Alah gave a short laugh. ‘Ha! Do you want her to make the decision for you? We know what the answer will be, don’t we? No, you must be brave. Accept what you have been given and be the best for the best. Yes?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘That’s the spirit. You are lucky. God gave you two choices and that’s two more than the average young girl gets. Courage, child. Courage.’

‘I am very lucky to have you, Alah.’

‘I agree with you.’ Alah smiled. ‘And I am proud of you. Decision made.’

‘Yes. Decision made.’ Marion took a deep breath. ‘Now, all I have to do is tell my mother.’

Chapter Eight

Dunfermline, late August 1932

Marion paid the taxi driver and walked up the familiar path towards her parents’ front door.

Before she had time to knock, the door flew open and Marion’s mother took her in a warm embrace. ‘We would have picked you up from the station! How much did the taxi cost you?’

‘Less than it would in London.’

‘Let me take your coat. Robert,’ she called, ‘take Marion’s case up to her room, please.’

Marion heard the rustle of a newspaper being folded and could imagine her stepfather’s sigh as he pulled himself out of his comfortable armchair. ‘Ah. There you are.’ His gentle face appeared from the front room. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Hello, Dad.’ She hugged him. ‘I’ve missed you too.’

‘Take Marion’s bag up and I’ll make the tea,’ bustled her mother, ‘I see you’ve let your hair grow. Much better.’

Robert gave Marion a wink and lugged her bag to the stairs.

‘It’s good to be home.’ Marion looked around at the kitchen. It was warm, secure and comforting.

‘Not what you’re used to, I suppose.’

Marion buried her irritation. ‘Don’t say that, Mother.’

Maggie handed her daughter a new tin of Scottish shortbread biscuits. ‘Put some of those on a plate, would you? I hope you still like them.’

Marion smiled. ‘The Duchess’s favourite.’

‘Are they? Well, she’s a good Scots lassie, that one.’

Robert came back into the kitchen, smiling. ‘You’ve brought the sun with you, Marion,’ he said.

She looked out of the kitchen window to the garden beyond. Standing in their serried ranks were the usual golden marigolds, white alyssum and blue lobelia, waiting for inspection. ‘The garden looks lovely, Dad,’ she said.

Her mother tutted. ‘Always the same. I don’t know why he does it – it’s too much work now he’s getting older.’

‘I am perfectly fit, thank you,’ Robert said. ‘Anyway, it keeps me from getting under your feet.’

‘Aye, and that’s a blessing. Get the milk from the cool shelf, would you?’

‘Well, I think it looks lovely.’ Marion patted her stepfather’s shoulder. ‘Shall we have our tea in the garden?’

Sitting out on the old deckchairs, her mother fussing and guarding the biscuits from any wasps, Marion was building up to telling her parents her news. Should she tell them now? Or wait a couple of days? The sun was shining. Her parents were bickering happily. Everything was calm and peaceful. Why spoil the cheerful mood?