He nods and busies himself again and gives a small sigh, and I wonder if he has a wife, but I have not seen one, and I would never ask. Mr Munroe is an interesting fellow, but I think the thing I like most about him is that he has never asked to look at my rope-bruise, or asked me questions about the afterlife, and I do believe there is something straightforward about him that means he never will.

At one of the clock he tells me he will be out at the Mussel Inn for his lunch. He pauses, walking cane in hand.

‘Should you like to join me?’ he asks. ‘I usually dine upstairs, with a fine view of the harbour.’ It comes out in a blurt, and despite the fact that his voice is usually deep and serious, it cracks a little and he blushes.

‘Oh,’ I reply, as a fear washes over me. A fear of that very upstairs room he is talking about. A fear of sitting in that room in the Mussel Inn with a handsome man, and how that might lead a girl into a nightmare. ‘Perhaps I might do that another time,’ I say. ‘For my ma has given me a slice of ham-and-egg pie today.’

‘Of course,’ he replies and bolts for the door.

Oh Lord, that was embarrassing. What was I thinking? Ham-and-egg pie! Urgh, of all the things I could have said.

But I believe I could have sat and talked to Mr Munroe about things and he would have listened, and I would have been interested to hear what he might say.

And that frightens me. It frightens me to let go of myself and allow a man to be nice to me. I might get very hurt again. Besides, am I not still married to Patrick Spencer?

The office is not quite spick and span yet, but it will get there, I am sure of it. There’s a big looking glass over the fireplace and I stand on my tiptoes and look into it. I think it is the biggest and brightest looking glass I have ever seen in my life, for it reflects the light from the window. I am a dark figure in the middle of it at first, until my eyes adjust.

I once had a fear of my own reflection, but I don’t feel fear now. I cannot help who I am. My hair falls in two neat plaits down to my breastbone. Mibbie I should curl it in papers. I used to brush it and put powder on it, but I seem to have forgotten to do that. Mibbie I’ll buy some powder at the market, although I will have to hide it from Joan.