What would it be, to marry a man who could afford a piece that special? What would it be, to wander through life as comfortably and easily as this woman? Ruby squints at her. She’s never known hardship or hunger, and no one is going to black this one’s eye or cross the street to avoid her.

‘Harriet? Harriet Littlemore?’

Ruby watches the honey-coloured vision turn to discover the flat-sounding voice that has hailed her. It belongs to an older woman, wearing a hat that was only ever fashionable before the war, if at all. But her coat suggests comfortable circumstances, despite her lack of taste.

Harriet Littlemore. Ruby notes the name.

‘Oh, how lovely to see you.’ Harriet Littlemore has a pleasing voice, not too high or low in pitch, neither dull nor overly musical, but coloured with the rounded tones of an affluent family.

Ruby widens the space at the back of her throat, listening to the greeting and imagining how she would make the sound. How lovely to see you! Such knowledge might be useful. She picks up a packet of stockings and stands, watching, listening, partially obscured by the pillar. Her girl, Harriet Littlemore, has lifted her shoulders and straightened her back to talk to the woman – someone old enough to be her mother. She nods her head gently, smiles politely.

They know one another well and are passing the time of day with amiability as well as civility.

‘… And your Ralph is such a fine man,’ the woman says. ‘No wonder your parents are so pleased. Such a catch, my dear.’

Ruby picks up a second packet of stockings, as if she is comparing them.

Ralph. That must be the man with enough money for quality diamonds.

Harriet Littlemore speaks softly, so that Ruby struggles to hear. She takes a quiet step closer, catching snatches as Harriet turns away.

‘… A lovely evening, yes it was… Turbot, I know, a wonder… No, not to worry. I wasn’t offended at all. I’m sure he’s right, of course. It was foolish of me, really…’

The older lady shakes her head and the feather on her hat bobs about. ‘I’m sure that Ralph will be a very different sort of husband. And you are such a modern-thinking young woman, of course. I shouldn’t say it, but I rather admire your spirit. And your work. Pay no heed to Arthur.’ She reaches a hand to Harriet’s and squeezes it.

There is some sort of understanding between the women. She sees it – but resists her own memories of camaraderie.

The assistant hovers behind Harriet, trying to hand her the pale pink box. Ruby watches Harriet turn, gracefully, to relieve her of it.

‘Something new?’ The older woman cranes her neck.

‘Yes. A nightgown – very like this one.’ She touches a similar garment on the table.