It seems the whole village has turned out. Union Jack bunting flutters above them as the crowd mingles happily, with neighbours sharing news of boys coming home. There are relieved smiles all round. Gwen thinks back to the last fete she attended. Her hand strays to Tom’s shoulder as she pushes the memory away.

Nora soon peels off, skipping over to a bunch of lads milling before the beer tent. Tom is hungry and mithering for food, so Gwen allows him to lead her to the trestle tables within the main marquee, laid out with plates of sandwiches and cake, the array impressive given rationing restraints.

‘Just don’t ask what’s in them,’ Muriel says sourly, manning the tables.

‘It’s lovely to see so many people turn out,’ Gwen says, gently chastising Tom for overloading his plate.

‘All and sundry are here, it seems. There’s a party from the Hall. They must feel inconvenienced having to drive down here rather than have people flood to them to pay homage.’

Gwen is a taken aback by Muriel’s caustic comment. She had no idea the woman’s antipathy towards the family ran so deep. She wonders whether her housekeeper’s feelings are motivated by loyalty and, suspecting they are, she can’t help but feel grateful.

The party runs on into the night. Gwen is tired, exhausted by the vigilance that has her looking over shoulders, craning to spot those she wishes to avoid. She has taken little pleasure from the celebration and would have left hours ago, but Tom is determined to see the much-lauded firework elephant and she cannot deny him that pleasure.

Storm lanterns have been hung from the tent poles and candles in jam jars set upon the ground. A big bonfire has been lit, and it roars and crackles, hungry flames licking into the night sky, devouring the blackout at last.

She sips the cup of warm wine someone has pressed upon her, while Tom – defiantly wakeful – sucks on a barley sugar and clings to her hand. She has not seen Nora for an hour or more. A new band has taken to the stage at the top end of the meadow and the sedate music playing earlier has been replaced by raucous jazz. The trumpet player, a middle-aged man Gwen does not recognise, is thrilling the crowd with his skill. People are dancing and amongst them Gwen finally spots Nora, flying from the hold of some young chap like a spinning top, her skirt whirling high, her head thrown back, a joyous laugh ripping from her throat, as her feet twist and jab with such speed they blur before Gwen’s eyes.

‘Can I tempt you?’