Just this morning, as he’d laid the breakfast table, Florence had stood in the doorway, fretting. ‘How much do you know about this fellow Joyce is seeing, Charlie?’

‘Next to nothing, really. Just a few details.’ He’d rehashed the description he’d been given by his sister – brown hair, worsted blazer, specs, the post office – and recognized how terse the information sounded, how uninterested in her life it made him seem. So he’d hurried on, ‘I did go down there once or twice to have a look at him myself. But there was never any sign of him, and she got moody with me when I raised it with her. That’s the way she is about this kind of thing – all secretive and sensitive. She said he was some sort of manager. Goes up and down to different branches, so she told me. But you never really know with Joyce.’

Florence had blinked back at him, as though it was the first she’d heard about his sister’s unreliability. ‘And why’s that?’

‘Well, because she tends to –’ He hadn’t known how best to phrase it. ‘Make things up. At least, she used to.’

‘Are you saying you don’t think this chap is real?’

‘I’m saying I’ve not seen him.’

‘Did you get his name?’

‘No, miss. I’m afraid I didn’t.’

‘Hmm.’ She’d clucked her tongue. ‘Well, if she isn’t back by lunchtime, I shall have to walk down to the post office myself. Agreed?’

‘Sounds fair enough to me,’ he’d said. ‘I’m sorry that she’s made you worry. But she’s like an alley cat, my sister. She might vanish now and then, but you’ll feel daft for getting so worked up when she comes back again.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’

‘I know I am.’

She’d lingered on the threshold, saying, ‘Best put layers on today. Don’t want you catching cold out there. We’ll need you fit and ready in the draughting room.’

‘I’ve had my thermals on all night.’

‘A wise decision.’

He’d allowed her to go off without another word, which made him liable for worsening the situation. There’d been chances to report the other things he knew. For one, the Woldingham phone number he’d discovered on her ciggie packet that no one ever answered when he rang. For another, when he’d gone to check the nearest post offices, he’d met two clerks with neat brown hair and round-wire specs, and both of them had been in blazers, though he couldn’t tell by sight if they were gabardine or worsted. When he’d asked them if they knew his sister, Joyce, they’d both returned the same bewildered look; one of them had sounded irked, the other had become uncomfortable, repeating, ‘I’m a married man. Can’t help you,’ and then calling, ‘Next!’ to the old lady in the queue behind. That’s when he’d tried coaxing answers out of Joyce and she’d explained about the fella being an area manager.

He should’ve followed her last night. He should’ve gone out in the cold and dark and trailed her to the Duke of Wellington until he knew for sure who she was meeting. But there’d been a lot of work to do, assisting with the competition entry, and he’d lost himself in the momentum of it all.