ‘Your room’s all ready now. We’ve even bought new furniture for it, haven’t we, Philip?’

There seemed, to Ella, to be a sudden silence, as if everyone in the room was listening and waiting for her answer.

‘Now, Mother,’ Philip’s calm voice came to Ella’s rescue, ‘she’ll come when she can.’

‘Maybe so, Philip, but that job you’ve found for her won’t stay open for ever. Have you told her about it?’

‘Not yet. We’re here for a party, a birthday party,’ he went on. ‘And I think it’s high time we had a toast.’

‘Wait a minute. There’s something else . . . Rob, can you help me a minute?’ Ella said, and disappeared into the pantry, where she whispered, ‘I’ve made Grandpa a cake. It’s a surprise.’

Rob, his eyes dark, was not smiling. ‘It’s not the only surprise we’ve ’ad today, is it?’ he muttered.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ he said, but his tone was morose.

‘Come on, help me light the candles.’

‘Candles?’ he repeated. ‘You ain’t put seventy candles on a cake?’

She giggled. ‘No, just seven. One for each decade.’

From a tin, she carefully lifted the cake, white-iced and decorated with pink roses. Together, they lit the spindly candles and Rob carried it into the living room.

‘Oh, isn’t it lovely?’ Rosie clapped her hands. ‘Did you make it, Missus?’

Esther shook her head, her glance catching and holding Ella’s. ‘I didn’t know anything about it.’

Grandma Eland heaved herself up from the low armchair and waddled to the table to inspect the cake. ‘It’s beautiful, Ella love. She’s a credit to you, Esther.’

Esther sniffed. ‘It looks very nice, I grant you. But the proof of the pudding . . .’

Ella laughed. ‘Come on, Grandpa, and cut this cake. Gran wants to try a piece and give her verdict.’

As Jonathan took up the huge knife and cut the cake, Philip raised his glass and led everyone in singing ‘Happy Birthday’. Slices were handed round and Mrs Trent cut hers into delicate squares. ‘My dear Ella, it tastes wonderful. I really wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t think I’ve ever made a cake in my life. We’ve always employed a cook.’

Ella, catching sight of the astounded expression on Esther Godfrey’s face, was obliged to turn away quickly, almost choking on the crumbs as she stifled her laughter.

‘Well,’ Ella heard Esther saying indignantly, ‘she’d be no granddaughter of mine if she couldn’t bake a cake.’