There had been a frantic search for Ray’s birth certificate but it must be locked in Father’s deed box. The necklace hung like a charm over his chest and he played with the stones, chewing on the chain.

Archie Lambert fussed over their poses, placing them this way and that on his brocade settee. He had a black umbrella and waved at Ray from behind the camera. The baby was mesmerised by the lights, blue eyes sparkling like sapphires.

‘Mother, hold the baby… just a little more to the left.’ How Netta relished being called ‘Mother’, smoothing and preening Ray’s dark hair with his baby brush, trying to make a quiff. He soon began to wriggle and squirm so out of a basket came the squeaking toy and Ray burst into giggles of delight. Flash! The explosion of light startled him. Netta could afford only two poses, one of mother and child and one of baby alone. Ray was plonked on a rug and Netta lay down in her finery to catch his eye, dangling toys. The stones of the necklace glinted in the lights. Flash! The photographer snapped them both in this intimate precious moment. Just another young mum having her picture taken to send out to hubby somewhere in the Forces, for an anniversary perhaps. It was the first time she had been truly alone with her son.

‘Do you want it hand tinted, Mrs Hunter?’ Archie had not recognised her as Netta Nichols. She nodded. ‘And don’t forget to tint the rainbow colours of the necklace.’

‘Boys don’t usually wear jewellery,’ he commented.

‘I know, but it was my mother’s and I wanted something of her in the portrait.’ Netta smiled sweetly and he accepted this strange request. It was time to change out of their finery and as she sat in the Paul Jones Tearoom to give Ray juice and herself a cup of tea, she awarded herself a brownie badge for all the times she had shut her lips, bent her head and swallowed Peg’s lecturing. It was another hour before the bus took them back to Stratharvar. It was raining and getting dark but Netta stayed under shelter in the shops until the last moment. The portrait proofs were to be ready in two weeks.

By the time she got off the bus at the bottom of the track the rain was lashing and to her horror the pram was no longer tucked under the hedge. She cooried Ray into her thick coat and struggled up the track to the farm. There was a row of strange cars waiting in the yard. She recognised Dr Begg’s Wolseley and Sergeant Kerr’s black Austin Saloon. Something must have happened. Netta dashed into the kitchen to see them sitting at the table supping tea with worried expressions. Every eye turned on her.