‘May we take a photograph, sir?’ Mavis rushed up with Kate’s camera in her hands as Philip came out of his office for the last time. Kate, holding the car door open, bit her lip, but Philip smiled easily and nodded. As his batman put his kit-bag and briefcase into the boot of the car, Philip came and stood beside Kate. ‘I’d better have one with my best driver,’ he murmured so that only she could hear. ‘Expert at changing wheels and driving into ditches – and positively whizzo in a cornfield.’

Instead of reducing her to helpless giggles, his words made the tears spring to her eyes.

‘Thanks, sir,’ Mavis chirped. ‘We’ll send you one when they’re developed.’

‘Thank you, Mavis.’ With a last wave to those standing around who had come to see him off, he got into the back seat of the car. Kate bit down firmly on her lip and managed to stop the tears running down her face, at least until they were past the guard-room.

They all missed him, and none more so than Kate.

Three days after his departure, when she got up in the morning, she was sick for the first time.

Thirty-Seven

‘So,’ Isobel said, sitting down on the bed beside her, ‘how long do you think you can keep this little secret?’

‘I – don’t know what you mean!’

Mavis came and stood in front of her. ‘Oh, come off it, Kate. We’re not daft.’ There were only the three of them in the hut so they had no need to lower their voices. ‘Throwing up every morning for the past fortnight. You’re in the family way, aren’t you?’

Kate’s shoulders sagged and she nodded.

Isobel clicked her tongue against her teeth in exasperation. ‘I can hardly believe you could be so daft, Kate Hilton. Born and bred on a farm and you still get caught! Didn’t you get him to – well, you know – take precautions?’

‘He did – at least . . .’ She hesitated, remembering a few weeks previously when, after being separated for a few days, there had been a desperate urgency to their lovemaking, which had been wonderful. Kate felt her cheeks grow warm at the mere memory; she could not, even now, regret a moment.

‘I see,’ Isobel’s voice was heavy with sarcasm now, ‘most of the time he did, except when he got carried away in the heat of the moment, eh?’

‘Something like that,’ Kate murmured. Isobel was far too astute at times.

‘What are you going to do about it?’ she was saying.

‘Do? What do you mean – do?’

‘Well, are you going to get rid of it?’

‘No! No – I’m not. I might have made a mistake – but I aren’t going to do anything like that.’ In her distress, her dialect was strong again.