She felt a sharp pain in her tummy, and stopped on the half-landing. She had had a slight backache all day – which she attributed to the cheap mattress she was sleeping on – but this was different. She thought back over what she had eaten today, but could not identify anything that might have made her ill: no undercooked chicken, no unripe fruit. She had not eaten oysters – no such luck! The pain went as quickly as it had come and she told herself to forget about it.

She returned to her quarters in the basement. She was living in what had been the housekeeper’s flat: a tiny bedroom, a sitting room, a small kitchen and an adequate bathroom with a tub. An old footman called Morrison was acting as caretaker to the house, and a young woman from Aberowen was her maid. The girl was called Little Maisie Owen, although she was quite big. ‘My mother’s Maisie too, so I’ve always been Little Maisie, even though I’m taller than her now,’ she had explained.

The phone rang as Daisy entered. She picked it up and heard her husband’s voice. ‘How are you?’ he said.

‘I’m fine. What time will you be here?’ He had flown to RAF St Athan, a large air base outside Cardiff, on some mission, and he had promised to visit her and spend the night.

‘I’m not going to make it, I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, how disappointing!’

‘There’s a ceremonial dinner at the base that I’m required to attend.’

He did not sound particularly dispirited that he would not see her, and she felt spurned. ‘How nice for you,’ she said.

‘It will be boring, but I can’t get out of it.’

‘Not half as boring as living here on my own.’

‘It must be dull. But you’re better off there, in your condition.’

Thousands of people had left London after war was declared, but most of them had drifted back when the expected bombing raids and gas attacks did not materialize. However, Bea and May and even Eva were agreed that Daisy’s pregnancy meant she should live at Tŷ Gwyn. Many women gave birth safely every day in London, Daisy had pointed out; but of course the heir to the earldom was different.

In truth, she did not mind as much as she had expected. Perhaps pregnancy had made her uncharacteristically passive. But there was a half-hearted quality about London social life since the declaration of war, as if people felt they did not have the right to enjoy themselves. They were like vicars in a pub, knowing it was supposed to be fun but unable to enter into the spirit.

‘I wish I had my motorcycle here, though,’ she said. ‘Then at least I could explore Wales.’ Petrol was rationed, but not severely.

‘Really, Daisy!’ he said censoriously. ‘You can’t ride a motorcycle – the doctor absolutely forbade it.’

‘Anyway, I’ve discovered literature,’ she said. ‘The library here is wonderful. A few rare and valuable editions have been packed away, but nearly all the books are still on the shelves. I’m getting the education I worked so hard to avoid at school.’