‘I’m always happy to have Miss Hanson’s company,’ he said carefully. He looked at Margaret with a faint smile. ‘But we mustn’t force her.’

‘Yes, we must!’ Daisy argued. ‘Please.’

‘Enough now,’ Philip Tallis said. ‘Don’t be rude, Daisy.’

‘No, it’s all right. I’ll come,’ Margaret said. Of course she wanted to! ‘I’d like to.’

Daisy danced round in delight. ‘I knew you would! You’re coming! Now, Den – to work!’

As Daisy bustled about at the pegs on the workbench, her father quietly asked after the rest of the Poole family. Margaret told him all was not well, that Mary had a fever.

He nodded, a sober expression on his face. ‘Poor woman,’ he said. ‘And now she’s truly on her own.’

There was a silence in which Margaret felt he wanted to say something but did not know how to begin and the discomfort grew, so she spoke instead.

‘That friend of yours, Mr Carson,’ she said tentatively, ‘was very complimentary about some of your work. He said you are one of the best . . .’

Philip Tallis waved a hand dismissively, seeming embarrassed. ‘Oh, old Carson – he’s a talker, all right.’

‘But I’d love to see some of the things you’ve made,’ she said warmly, remembering the beautiful bowl she had glimpsed.

He looked at her, seeming puzzled. ‘But I can’t show you them,’ he said. ‘Or not the real thing. They’ve been sold. I might have a few drawings knocking about somewhere.’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she said, feeling foolish. ‘But aren’t you making something else, now?’

‘There’s the odd thing, when I get the time. It’s not easy, you see – what with the business and Daisy and being on my own . . . Often the only time is at night and then the light is so bad.’

Margaret blushed. ‘Of course – I’m sorry.’

‘You see, Daisy’s mother used to take quite a hand in the business. Not just the paperwork – I have Mr Henshaw and the ladies to do that – but in the works as well.’

‘I gather she was very skilled, your wife?’ Margaret said, with a sinking feeling inside her. Everything she had heard about Philip Tallis’s deceased wife made her sound extraordinary. It was the first time they had talked about Florence Tallis, and she knew it had to be done. Even the thought of the woman made her push all her feelings towards Philip Tallis back into their rightful place. She could never fill the shoes of a woman like Florence Tallis, of whom everyone spoke so warmly.

‘She did learn quite a bit, yes. She did some smithing herself – but she was very good on the business side.’

‘It leaves you a lot to do,’ Margaret said, the inner shrinking increasing. She looked away, feeling distant from him.