Kate tried to put on a brave front over Christmas for the sake of her family. They were all so pleased to see her – even Lilian hugged her enthusiastically when she opened the page-to-a-day diary Kate had given her as a Christmas gift.

‘It’s lovely, Kate. I always keep a diary and never have enough room to write everything in those little ones . . .’

Kate smiled kindly at her sister; the round, childish glasses gave the young girl an owlish look. Her straight hair was cut short to just below her ears. Lilian would have been the perfect pupil for Miss Denham. Kate couldn’t imagine what Lilian could possibly have to write about that would fill half a page, let alone a whole one. Overcome with a feeling of pity for the lonely young girl, Kate gave her a swift hug.

‘We’ve invited the two Land Army girls for Christmas dinner,’ Esther told Kate. ‘Poor things! They’re sisters – from Coventry.

‘Oh heck!’ Kate said at once, staring at her mother, the unspoken question in her eyes.

Her mother nodded. ‘Yes, their home was bombed in that awful raid in November. Their parents were safe, thank God, but the lasses have no home to go back to.’

‘How awful!’ Kate said. ‘Where are they billeted?’

‘At the Grange. The Squire’s turned it over for the duration. He’s taken a small house in the town.’ She shook her head, murmuring. ‘Poor old Squire – he’s not well.’

‘Do the girls help here?’

Her mother’s impish smile was back. ‘Oh, yes. They’re surprisingly good too – for townies.’

Kate hid her smile at her mother’s innocent tone of condescension.

‘But I have to watch ’em with ya dad,’ Esther added and touched her husband’s cheek tenderly.

Kate exchanged an amused glance with her stepfather. As if the idea would even cross his mind, she thought.

So Christmas passed pleasantly enough, but it was not the same without Danny.

Her pen was poised above the white page of the writing pad. Should she tell Danny about Rosie? Kate bit her lip with indecision and then decided to keep her promise to the girl. She sighed. She just hoped young Rosie did know what she was doing else it could all end in tears, as Grannie Harris was fond of saying.

She was sitting in front of the window in the sitting room, her legs curled up in a chair, the writing pad resting on her knee. From time to time she paused, looking up to stare out of the window across the smooth fields towards the Grange, the straight brown furrows white-tipped with the morning frost. In an hour’s time, her stepfather would take her to Suddaby in the pony and trap.