‘The wedding’s in Leeds parish church, of course. So many guests to cram in. Lots of publicity for you if you hit the mark.’

‘It all sounds very grand. We’ll have plenty of time to sort you out, won’t we?’ Netta refused to be patronised.

Ginnie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Must dash, masses to organise. See you next week.’

Love’s got one eye and is awful deaf, thought Netta as the bride swept out of the shop.

Dr Stirling’s got a right one there,’ smirked Polly from the shadows.

‘I couldn’t have said it better myself’ Netta replied with satisfaction, just the thought to cheer a body up on a cold winter’s afternoon: the sight of a floating blancmange rustling down the aisle to her Prince Charming. But it would be the most beautiful blancmange ever seen on this planet, if that was what she wants.

She banged the iron down to shake herself out of this strange mood. Netta Nichol Designs must embark upon a strawberry sea of silk and lace.

‘Shall I make us a brew?’ said Polly from her machine.

‘Yes, and put a slug of gin in mine. I think I’m going to need it. Sometimes, Polly, I think this business’s like the weather… there’s no pattern to it.’

Forks in the Path, March 1949

The iron grip of winter loosened its hold on Griseley. Snowy white patches gave way to the greeny-yellow of early spring and still Netta had not returned north to see the boy. There were too many demands on her time: training Polly; pattern making into the small hours until her eyes ached with weariness. She must get ahead with the spring bridal wear and snatch some time with Gus in May before the final onslaught of the Mackeever extravaganza.

There was little pleasure in copying someone else’s creation, however loosely she interpreted the design. How she wished for Vida’s advice but there was no word from that quarter, only postcards from Dixie and Arnie who were blissfully unaware of the estrangement, on tour around the country.

Netta stifled the guilty feeling that she had stayed away too long from Brigg Farm. She parcelled up a lavish present for Gus’s fourth birthday, one she could ill afford. Her New Year resolution to bring him back to Yorkshire had faded under a flurry of orders. Somehow the success of Netta Nichol Designs, beating the odds and staying solvent, was taking over her life. There was always some other pressing priority, leaving little time even for the Home visiting and relaxation with her young friends there.