He leaped down from the bank into the road and came towards her. In the four years since she had started work in Lynthorpe, they had both altered. At eighteen, Danny was no longer a boy but a man with strong, sunburnt arms and a brown-skinned face that still seemed to be always grinning. He was not very tall, not much taller than Kate, yet his shoulders had broadened. He tried to slick back his hair, but the wind ruffled it into unruly black curls.

Kate’s own hair had grown again, falling in waves and curls to her shoulders; and cycling into Lynthorpe every day, whatever the weather, kept her blossoming figure lithe and her skin glowing with health.

Kate looked at Danny closely. There seemed to be an air of excitement about him. Then she remembered. Trying to hide a smile, she said, ‘I’m a bit tired for all that rowing . . .’

Triumphantly, Danny interrupted, ‘Ya dun’t have to row any more.’

Now the laughter was bubbling up inside her, but she quelled it, allowing Danny his moment of glory. ‘I’ve finished fitting the engine in it.’

‘Engine? Really?’ She could no longer prevent the smile twitching the corner of her mouth.

He leaned closer. ‘You knew!’ he accused, but he too was laughing.

‘I’m sorry – I didn’t want to spoil your surprise, but Dad mentioned it.’

Danny nodded. ‘Ya dad’s been very good helping us. He’s clever with motors – wish I was. Me dad ses we’ll keep the oars on board – just in case. Reckon he doesn’t trust my mechanical efforts yet.’ He paused then added, ‘Well, a’ ya comin’ or not? I’ve been waiting for you this past half an hour. You’re late, aren’t ya?’

‘Mr Reynolds called me into his office just as I was leaving.’

‘Oho – been a naughty girl, have ya?’

“Course not . . .’ she began indignantly, then saw his teasing grin. She punched him lightly on his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle beneath her hand.

‘So what had you done to have old man Reynolds after ya?’ Danny asked her. ‘Left a bit of ribbon dangling out of a drawer again?’

Kate giggled as Danny reminded her of the times she had been on the receiving end of one of Mr Reynolds’s lectures.

Mr Reynolds was the owner of the drapery store where Kate now worked. He was a short man, always dressed in a black morning jacket with pin-striped trousers. His thin neck poked up out of a stiffly starched collar. His cold blue eyes peered at all his staff through steel-rimmed spectacles which enlarged his eyes and made his scrutiny appear even more critical than it was. He was a martinet; every morning he toured the store and not a thing missed his sharp glance.

‘No,’ Kate said, her eyes gleaming. ‘He’s going to promote me.’