Mrs. Tilbury came back in carrying a tray on which were two delicate china cups, milk jug, sugar bowl and a teapot wearing a crocheted cozy. As she poured the tea her hand shook a little, jangling the spout against the edge of the cup. Nervous, perhaps, thought Jean. Or just butterfingered with the best china.

Now that she had a proper look at her, Jean could see that Mrs. Tilbury was one of those women blessed by nature. She had a clear creamy complexion, a tiny straight nose and slanting blue eyes, which gave her face an un-English kind of beauty. She wore a round-collared top tucked into a fitted skirt.

Jean found herself caught between admiration and envy. She would have liked to wear that style of nipped-in waist herself, but she had no waist to nip. Even as a young girl she had been solidly built. Not fat exactly—portions had never been generous enough for that—but with a straight up-and-down figure, much more like a grandfather clock than an hourglass.

“You’re not English?” Jean tried not to make this sound like an accusation.

“No. I’m Swiss. From the German-speaking part, actually. But I’ve lived here since I was nine.”

They smiled at each other across their teacups and a silence descended while Jean deliberated whether to make more general conversation about Mrs. Tilbury’s background or to cut straight to the matter at issue.

“We were all very interested in your letter,” she said at last. “You didn’t give much away but it was most intriguing.”

“I expect you have a lot of questions. You can ask me anything. I don’t mind.”

“Well, perhaps you could start by telling me about the birth of your daughter.”

Mrs. Tilbury clasped her hands in her lap and fiddled with her wedding ring. “Perhaps first of all I should say that although I was a very innocent girl growing up, I did know where babies came from. My mother was quite strict—she was a very religious woman—and of course there were no boyfriends or anything of that sort; but I was not kept in ignorance. So when I went to the doctor, not long before my nineteenth birthday, feeling tired and my breasts aching, I couldn’t believe it when he said I was going to have a baby. Because I knew it wasn’t possible—I had never even so much as kissed a man.”

“It must have been a terrible shock.”

“Yes, it was,” said Mrs. Tilbury. “But I really thought, it can’t be right. They’ll realize they’ve made a mistake soon.”

“Presumably you explained all this to the doctor who had examined you?”

“Yes, of course. He said the manner of conception wasn’t his concern and my surprise did not alter the fact that I was most definitely expecting a baby.”

“In other words, he didn’t believe you.”

“I suppose not. He said he had met many girls in my condition who were equally confounded to learn that they were pregnant. But they soon came round to the idea when they realized that their denials would make no difference to the outcome, and he hoped I would, too.”