Clare could taste the acid welling up in her mouth. She’d enjoyed the most relaxing weekend she’d had in a long time. And it had been lovely to catch up with James again, but today was a different story. She couldn’t remember feeling as anxious about anything as she did now since she couldn’t remember when. Standing here high on the edge of the Cotswold scarp looking westwards across the Severn Vale, they could see all the way to the Brecon Beacons. Margaret had been right: Crickley Hill really was the most stunning viewpoint.

Margaret pointed to a spot on the far horizon. ‘Magnificent, isn’t it. I’ve always loved this view. Look, that’s Sugar Loaf!’

‘I don’t know how you can stay so calm, Margaret. Aren’t you even a tiny bit nervous?’

Margaret turned to her. ‘Oh, of course I am, my dear. Half of me wants nothing more than to dash back to the car and hotfoot it back to the Spread Eagle in time for last orders. But that wouldn’t get us anywhere, would it? You don’t suppose I’ve spent my entire career floating serenely thorough the hallowed halls of Oxford without a care in the world, do you? You seem to forget it was a very different world when I first entered academia. Women, particularly young working-class women, were not always made to feel welcome. I’ve had to face my fair share of anxious moments over the years. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt during that time, it’s not to dwell too much on them before the fact. It really doesn’t get one anywhere. Once you’ve decided to do a thing, you’re much better off just getting on and doing it.’

Clare smiled. There was something about being with Margaret Bockford that always made her feel that no matter how dreadful the crisis, everything would be alright. And that was a valuable commodity at this particular moment. It had taken them a while to come up with their plan, but so far things had worked out pretty well.