‘It’s not looking likely that it will be over by Christmas like they forecast, is it?’ Sunday asked George one day and he shook his head. He too desperately wanted to enlist now, although he was no longer a very young man – but he was torn. With Ben and Tom already gone, the majority of the hard work at Treetops Manor now fell on his shoulders and with Cissie still not being completely well yet he didn’t know how they would manage without him.

Sunday had been hoping that the menfolk might get leave in the near future but that hope was fading now. It appeared that only those who had been badly injured were being shipped home, so in a way she hoped that they were not amongst them. Every day, families were receiving telegrams informing them that their loved ones had been killed in action, and now she watched the drive leading to the Manor apprehensively each day, praying that she would not see the boy on the bicycle whose unfortunate lot it was to deliver these missives of death. It felt as if the world had gone mad and she dreamed of the way things had once been and wondered, like many others, if those happy days would ever return.

Far away, Tom was also thinking of the comforts of home as he rubbed the horses down before making them as comfortable as he could for the night in the makeshift shelters that had been erected for them. He had placed deep layers of straw down on the floor for them to lie on and was almost ready to bed down for the night himself when he heard a couple of young soldiers, new recruits, sniggering outside the tents.

‘What have you got there then, lads?’ he asked affably and the two young privates jumped nervously.

‘It’s just a magazine that’s goin’ round,’ the youngest-looking of the two told him guiltily, then with a grin at his mate he passed it to Tom.

Tom began to flick through the pages, which were covered in photographs of young women in various stages of undress. ‘Dirty young devils,’ he chuckled. After all, they weren’t doing any harm and he had been young himself once, although it seemed like a long time ago now. ‘You’ll be giving yourselves wrist ache if you keep looking at these.’ And then suddenly the smile froze on his face as his eyes fastened on one particular photo. It was of Kitty, there could be no denying it, and the photograph left little to the imagination.

Shock and anger coursed through him as he thrust the magazine back at the young private and strode towards his barracks, his mind in turmoil. What could have made her stoop to such levels? he wondered. He had thought that she was making a name for herself on the stage, and the Kitty he remembered would never have done anything like this. Sunday must never find out about it. He paused to light a cigarette and think. Just as soon as I get home I’ll persuade Sunday to come to London with me one more time, he decided, but he was all too well aware that this might be some long time away. What could happen to their lass Kitty in the meantime?