The magic of arriving by ferry never seemed to fade, and walking between the sighing pines and up the drive as the Manor rose into view always raised her spirits. Although the kitchen and dining room were her usual domain, she was sometimes called to set or clear the table in what they called the Green Room, a large dining room with a fine marble fireplace at one end and French windows opening onto the terrace with views across the river.

Getting there entailed going through the Great Hall, a vast oak-panelled space where they held concerts and dances on Saturday nights. One day towards the end of her shift she overheard someone playing the piano and slipped her head round the door to see who it was. It was the man they called Mac, so completely absorbed in the music that he barely looked up. The tune was a jolly ragtime number, and she found her feet tapping quietly to the jazzy rhythms.

It came to an end all too soon but she stayed hidden, willing him to play some more. The next piece was slow and classical, the kind of music that seemed to grab her heart and root her feet to the ground. The mood built up, louder and louder, until it reached some kind of climax and then slowly, gently, faded to an ending of such soft sadness that, as she crept away, her eyes were prickling with tears.

Slowly, she earned greater responsibilities. Catering for forty or more was a very different matter from cooking at home, and Ma helped her to calculate the right quantities and the best saucepans to use. One day she made the perfect egg custard – never an easy task – which even earned praise from Mr Brunetti: ‘I am no great fan of your English puddings,’ he said. ‘But that was a particularly fine confection.’ Another time she baked three large Victoria sponges for teatime and learned later that they’d earned many compliments. She was soon promoted to ‘assistant cook’, much to the annoyance of Mary, who was left to deal with the mounds of vegetables on her own.

She felt sorry for Mr Mackensie, who didn’t eat fish or meat and seemed to survive on vegetables alone, and one day she made him a special cheese and potato pie. It didn’t take more than twenty minutes, but with the cheese browned on the top it looked delicious, and when she offered it to Mac his smile was worth every second of the extra effort.

‘Really, no meat?’ he said. ‘What a very kind thought, miss.’

‘What makes you so special?’ Johnnie teased his friend.

‘You are welcome to try some, sir,’ Kath said, trying to ignore the hotness rising up her neck. Both men returned after their meal to compliment her cooking skills, making her blush all over again. That weekend, she and Ma went to the library to research more vegetarian recipes – vegetable pie, pumpkin soup, stuffed marrows, cheese turnovers – and the presentation of each new dish was rewarded with Mac’s sweet, shy smile.