‘Serves the buggers right!’ George said heartily as they all sat in the kitchen at Treetops listening to the radio report. At John’s insistence Sunday, Kathy and her family had not returned to the lodge since the night of the raid, except to collect their clothes, and although it had felt strange to be back in Treetops at first, sometimes now Sunday found it hard to believe that they had ever been away. John had even ensured that both Sunday and Kathy were back in their old bedrooms and all in all the arrangement was working well.

The twins loved living there and now that she had them to play with Peggy was slowly coming out of her shell again after the loss of her brother.

That was why it was such a shock when Sunday opened the door one bright May morning to find two very official-looking people standing there, a man and a woman.

The man was smartly dressed in a trilby hat and overcoat while the woman was small and straight-faced.

‘We’ve come to see Mr John Willerby,’ the woman informed Sunday imperiously. ‘Are you the maid?’

‘No, I am not the maid,’ Sunday answered indignantly. ‘But if you’d care to come in, I’ll see if I can find him for you.’

She showed them into the drawing room, which was scattered with toys the children had been playing with earlier, before hurrying off to track John down. As she had expected, he was ensconced in his study and after tapping at the door she went in. ‘There are two people here to see you, John, and I have a feeling they might be something to do with Peggy.’

His face clouded. ‘Oh dear!’ But then with a nod he rose and followed her back across the hallway.

‘Good morning, I am John Willerby. How may I help you?’ he asked as he entered the room and held out his hand.

‘Actually, I believe it is we who may be able to help you,’ the small, bird-like woman answered with an oily smile. John instantly took a dislike to her.

‘I am Miss Tyler from the welfare department in the East End of London and Mr Parsons here is the housemaster at an orphanage we use to place children who have been bereaved of their parents. I believe you have Peggy Walker staying here with you?’

John nodded. ‘We do and she’s doing remarkably well, all things considered, which I told you on the phone the last time we spoke.’

‘Good, good,’ she said with a false smile as she seated herself and folded her hands neatly in her lap. ‘It has been very good of you to allow her to come here as an evacuee. But of course we must be responsible for her now that she has no family to return to when the war is over.’

‘Why?’ John said brusquely. ‘The child is quite welcome to stay here.’