‘An artist? I didn’t know that.’ Montel’s face popped into Mags’s head and, unbidden, her heart skipped a beat. Maybe when she came back she would look him up, but for now she wasn’t ready. She just wanted to get off these shores and into a hug with Flors.

But David wasn’t giving up. He told her about Montel winning a commission to hold an exhibition of his art. ‘He’s very excited about it. It’s to be next year at a small gallery in Chelsea, but he’s that enthusiastic you would think he was taking over the Tate gallery. He does have a vast knowledge of the art world, though. He spotted my Henri Matisse print of Woman with a Hat. I bought it when I visited France just before the war. It isn’t worth anything, as it isn’t an original, but Montel knew it immediately and told me a lot about the artist. I really enjoyed his company and think you will like him, under different circumstances. He told me how you two met and what the atmosphere was like, but despite that, he fell for you hook, line and sinker.’

Mags let out a nervous giggle. It all seemed so surreal – herself wrapped in a blanket, speeding away in David’s car and talking about a stranger having a fancy for her.

‘Montel gave me his address. He said he admired you for standing up to Harold on the day you met, even though he couldn’t understand you doing so.’

‘I don’t understand it myself now. I’ve been a fool, David. I’ve lost everything. Well, I mean I’m a long way from being destitute, but the mill that Daddy built up, our family home, a great deal of money – Harold has control of it all. However, none of that matters now. I’m free and that’s all I care about, and I know that Daddy would be happy with that, too.’

They drove in silence for a while. The blanket snuggled some warmth into Mags and she could feel herself drifting off to sleep. She didn’t resist, as weariness ached her whole body. She dreamed of Montel: his eyes, and how they had connected with hers. She was comfortable in the dream and, as she began to stir, she tried to direct it, wanting to find herself in Montel’s arms. Stretching, she asked David what time it was and how far they had travelled.

‘It’s two in the morning – we’ve been travelling for two hours. The whole journey is going to take us around eight hours, so I booked our first stopover in Sheffield. We’ll be there in ten minutes or so. We can try to get a few hours’ sleep, and a good breakfast in the morning. The Old Queen’s Head is a pub with a couple of letting rooms. I have stayed there before when travelling to Dover. I like that it has a large bathroom and plenty of hot water. They know we are arriving late and that one of us will need a bath before we retire, so they will stoke up the boiler. Their breakfast is a wonderful affair of bacon and eggs, fried bread and sausage, and toast with lashings of butter. My mouth is watering already.’