Margaret was not aware that she had agreed to go, but as before, with Charles, she felt herself swept along. Where was the harm? She knew he meant nothing to her now and they would be in company at all times. It would be much easier to talk away from here, without Aunt Hatt close by.

‘Well, then – I’ll cut you some bread and cheese,’ her aunt said, bustling into the kitchen.

There was a moment’s silence in the room, broken only by Den’s hurried slurping.

‘Margaret.’ Charles’s voice throbbed with appeal and he spoke with apologetic humility. ‘You will come? I should so hate us to part not as friends after all we have meant to one another.’ He stared intently at her, a gentle, encouraging smile at the corners of his mouth.

She looked back into his eyes, those intense, passionate eyes, knowing he was right. They must find a point of meeting. He would apologize, away from here, for the terrible lapse in his behaviour. She could try to understand, to forgive him, and things might be repaired. And then it would be over.

‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘All right. If you think we can do it in an afternoon.’

‘Oh, I’m sure we can,’ he said. ‘The trains are very good.’

Soon they were on the tram, wrapped in their winter coats, with a parcel of bread and cheese. For once there were seats available and they sat close beside each other.

It felt strange to be sitting at his side again as she had done so many times in the days when she had felt enlivened and comforted by him. Though it was not pleasant exactly, it felt right to be trying to resolve things.

‘It’s so very nice to see you,’ he said. His eyes radiated into hers. ‘It’s been very bleak in the village without you there, you know.’

‘I’ve missed it,’ she said, smiling quickly before looking down again. She knew this was true – yet also, only intermittently. She had been caught up in this busy new world, in all the daily routine of Watts & Son, her aunt and uncle and Georgie, and all the other goings-on with the Pooles, with Daisy and Philip Tallis . . .

As they made their way into Birmingham she asked after the village, some of the families and church members, and their conversation grew easier, focused as it was, and had so often been before, on practical things, on their religious duties. This was not the moment, she knew, for the deeper, more painful conversations that they must have, that he would surely begin, in which he would explain himself. She asked after various neighbours, and after the Davises with whom he had been lodging. She could not bring herself to ask after her father.