The room was further round to the south than Josephine’s, and faced the open sea. She followed Marta over to the window, and the sheer drop to the rocks and gardens below 103– just visible in the fading light – took her breath away. The gardens were formal in style, cleverly designed to appeal to a crow’s-eye view and arranged on several levels. The wildness of the sea beyond – pounding at the rocks on the fringes of the island – was exhilarating. ‘I’m not sure I’d want to be one of the gardeners,’ Josephine said, looking doubtfully at the less accessible lawns and borders. ‘It must be perilous, climbing round there whenever a hedge needs trimming. And look at the battering those bushes are getting from the wind. It’s a wonder anything survives at all with so much salt in the air.’

‘Yes, but think of the sun it must get in summer. I bet they grow some amazing things. Perhaps we’ll get a chance to explore if the weather improves.’ She smiled and gave Josephine a kiss. ‘How’s your room?’

‘Magnificent. Big enough to sleep six, with lofty ceilings and the most beautiful tiling round the window. Everything you’d hope for from a castle, from the four-poster bed to the draughts.’ She looked round, and added wryly: ‘It’s less chaotic than this one, though. I see you’ve made yourself well and truly at home.’

Marta wasn’t by nature the tidiest of people and she always took over a room, no matter how brief her stay in it. Josephine recognised the same welcoming touches that had greeted her in her own room – a beautiful arrangement of holly, spruce and ivy, a Christmas card from Hilaria with a box of Prestat chocolates, a luxurious fruit bowl and a decanter of sherry – but Marta had personalised the welcome with some hospitality of her own. There was brandy and red wine, and a collection of elegantly wrapped presents had been arranged by the winter greenery, which now functioned as a miniature Christmas tree. Most touchingly of all, Marta 104had smuggled in a collection of decorations that Josephine put up each year at the house she owned in Suffolk. The cottage had become something of a haven for them both in recent months, as the wider world grew darker and more dangerous, and they retreated there whenever they could. ‘I can’t believe you thought of this,’ she said. ‘You’ve brought Christmas with you.’

‘I dug them out of the cupboard when you weren’t looking. They’re special to us, so I thought they should travel.’

Josephine picked up the snow globe, which was one of the first things that she and Marta had bought together, and something in its fragility touched her. Continually in the back of her mind now was the knowledge that another war would threaten her independence and all the aspects of her life that were most precious. There were bound to be travel restrictions, which would confine her to Scotland and separate her from Marta for long periods at a time, and she knew in her heart that if hostilities broke out, Marta wasn’t the kind of woman who would sit on the sidelines and wait for them to end; she would do something brave and glorious, or leave England altogether and find her freedom elsewhere. As selfish as it seemed, the loneliness of another war frightened Josephine far more than any loss of life. ‘Are you all right?’ Marta asked gently. ‘You don’t usually get this emotional about Christmas decorations. That’s my territory. You’ll be crying at films next.’