‘Matron Jean is a good egg, just right for the place, efficient but motherly. The walls of this house should weep for some of the kids in here, orphaned by bombs and blitz. The worst cases are those who’ve been dumped here by their own parents, the children of some brief wartime fling. There’s been an influx since demob of unwanted babies turfed out by returning soldiers who won’t have some stranger’s kiddy in their house as a reminder. There’s a few brothers and sisters who can’t be separated, some backward ones nobody wants… a rag-taggle of sadness, I suppose. Anything you can do to support this outfit will be welcomed with open arms. Better than throwing a few pennies in a collecting box. I can see the wings sprouting out of your back already!’

‘And I can see your horns! Why do you always put things down?’ Netta’s heart was saddened by the thought of bairns with no home of their own. At least Gus wanted for nothing, especially love. It made her ashamed of all her past sulking. Vida was right, there are always others less fortunate than yourself. It was time to change the subject.

‘How did you and Miss Mackeever meet?’ she asked, more out of politeness than interest.

‘At some horsy bash last summer. She fell at a hurdle and I was Sir Galahad to the rescue. Big Billie Mackeever made a fuss over me and the next thing I knew we were choosing rings. The poor girl ought to be marrying a horse, not me. I can’t keep up with her in the saddle, she’s like a streak of lightning and fearless over the jumps. We’re a pair, the two of us, both stubborn as mules. That’s another reason for keeping out of general practice – I can’t see Ginnie sipping tea with the Vicar’s wife in twinset and pearls or being the angel of mercy on the phone at two o’clock in the morning. She’s not exactly the soul of discretion but a real sweetie. I sense you don’t like her much?’

‘We’ve not much in common coming from such different circumstances. I don’t know the colour of her heart yet.’

‘What a funny expression, Netta! I must call you that. I’ve only known you as Netta and it’s not exactly Mrs Hunter as I recall.’