‘Oh no, don’t talk of food. I couldn’t touch the soup they served for tea, and now I’m starving.’

‘Well, while you bath, I’ll get us a plate of sandwiches made up. I always find it difficult to sleep after I have driven a long way. A glass of ale will go down well, too. Though we do need to get some sleep, as I would like to make London tomorrow and that’s around a four-hour journey.’

‘Hot milk for me, please. I don’t think I could take any alcohol just yet. One sip would make me drunk. And perhaps best to have it served in our own rooms, and then we won’t keep each other awake.’

As Mags lay luxuriating in what had become a very rare treat – a hot bath – her mind went over and over what was happening. Was she really ready to visit Flors? And to undertake such a long journey? And what about facing the painful memories that would surely be evoked?

All the time she and Flors had spent together was tainted with pain – their time in Belgium, and the horrific rape she’d suffered. Not to mention all that they witnessed: so many young men dying, and their own near-starvation as they became trapped behind enemy lines. And then the terrifying escape to England, and Flors finding out that her lovely husband was her brother! And the death of her child, Alice, and then the death of Harold’s mother . . .

A sob escaped from Mags. She tried to close her mind to the final chapter that she would have to relate to Flors, but it all filtered through her – her marriage to the evil Harold, and him having her sectioned and stealing her inheritance.

A tremble rippled through her and she knew she wasn’t ready. Even listing the things that she and Flors had been through together filled her with distress. Being with Flors would turn the list into a reality again, after Mags had blocked most of it out for so long. No, she couldn’t revisit it. Not in her current fragile state she couldn’t. But what was the alternative? London? Yes, I could book into a hotel – maybe stay on in the one that David has booked for us.

Thinking this idea through, she decided to take the next couple of weeks, until she had acclimatized herself to the outside world, filling her time doing ordinary things that she enjoyed – walks, theatre visits and yes, perhaps an art gallery, and shopping; yes, she needed to shop – while she mulled over what to do next. She’d already looked through her suitcase and had found that the clothes Betsy had brought for her came from a good shop, and she liked them all. But the calf-length skirts in navy and grey, the pretty satin blouses in pink, blue and cream, and the long, hip-length jacket, also in navy, which were all similar to clothes she already owned, wouldn’t be enough for her. Nor would the undergarments, for which she couldn’t thank Betsy enough. She knew Betsy would have chosen these matching sets to cheer her and make her feel feminine again. In white satin, the bodices and pantaloons were edged with lace, and she couldn’t wait to feel them against her skin, after wearing the rough, shapeless, itchy calico undergarments the hospital provided.