Life had been so hectic in Stratharvar in these past few weeks, seeing to farm chores, helping Peg, visiting and catching up with handsewing. Suddenly this little cottage felt poky, dark and silent and Netta was utterly alone.

*

Drew sat in the darkened cinema transfixed by the action on the screen. Not his usual sort of film but a gripping colourful fairytale about a ballerina trapped by her red dancing shoes, torn between her lover and the lure of ballet stardom. Ginnie was asleep beside him after her exhausting shopping trip to Paris with her cronies. They had partied their way all over the city and brought back enough contraband to sink her sports car and the ferry.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the heroine, Moira Shearer, as she flitted across the screen with her flame hair and beautiful sea-green eyes. He was stunned by her resemblance to Netta; the same innocence and wide-eyed expressive smile. As the story unfolded he became more engrossed in her dilemma and found himself choked at the end as she was carried dying from the railway track. It was all so sad. Would Netta spend her life torn between her son and her talent, never finding satisfaction in her life?

He shook Ginnie awake for the National Anthem and they made their way out of the Ilkley cinema into a fine June evening, strolling uphill back to High House. Once inside, Ginnie on her second wind offered him some whisky.

‘No, thanks,’ he said smugly. Since that business with Arthur Bates he no longer found satisfaction in a bottle of spirits. He was wary of his drinking habits and realised that when he was busy and interested in something he never drank. Boredom and frustration, not thirst, sent him looking for a glass. Now was such a moment.

‘You’re getting to be such a sobersides, Andrew. Come on, a glass of malt will relax you,’ Ginnie ordered, shoving it under his nose.

‘No! I’m fine the now, don’t fuss…’

‘I’m not fussing. It’s just you keep going quiet on me lately. The girls have noticed it too. When I hug you, I’m not sure you’re in there anymore. What’s got into you?’

‘I’m tired.’ He swallowed back ‘and bored’.

‘I know… but when we’re married and all your stuff is moved in here, there’ll be no more trekking up and down to Leeds. There’s Cook and the staff to pander to your every whim. The decorators have started on our rooms. Isn’t it exciting?’

‘Look, we’ve been through this before. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to start off married life with your father. I prefer to stay nearer my work. You’ll enjoy making a new life together.’ Ginnie never listened to a word he said if it didn’t suit her plans.