She was almost alongside him when he turned and she found herself looking into his quiet brown eyes. They widened in surprise when he saw her. ‘Hello, Bridget!’

With her heart beating nineteen to the dozen, she heard herself say, ‘Hello, Harry,’ but the voice was thin and shy, not like hers at all.

He smiled that easy, quiet smile that had touched her heart so many times before. ‘I’ve been talking to your daughter. She’s a credit to you, Bridget, a lovely child.’ In a quieter voice he added, ‘I’m so sorry about her daddy. You must both miss him.’

‘Thank you.’ Tom isn’t her daddy, she was thinking. You are. And every day I see more of you in her. She has your ways, Harry, and your shy, handsome smile. She’s thoughtful, like you, and she laughs like you; and sometimes, when I’m not looking, I can feel her eyes on me, quietly studying me, just like you used to.

She went behind her stall, putting a barrier between them. ‘Was there something you wanted?’ she asked, her voice cooler.

He noticed, and was sorry for it. ‘Your daughter will tell you,’ he answered. ‘I have to get back to my work. You look… very well, Bridget,’ he finished lamely. Then he turned and walked away.

‘He’s a nice man,’ Ruthie declared. ‘I like him.’

Bridget thought it interesting that she should have taken to Harry so quickly. As a rule, Ruthie was not easily won over. Even Bob had not yet completely won his way into her affections – which was odd, Bridget thought, because at first he and Ruthie had got on really well. Lately, though, Ruthie made all sorts of excuses to be out of the way whenever Bob called.

She silently chided herself. She took to Harry because he’s her father, that’s why. The bond is there, whether I like it or not. In fact, she wasn’t certain how she did feel about it. Just now, when she caught the two of them chatting and laughing, a warm feeling had come over her. But a moment later she’d felt wary, almost hostile. It was a defensive reaction, that’s what it was. She had to defend herself against her own feelings, for, if the truth be told, she still had a lingering affection for Harry.

‘What did he want, sweetheart?’

‘Who?’ Ruthie had been counting brown buttons and had lost one. She was on her hands and knees searching the cobbles for it.

‘Harry. What did he want?’

‘He wanted Joe at first, but when I told him Joe had passed the stall to you, he asked who you were. I told him you were Bridget Mulligan, and he laughed.’

‘The cheeky sod! Why did he laugh?’

Ruthie shook her head. ‘Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that when I told him you were in charge of the stall now, he was so pleased, he laughed and clapped his hands, and said he was delighted to hear it.’