She watched the two of them together, and it was only then that she realised how fond Ruthie was of Bob. Maybe, by not accepting Bob’s offer, she was doing Ruthie a disservice. They seemed so good together, so natural with each other.

Ruthie poured out her heart to him, and Bob listened sympathetically. Then, very gently, he led her back upstairs and saw her off to sleep. ‘She’s very upset,’ he said when he returned to the parlour. ‘I’m sorry. It must have been me knocking on the door that woke her. It was thoughtless of me to come round so late.’ He took Bridget’s hand in his and smiled at her. ‘I’d better go.’

Bridget held him there. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I am very fond of you, and yes, I would be happy to be your wife.’

His eyes widened. For a moment he was speechless, staring at her in disbelief. ‘Oh, Bridget! Do you mean it? Do you really mean it?’ When she nodded, he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe. ‘You can’t know what this means to me,’ he murmured, his mouth against her neck. ‘Oh, Bridget, my love, you’ve made me the happiest man alive.’ Quietly, he went to the door and closed it. Still with his gaze on her, he turned the lamp low.

When he swooped her into his arms, she did not resist. When he laid her down on the floor and began to remove her clothes, she made no protest. Instead she responded, helping him, taking off his clothes and casting them aside. If she knew anything at all, it was that he loved her; not like Harry, not even like Tom. It was a different kind of love, steadfast and undemanding. And to be loved was a wonderful thing.

When she lay before him, naked and yielding, he gasped with astonishment at her beauty. ‘You have the figure of a girl,’ he told her. For endless minutes he fondled and caressed, licking the edge of her nipples with the tip of his tongue, running his hands through her hair, luxuriating in the feel of it against his skin.

He moved against her, teasing, toying, making her want him, making her stretch up and draw him down to her. She could feel his hardness against her, the brush of his chest hairs tickled her breasts. Longingly, she opened herself to him, and he took her, in one deep push. Gasping, she held him there, remembering what it was like to have a man so close.

When finally the loving was over, she lay beneath him, drained. There was no shame. No guilt. Just an overwhelming and wonderful sense of belonging.

The shame and the guilt crept up on her in the early hours.

Bob had gone home, and after she had bathed and brushed her hair, she checked on her daughter and then went to her own bed. It was only a matter of minutes before she fell into a sound, deep sleep.