She rubs a thumb over her naked fourth finger. She has a marriage to look forward to.

She loves Ralph. Of course, she loves him. She has committed herself to him and, come summer, she will be liberated from her parents’ suffocating hold. Ralph is a modern man, and their marriage will be the adventure she longs for. Besides, she won’t need to report the news when Ralph will be making it, when he is in government. And she will be there to influence his politics, support his campaigns against injustice and corruption. They will stand, side by side, for dignity and decency, and build a new post-war world fit for women as well as men. And in a few years, once she turns thirty, she will be proud to vote for him herself.

She stops still and tries to shake away the wounded pride. Jimmy Cartwright was only doing his job. He is bloody good at it. And he needs the job far more than she does.

Harriet turns around and heads back towards the office.

‘Hurry up,’ Maggs grumbles when Ruby meets her on the agreed street corner. Albert Richmond and her own husband, Alf, are in tow. ‘We’ve got work to do. Where’ve you been?’

‘Out and about,’ Ruby says. ‘Nowhere in particular.’ She hasn’t bought anything. She’s spent the last couple of hours just looking, dreaming, trying to decide what to buy. She didn’t even buy a new pair of gloves. She remembered that she was working with Maggs and didn’t want to arrive with armfuls of goods. But she has seen plenty of lovely things and will enjoy spending her money another day.

Maggs narrows her eyes. ‘You never go nowhere in particular.’ She tears Ruby’s handbag from her shoulder. ‘Where was this nowhere, exactly?’

The men walk ahead, leaving Maggs to her business.

Maggs jostles Ruby away from her as she rummages in the handbag.

‘Aw, Maggs, leave it out,’ she whines.

‘You’re a filthy liar, Ruby. What’s this?’

‘It’s Solly’s money. I’ve been at Ray Calladine’s this morning, on Solly’s business. That’s his money.’

Maggs grunts but continues to rifle through the bag. She finds the secret pocket in the lining and tugs out the notes from the old gentleman and the few extra coins she’s lifted on her way here. ‘How about this, then? There’s more than a score here. Twenty quid.’

‘It’s mine,’ Ruby says. ‘I’m saving it.’ She has already spent it, in her head.