Isabel smiles, although her eyes are still cold with disapproval. ‘The dress will certainly be beautiful, Harriet. And modest.’ She emphasises the word.

‘Every bride should feel beautiful on her wedding day,’ Mary MacKenzie adds in her flat tone. ‘When are you marrying? Is it soon?’

‘July. Although the exact day hasn’t been decided. Ralph says he will be taking care of the formalities very soon, Mummy. The church and everything.’ She fiddles with the diamond necklace at her throat, so that the largest stone hangs more in the centre.

‘Good,’ says Isabel. ‘And then we shall have a date at last.’

‘Do you have somewhere to live, or shall you reside here?’ Mrs MacKenzie asks.

‘No!’ Harriet laughs away such a dreadful thought. ‘Ralph has a house in Mayfair.’

Hanson emerges in the doorway and gives one of his discreet nods, indicating that dinner is ready.

‘Oh, yes,’ Mrs MacKenzie says. ‘I’d forgotten that he was so well set up. You’ve done very well for yourself, Harriet.’

*

Ruby stares into her glass. She picks it up and lets a large swig of gin wash around her mouth before swallowing it. She still cannot believe that Ray Calladine gave the watch back to Peter Lazenby and denied her the cash for it. For five days she has been fuming. At least it will be Saturday tomorrow – pay day.

‘You alright, Ruby?’ Maggs stands with one hand on her hip and the other clutching the handle of her pint glass. ‘You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.’

‘Nah. Just thinking about something. Nothing really. Do you want a seat?’

She shifts along the settle to make room for her old friend.

The Crown is not especially busy. Clara is standing chatting to a group of men at the bar in a rare moment of idleness. She looks tired, washed out. She could be a good-looking woman with a decent night’s sleep and a bit of fun. But she won’t give herself the night off. She says she can’t trust her staff to run the place properly, but Ruby knows that she can’t bear to enjoy herself while she’s still thinking of Tommy. So, Clara continues to work herself into an early grave. She picks up a greying cloth and wipes the counter.

‘She could do with Billy to help her out,’ Maggs says, seeing where Ruby is looking. ‘He should look after the bar for a night or two. Where is he?’

‘How should I know?’ Ruby sniffs. ‘He’s not my business.’

‘I thought you were walking out with him.’ Maggs reaches into her handbag for her cigarettes and offers one to Ruby. ‘After you did that jewellery job together in Kensington. Aren’t you?’

‘Not sure.’

‘That’ll account for the long face,’ Maggs says, knowingly. ‘At least you’re not crying over him all the time, like Edith Lennox.’