‘Just take the rough edges off. The ends need to fit flat together. Yes . . .’ He stood respectfully a little away from her, but bent to peer closely as she started to move the file around the rough metal end. She was enjoying herself, the feeling of using her hands to make something. She could hear his breathing not far from her ear. ‘That’s good,’ he said after a moment.

She looked round as he straightened up and their eyes met, friendly, smiling. His face seemed to her somehow inevitable, as if she had always known him, or known that she would meet him some day. As if something entirely new was happening to her which felt quite different from Charles, when her life had not felt her own. The letter from Charles was tucked under her mattress. In that moment it all felt distant, as if none of it mattered.

‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Come and have some tea and then I’ll show you the soldering. After that I’ll have to get back to the workshop.’

Daisy handed them tea and they sat in the chairs by the grate, Daisy perched on the arm of her father’s.

‘Did you grow up in the trade?’ Margaret asked him.

‘To a degree, yes,’ he said. He sat back, relaxed, his knees spread wide. Father would never sit like that, Margaret found herself thinking. William Hanson always sat straight as a ramrod, as if he was in a wooden pew even when he was at home in private. ‘My own father was a clock and watch repairer and I learned a certain amount from him. That’s what really started me off. But my brother took on his business and I was apprenticed as an engraver to start – not in Birmingham though – out in Alcester. I wanted to learn more so I came into Brum and got a silversmith to take me on.’

‘So you’re from the country too!’ she said, pleased.

‘It’s a small town,’ he agreed. ‘The countryside’s never far away – though I’ve been here a good while now.’ He took a sip of tea, the cup looking small and faintly ridiculous between his large hands. He looked up at her and, with some hesitation, said, ‘Will you be going back to it soon?’

Margaret looked down, unable to stop her blushes again. Any mention of her being here brought back all the reasons they had come and those letters . . . ‘I’m not really sure,’ she said. ‘We hope to stay until Christmas time at least.’

‘Oh, you can’t go away!’ Daisy cried. ‘Don’t go – stay here for ever and ever!’

They both laughed, and Philip Tallis, with tact, changed the subject. ‘How’s that lad – the one that turned up the other week?’