In fact, there was one piece of information he’d seized on the other day when his mother had come in from the shop, complaining about Tommy Callaghan being a danger and a menace, riding his bike too fast, and about how slow that daft Ruby was. She’d mentioned in passing that Danny wasn’t around at the moment, having been sent off on some course or other. Alfie had stored that nugget away and brooded on it; it was typical of that smug devil that he’d landed yet another cushy number, but on the plus side it left the field clear for Alfie to pursue Kitty.

Now he was out and about he could set about following his plan. With Danny out of the way, there would be nobody to stop him if he tried to see Kitty again. All he had to do was tell her how things were – that she needed to listen to him because he knew what was best for her. It was simple. She belonged to him. She’d always known he had his eye on her, she must have realised how he felt. She might resist at first, especially now she had this job that everyone thought was so important, but she’d see reason eventually. Alfie didn’t hold with women working. It simply wasn’t right; it went against the natural order of things. She couldn’t hope to do whatever it was she did as well as a man would do it. She was an excellent cook, everyone said so, and therefore her destiny was to be in his kitchen and, Alfie hoped fervently, in his bed. He licked the head of his pint from his upper lip, savouring the thought. He’d have Kitty just where he wanted her, and soon, before that stuck-up brother of hers came back. He’d strike while the iron was hot.

The meeting room had been too warm and stuffy, crammed with bodies, all elbow to elbow as they tried to write their notes. Kitty wished they could open a window, but the few panes of glass had been covered with tape to minimise damage if a bomb should go off nearby, and couldn’t easily be opened. She tried to put out of her mind what Laura had told her.