In the time since Mags had taken Ella to Blackburn, Flors had been very lonely, but had kept busy. Both women had telephoned her regularly. Ella was making progress and they were planning to go to Scotland to see Mags’s friends. Flors had wondered at the wisdom of this, but then her friends needed help, and maybe that would do Ella good – bring out her caring nature and help her to focus on something different, after all she had been through. That was always a good healer.

Flors had thrown herself into finding an apartment to rent, with the help of Wills, and had now moved in and settled down. It was a few minutes’ walk from Baker Street HQ, on Chiltern Street. She hadn’t yet done anything with her own house, but thought she might rent it out again, or even sell it and look for a home that she and Cyrus and their family could make their own until – if ever – they could return to their home in France.

Wills had endeared himself to her, and she was growing very fond of him. It had been a comfort having the man who would marry her daughter by her side; almost like having her own family taking care of her. She could see why Marjella loved him.

There had been awkward moments when Wills had questioned why Flors hadn’t wanted to go back to her own home, but she’d passed over it by saying that one should never go back, and that there were so many sad memories there for her that she couldn’t settle.

The worst of all the memories she had of that house was of losing their darling first child, Alice. Visiting her grave and Nanny Pru’s had been heartbreaking, and yet uplifting to see that those in the street who were still alive had kept their promise to keep the graves tidy for her.

Shaking these memories from her, Flors scanned the faces of everyone getting off the train. At last she caught sight of them. Straightening her pencil skirt and touching her hair, she felt glad she’d bought a new costume for the occasion. Light-grey, with a box jacket, she’d teamed the skirt with a pink silk blouse, wrist-length gloves and a clutch bag. Her shoes were black with a small heel, and she had her fox-fur stole, with the fox’s head still attached – the height of fashion – draped over her shoulders. It warded off the slight chill that still hung around, even though it was mid-May. Flors felt she looked good, and that gave her confidence.

As they neared, she felt a pang of concern. What if Cyrus had been thinking about everything and was hurting all over again? How would she handle it, if he rejected her? But these thoughts left her as her beloved husband and son caught sight of her. Cyrus’s face lit up and his movements quickened towards her.