‘There you are.’ Her smile is remedial. His racing pulse abates as his rising panic recedes like a withdrawing tide. Alone in her company he is at last able to breathe.

‘I was with your father.’

‘Oh, yes, I see him over there.’ She peers into the crowd, tracking her father as he finds a place towards the back. ‘He’s with Ted, I see. And is that Vic Jennings and his wife?’

‘Iris, yes.’ But Jack doesn’t look round. He has no desire to draw their attention. Not when he feels safe at last.

Gwen nods absently as she continues to look around her, constantly searching.

‘Have you seen Gordon?’ Jack asks quietly.

‘No, have you?’ The words fly from her, urgent and hopeful. When he shakes his head her eyes dull with disappointment. ‘I don’t know where he can be. I’ve been looking for him all afternoon.’

The crowd falls silent as the front doors of the Hall are thrown open and an older, upright gentleman Jack takes to be Lord Allingham, dapper in a dogtooth suit, strides out with the vicar. The woman who Gwen has already identified as his wife follows with another lady who, from her general demeanour, Jack deduces to be the vicar’s wife. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Gwen as Gordon Allingham and a young woman Jack presumes to be his sister bring up the rear.

Someone at the back of the crowd begins to clap, opening a smattering of applause that is uncomfortably insipid. Lord Allingham mounts the steps onto the dais, holding up his hand in grateful acknowledgement, before taking a spot front and centre. With his hands clasped behind him, he rocks on his well-polished heels while the rest of the group form a neat row behind. When there is satisfactory quiet, disturbed only by the cooing of a pigeon, he begins.