Once Betsy was in bed that evening, Rose found she couldn’t settle. It wasn’t just the forthcoming meeting with Mr Preston and all the potential for the future it held that was making her restless, she knew that, but she didn’t want to examine her feelings too closely. She went into the front room and tidied Betsy’s toys; it was cosy and warm, a decent fire still burning in the little grate. Sinking down into one of the two armchairs the room possessed, she gazed about her. Little had changed since the day she and Betsy had moved in. The two armchairs upholstered in pale green damask; the large shop-bought rug in autumn colours and the olive green curtains at the window still pleased her. She hadn’t wanted the heavy dark colours that most people favoured or mahogany furniture, and she certainly didn’t want to crowd the room. Betsy’s doll’s house stood on the coffee table in the bay of the window with her other toys stacked next to it in a big wooden box that Rose had painted the same creamy pale yellow as the walls. Part of her would be sad to leave this little house where she and Betsy had been happy, but she would make their new home the way she wanted it.

When the knock came at the front door just before nine o’clock she knew she had been expecting it. She sat quite still for a few moments and then when it came again, got up slowly, her heart racing. Of course, it might not be him. Even as the thought came she dismissed it. It was Alexander Bembridge. No one else would come to the front door rather than round the back, New Year’s Eve or no.

When she opened the door he was standing on the pavement and because of the two steps leading from the house his head was on a level with hers. ‘Why, Mr Bembridge.’ Somehow she managed to keep her voice steady and infuse a slightly surprised note into it.

‘Hello.’ His voice was husky and deep.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see a horse and trap tied to the lamp post a little further down the street and inwardly sighed. Her neighbours were going to have a field day with this. ‘How can I help you?’ she said coolly.

If he answered that truthfully she would bang the door in his face, he thought with dark humour. Gathering himself, because the sight of her had rocked him, he said, ‘I wondered if I could have a word with you?’