‘Best to stay at school as long as you can,’ Philip Tallis said. Margaret had thought that with his self-made approach to life, he would not be a great supporter of school. ‘No progress without education.’ He looked round at her. ‘You seem surprised at me saying that.’

‘Yes, I am a bit,’ she said. ‘But I agree. I missed a good deal of school because of illness. I was fortunate that my father had a lot of books, being a clergyman. But without those . . . And even so, I feel ignorant of so many things.’

‘Yes,’ Philip Tallis said, with understanding. ‘I certainly do. I had the basics of schooling, but it was pretty poor.’

She was puzzled by him. They walked back up Spiceal Street among the slow-moving Sunday walkers, warmed by the chestnuts, though their breath clouded the air. Daisy went skipping ahead of them. Margaret dared to ask, ‘Why is it exactly that you don’t like going to the Guild? Mr Carson said your work is some of the finest . . .’

Philip Tallis shook his head impatiently. ‘I’ve nothing against the Guild. It’s full of sharing ideas and teaching people. I just don’t . . .’ He trailed off.

‘What? Fit in?’

His head turned sharply at her bluntness, as though she had touched a nerve.

‘Something like that, yes. Some of them are high-flown compared to me. And – having a business to run, a daughter to bring up . . .’ There was an edge of bitterness to his voice. ‘I want to develop, to learn. Mostly I’ve taught myself, looked at things, copied things, then . . . Well, thought of new things to do. It’s not that I don’t have the skills. But you have to keep working, trying, visualizing. I just find I’m better off on my own, that’s all. In any case – I don’t want to go to talks about embroidery or designing wallpaper. That’s not what I’m about. Thing is, here in Brum, there’s the metal-bashing work most people do, working in the quarter, and there’s the Arts and Crafts lot with all their high-flown ideas. I just feel I’m somewhere in the middle – neither quite one nor the other.’

‘Well,’ she said simply. ‘That seems reasonable to me.’

He glanced at her and she saw something in him relax, as if realizing himself understood. He gave a faint smile. Once again, briefly, he took her hand and she squeezed his as if to say, You are right to be how you are. Their eyes met again as they released each other.

‘We’d best be heading back,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the Town Hall on the way.’

‘Eb?’

‘Ummm?’

Harriet Watts blew out the candle that night and settled beside her husband under the heavy covers, in the smell of waxy smoke.

‘You still awake?’

‘Well, I am now.’

Hatt turned on her side and rested a hand on his comforting belly.