‘Thank you.’ Marion smiled, thinking how pleased George would be.

Tommy was passing her a second piece of paper. ‘And this states that Nottingham Cottage is granted to you in the grace and favour of Their Majesties and is yours until you shuffle off this mortal coil.’

Crawfie frowned slightly. ‘And if I were to die before my husband, would he be able to stay until his death?’

Tommy spread his hands. ‘Ah, that is always a tricky one. But I think, in your circumstances and providing you don’t fall under a bus, Major Buthlay, being your senior, may pop off before you do.’

‘You can’t guarantee he could stay?’

‘In short, no. Same for us all.’

She looked down at the paper solemnly. ‘I see.’

‘I can tell you are discomfited by that, but, moving on, and this is strictly hush-hush, the Queen has in mind a token of her appreciation for you. I can say no more, but do monitor your post box for the next couple of weeks.’ He folded his hands. ‘Now, how about a catch-up over a cup of tea?’

Nottingham Cottage, the same day

‘George?’ Marion shut the front door and took her coat off. ‘George? I’m home!’

She walked through to the kitchen, where the back door was open onto the garden. ‘George?’

George was sitting on the bench under the tree, a bottle of Scotch on the grass and a full tumbler in his hand. He was trying to focus on her. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘At work.’ She went to him. ‘Are you all right?’

‘You’re late.’

Crawfie recognized stormy waters ahead. ‘Yes, I met up with Tommy. He was giving me all the details of my pension and the tenure of our little home.’

‘You are a bloody hour late. Having it off with him, are you?’

‘No! You know I would never be unfaithful to you.’

‘Oh, that’s what they all say but I know. I can see it in your eyes.’ George lurched towards her and sniffed her collar.

She pushed him away. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I can smell him on you.’

Her pulse began to rise in fear. ‘Please, George. Don’t go getting yourself in one of your states. You need a cup of tea and a sleep. It’s been a hot day and you have had just a little too much to drink.’ She took his arm and tried to lift him onto his feet.

‘Let go of me, you!’

‘Shh. People can hear you.’

‘They need to know what you are really like.’

‘Darling, please.’ She tried again to lift him, but he swung his left fist at her and punched her in the ribs.

Marion fell painfully on her side. She didn’t think her ribs were broken; she knew what broken ribs felt like. ‘Please stop, George,’ she said, her voice shaking.

‘Not the bloody waterworks. Get up, you silly cow.’

She rose slowly to her feet. ‘I have a pork chop for your supper. I am going in to cook it now. I will call you when it’s ready.’