Marion paid her bill, leaving a good tip for the waitress who had been so kind, and walked out into the darkening night. There was rain in the air and smartly dressed people were hurrying to the picture houses, theatres and restaurants. She walked all four sides of Leicester Square hoping to see George, maybe getting out of a taxi, flustered and worried.

But there was no sign of him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

145 Piccadilly, mid-September 1936

When Marion returned to 145 Piccadilly, Alah and Bobo were waiting. Bobo was goggle-eyed with curiosity, and though Alah managed to keep her inquisitiveness under control, she was nonetheless desperate to gather news. Alah was a shrewd woman who could read a person’s face easily – it was what made her a successful nanny – and she had read Crawfie’s mind without difficulty. The dear lass had her heart set on a man.

Romance was not something that often troubled the nursery floor and Alah noted the presence of it with interest.

‘Ah, you’re back,’ Alah said. ‘Bobo, put the kettle on and put another lump of coal on the fire as you go.’ She turned her attention back to Crawfie. ‘Is it cold outside, dear? Come and sit down.’

‘A bit chilly.’ Crawfie shook off her coat without looking at Alah. ‘I need to hang this up and get a jumper from my room. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Alah watched the young governess as she went into her room. She was not herself, to be sure. No cheery hello, no smiles, no eye contact.

Something was very wrong.

Alah covertly checked that Bobo was still occupied in the small nursery kitchen, before tiptoeing across the landing and putting her ear to Crawfie’s door. If she really was putting her coat away, Alah would hear the clang of a hanger in the wardrobe. What she heard was sniffling, whimpering and nose blowing. Crawfie was crying.

A few minutes passed before Crawfie returned to the nursery sitting room, wrapped in a navy cardigan. Alah was sitting in her chair by the fire as if she had never left, but she noted the swollen eyelids and cheeks pinkened by the undoubted splashing of cold water. She mentioned neither.

‘Feeling a bit warmer, dear?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Crawfie’s voice and eyes were low.

The two women drank their tea without speaking. The fire crackled and the mantel clock ticked pleasantly as the evening traffic droned by beneath the nursery window.

Alah broke the silence. ‘Have you had anything to eat? Bobo is making scrambled egg with a little toast. Will you join us?’

Crawfie put down her half-drunk cup. ‘I feel a bit of a headache coming on. I think I might just get an early night, if you don’t mind.’

Alah knew a lie when she heard one. ‘Why would I? Get some rest.’

As Bobo brought the tray of scrambled eggs round to the nursery sitting room, she saw Crawfie disappear into her room and close the door firmly behind her. She was filled with disappointment.