‘Millicent is giving me a lift to the end-of-year party at the vicarage,’ said Lily, ‘so I’ll be leaving shortly after seven.’

‘I see,’ said Florence quietly. She seemed preoccupied.

‘What is it, Mother?’

‘I was wondering how you can sing in church knowing what you have done.’

‘That’s a hurtful thing to say, and you know I enjoy singing.’

‘Nevertheless it concerns me.’

Lily threw down her tea towel. ‘You see, Mother, that’s the difference between us. It doesn’t shock me and there will be a day when what has happened to me won’t be seen as a great sin.’

Florence looked at her daughter with utter disdain. ‘That can never be.’

Lily closed the door and spoke quietly but firmly. ‘Mother, understand this: I’m a different person now. That impressionable young Land Girl has grown up. You call it shame, but for me at that time it was my first taste of what I thought was love. That silly girl has gone now. I’m a woman who knows her own mind, while your generation are ashamed of an illegitimate birth.’

Florence recoiled in shock and put her hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t say that word.’

‘Oh Mother, can’t you see the world is changing?’

‘Not now, not ever. We have a chance of a new life here in Yorkshire. As you well know, down south the neighbours were beginning to talk about who Freddie’s mother might be. We had to move on.’

‘And we have – it’s fine here.’

‘Yes,’ said Florence bitterly, ‘a life without shame.’

The words were hurtful and cut like a knife. ‘I don’t see Freddie like that. He is not someone I associate with shame.’

Florence shook her head, white with rage. ‘Your father never recovered from the shock. It probably helped to end his days.’

Lily stepped back. ‘That’s a cruel thing to say. Father died of pneumonia. It was an illness that took him from us – not the so-called shame of which you speak.’

She left the room and went upstairs to get changed while Florence sat down, shaking with anger.

Lily and Millicent Merryweather arrived at the vicarage shortly before half past seven, both wearing their best summer dresses. Vera was a keen gardener and rambling blackberry canes and a riot of raspberries covered the walls of weathered brick. She was standing in the porch and came out to greet them.

As Lily walked across the crushed gravel of the courtyard her fingers lightly caressed the mauve flower spikes in a neat border of lavender and she paused to enjoy the scent.

‘My favourite,’ said Vera.

‘You have a beautiful garden,’ said Lily.

‘One of my passions,’ replied Vera with a smile, ‘and aren’t we lucky having such a lovely evening?’