‘Try this one.’ She held out a silky blouse in glorious blue, like the sky on the clearest of days. It was too big around the bust but they hauled it in at the back, tucking it into waistband of Kath’s uniform skirt. ‘Perfect. Looks great with the auburn hair. Now, what are we going to do with that?’

Twenty minutes later, both were splendidly coiffed. Marcia produced from her washbag a range of lipsticks, eyeshadows, mascara and face powders, which she chose with care and proceeded to apply to Kath’s face with the expertise of a qualified beautician.

‘My mother was a great society beauty,’ she explained. ‘I used to sit at her dressing table watching her every move, learning it by heart.’

‘That’s a lovely memory.’

‘Actually it isn’t, not really.’

‘Why not?’

‘I was always on edge, because I thought that if I was perfectly behaved and didn’t say a word, Mother would want to stay at home with me. But it never worked. She would put on her latest satin number, twirl in front of the mirror and ask me to tell her she was beautiful before leaving me with Nanny. For days, sometimes weeks on end. I haven’t been able to bear the smell of Chanel No. 5 ever since.’

Kath felt suddenly grateful. She’d thought her own upbringing dull and unadventurous, her family boring. They would never be able to afford great luxuries; Ma would never wear silk dresses or posh perfumes. Her parents had gone out to work, but there had always been other family members nearby to look after the children. In her memory, everyone was kind to one another.

‘It got better once I was sent off to boarding school,’ Marcia said.

‘Weren’t you terribly homesick?’

‘At first, but then, everyone is. After a while you make friends and it’s a good laugh.’

‘I never spent a single night away from home, not until I signed up,’ Kath said. She recalled Vic’s astonishment when she’d told him.

‘You’re very fortunate,’ he’d said wistfully. ‘I’ve never really known what home is, or where it is. I’ve lived here longer than I ever lived in India, and my home there was sold when my mother died. My father calls England home, but Tunbridge Wells will never feel anything like home to me.’

Marcia put away her make-up, zipped the bag and stashed it away in her trunk.

‘Isn’t it time for a tipple? I’m going to introduce you to the joys of Martini, and then we’re going to dance the night away.’

‘It’s a seven o’clock call in the morning.’

‘Who cares?’

‘I’m Donald,’ he shouted over the band. ‘Would you do me the honour?’

It was perfectly thrilling, being whirled around the dance floor by a handsome blond-haired officer. He might not be very tall – about the same height as Kath – but he was a terrific dancer, and he held her so expertly that it hardly seemed to matter that she didn’t know the difference between a waltz and a quickstep. Two large Martinis had left her feeling more carefree than she had in months. This was more like it.